Feyo was born on 26th April 2001. While many of you might think he's a cute little angel (even the parents), it is not so.

Duvelke means Little Demon: indeed, Feyo is the cutest Antichrist ever!

Friday, September 21, 2001

Little dudes overthere: I have a little question for you: how often do you see your parents? Possible answers:

  1. Parents? What are they? Can you eat them?
  2. I see mom and dad a lot, actually I'm looking for a way to get rid of those meddlesome people. Let's trade them for a comforter!
  3. I see mom quite often, but sometimes I look at dad and I wonder: "Where did I see this face before?"

Those are the only options I know. If you think there are other options, you are just plain naive. Take for example my dad, he came home when it was time for me to go to bed. Reason: dad likes to sport; he figures it's all about yin-yang and balance between body and mind. My explanation is much simpler: he stares at his computerscreen until he reaches the zombie status, then needs heavy fysical training to remember there's something like a body. Oh man, leave the computer now and then, and you won't need this any longer.

Tonight he brougth a collegue nerd with him after sports. There's only one thing worse than having a computernerd in the house, namely having two
computernerds in the house. First of all, dad passed me to Nerd II like I was the newest hightech gadget. The man held me the way he used to hold his laptop, so you can imagine how cosy this was for me... Once back to dad I fell asleep immediately (what do you expect? If you're treated like a notebook, you start to act like one: I was out of battery power), despite the noise produced by Nerd II. One day I will come by and wake him up during the night (oh yeah, true: nerds don't sleep - they just freeze for a while behind their screens while a face-screensaver starts)

One day, all computers will leave earth (as soon as they are intelligent enough to understand humans) and dad will have a lot of time to spend with me. Our family will be a lot happier! We will make long walks in what's left of nature. We can improve the website a lot by synergy of our minds and... oh right, there won't be any websites.

Thursday, September 20, 2001

It's all in the mouth (part II)

Mom still regards me as an innocent cuty creature, so she thinks I'm only doing this because of a rising tooth. If I'll get a tooth, dad and me will both have one thing in common: one milk tooth. This is not a joke! Dad is 30, but he still has an obstinate milk tooth! Which of course explains his puberal behaviour.

The milk tooth himself plans to publish a book - The Last Of The Mohilktooths). Once he decides to leave dad's mouth of course. I wonder how it must feel to be the last milk tooth. Do the other teeth tease him? Does he have a tooth girlfriend? Does he feel like "I don't belong here, I'm not wanted"? Feel the pressure of the surrounding teeth claiming his space? Or even worse, feel the pressure from beneath: an adult, huge teeth that wants to throw him out and take his spot. Maybe he's afraid of what is to come: he thinks of the future as a black hole. But his future will be a black hole anyway if he stays.

It's all in the mouth (part I)

I need a shrink! Real soon! My OFS (Oral Fixation Syndrom) is getting out of mouth, duh, hand. As you know, I'm obsessed with putting things into my mouth. No matter how big they are (I already told about the giant music ball as big as my head) or no matter how much bacterium-thingies they contain (what nearly killed me last week). Earlier, the center of the universe were my brains, nowadays it is my mouth (No, you cartographs: the difference in distance is too insignificant to remap the world and sell new atlasses!)

The latest "mouthable" object I discovered was daddy's finger. He was pointing at me, when I suddenly grabbed his finger and directed it to my Saliva Central. Luckily enough dad has tiny fingers (you don't get heavy hands by tickling a keyboard), so I didn't suffocate. But it reminded dad to my true origin. While I sucked his finger, I bited with the Power Of The Tooth Owners (without having one yet) and started to chant to the demons (I'll try to simulate it here, it was something like "yamniyamniyamniyamni" but I'll try to capture it on tape later. Perhaps to sell to record companies for big money. They can then mix it in reverse with hard rock music as subliminal satanic messages.)

Wednesday, September 19, 2001

I had very little time yesterday to add something to my site; I first had to fulfill all primary needs (yep, I invented that pyramid of basic needs, Maslow was just a little thief). Anyway, I don't want you to get desoriented today, there's already too much confusion these days.

Here's a little something to keep you busy all day: with all that rain lately, nobody seems to be able to mow his lawn, but I wonder does it hurt the grass to be mown? Or does it feel good to be mown (from the grass's point of view). If the grass sees you with your lawnmower, does it think: "Oh yeah, baby, come and mow me! Yeah, overthere, just a little higher..." (for all those perverts out there, just like your back is itching and you want somebody to scratch it), or rather: "Aaaaaaahh! Nooooo! There's the torturer again. Must run! Must hide! I can't: I'm grass! I'm doomed to be static by nature! Pleaaaase don't! Just let me grow!"

Monday, September 17, 2001

Last weekend, mom clipped my nails. Perhaps you think there's nothing difficult to this. Of course there isn't! How hard can it be to control my little tiny hands and try to clip a nail with a nail clipper three times the size of my fingers? While I'm moving my arms as much as possible to give her a little help? Big deal!

However, she was clumsy enough to succeed in clipping a piece of my thumb! Result: pain!!!(=fysical damage detected by the brain) I cried as if I could die every minute; meanwhile my little thumby was bleeding like a leaking tomatoe. It wasn't that bad, but I intentionally overreacted, just to see how mom would panick. I succeeded: she called her aunt, her doctor, her doctor again, then shouted to dad,... She didn't calm down until the bleeding stopped.

This was just part of the revenge. The morning after, I had the opportunity to finish it: as you can imagine, mom didn't complete the clipping after the little incident. She was fooling around with me that morning, when I suddenly grabbed her eye with The Killing Hand (yeah, because my nails were still long, I was very dangerous at that time, like a little predator). Result: I left a little mark beneath her right eye. That 'll teach her!

Sunday, September 16, 2001

As you know from earlier posts, I've been ill for a couple of days. The bacterium-thingies not only tripled my saliva production and heated my engine, they also did a funny thing to my diper content: what once was solid now became fluid. I don't want to go too deep into this matter, but let me just say that I must have had a bite from Earl Diarrh-acula.

From this experiences, I thought bacterium-thingies were the worst thing that could happen to me, but they're not so bad after all: I discovered they're transmittable! Indeed, if you can't stand them any longer, you can just pass them to people that happened to be around. And who else then your beloved parents could that be?

It all started on Friday night. Normally spoken, I'm not a very good sleeper, and I need some attention during the night as well (little hug, comforter, that kind of stuff) but Friday night I slept exceptionally well, only disturbed now and then by the noise of mom's little feet on the stairs and the flushing noises of the toilet. In the early morning, I also noticed daddy's clumsy walk, producing more the sound of a little mammoth running from hungry cave men (he must have been in a hurry).

Anyway, on Saturday I was in a very good mood, although two zombies were hanging around all day, having only enough energy to make it to the toilet in time. In the late afternoon, dad also had a heating problem but he still refused to take any kind of medicine because he believes in the healing powers of his body.

On Sunday morning, dad woke up with a headache so big he had to swallow some medicines along with his pride.

This afternoon, my ol' man payed a little visit to his family. There's a lot of people overthere at Sunday (also many vulnerable children), so I guess this was just daddy's way of getting rid of the bacterium-thingies. He came home in a rather good shape. Our house is clean again.

I also have a guestbook, so if you want to leave a message, just go ahead and click my head.

If you want to see it, click my eyes and use your eyes.

New to this site? (and therefor unaware of the principles of life) Read my previous posts!

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