There was me, – that is Mike - and my mother, my son Alex. We had just had a real choodessny lunch at the Mayflower, the zammechat Chinese restaurant across the street from the Safeway where Gabriel Giffords was tolchocked, when me Mum says, “Oh, I need to itty over to the CVS to kupet some synthmesc.”
I said, “Some drencrom, ay? I could go for a sammy shlem of the ole vellocet.”
But I didn’t itty over with her. For whilst Mum was negotiating gollies with the rozzes at the ole pharm, I yeckdated Alex around the lot, trying to get him some spatchka. As we passed the Mayflower for the fourth or fifth raz, a bolshy, obese sod goolied by our car.
I skazatted to Alex, “Alex, viddy the bolshy brooko on that chelloveck.”
Alex, of course, smotted with as much radosty as he would a millicent or a sinny. And when the malchick’’s baboochka got in the car, Alex said, “G’amma! Did you viddy the bolshy veck?”
I hesitated to skazat this raskazz to Alex’s Em, as he had already went sodding in the middle of a store many razzes. But I did tell her, Amy, my zheena, and she was quite razdrez with your humble narrator.
That nochy we were having pishcha at the domy, and I did tell Amy and Amy’s Em more about our lunch.
I told her that the restaurant had Yo Gabba Gabba on the telly and that Jack Black was the special guest and that Alex was viddying and guffing and smecking real horrowshow.
Then Alex creeched, “bolshy sod!”
And Amy skazats, “Did you slooshy the slovos he just said?” All shilarnied like. Then, my droogies, she clopped me about the gulliver and pletchoes with her rookers, and I creeched and covered my yarbles.