John Anderson the Third was a good boy, when he self-medicated himself, which usually was on Mondays and Fridays, and sometimes, when the mood struck, Tuesdays.

He liked to play with dead things on any giving Sunday, his favorite being headless raccoons.

“Daddy didn’t like dead things, so I killed him!” he would sing all the day long in his Sunday best, a top hat and naked throughout the rest.

The neighbors worried that young John was not getting enough vitamins in his diet so they called the police.

“Sir, are you getting enough B-12?” the officer asked.

“I sure am Mister!” he said with a smile.

“Good, good! Now if you would come along with me, I’ll take you to a nice place. No, you don’t need your shoes…”

John smiled and nodded.

He stood up and without a word; he followed the nice police officer towards the car.

“I like riding in police cars!! SIREN! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

John found himself at the ‘State Home’ and he got a nice room, with padded walls and a soft floor.

They even gave him a helmet to wear.

“This is so you won’t hurt yourself!” the nice lady with the sweet voice said. 

“I like playing space pirates in my mother’s wedding dress!” John said, nodding and smiling in his new ‘space helmet’.

“We’ll give you something to help you relax!”

John did not like the pinch of the ‘needle’ but he did not care too long as he found himself asleep.

Three days later, John awoke. 

He was a grumpy angry monkey funk, like his mom use to say, just before he stuffed her in a box and mailed her off to Spain.

He should have put some air holes in the box, but he knew Mommy could hold her breath for a very long time, everyone could, especially those folks in the graveyards.

“They’re dead stupid!” his father yelled at him one time when he had asked how they breathed being buried like that.

That explained that.

“Crabby!” he answered when the nice lady who smelled like applesauce asked him how he was.

“No Crabby allowed in here!” she cooed.  He wanted to bash in her face with her own foot. 

But he didn’t, cause, he was a good boy.

And good boys never bashed. 

Tripped or hung, yes, but never bashed.

He got a gold star sticker for making the best macaroni art in the ward.

Everyone cheered.

Well mostly everyone.

Okay, only John cheered. 

After lunchtime, everyone got to sit in a big circle and say something nice about the person next to them.

“Your face reminds me of a monkey’s ass! YAY!” John said to Mary who started to cry.

“That was not very nice John!” the man who said he was a doctor but smelled like monkey ass scolded.

“I’m sorry! Your face doesn’t remind me of a monkey’s ass…” John apologized “It reminds me of a donkey’s ass! YAY!”

John was put into a room, which they called ‘Solitary’, which he could leave when he learned better manners.

“I’m a good boy! I always say please and thank you!” John kept repeating over and over, as he sat in the corner of the room rocking back and forth.

Three weeks went by and soon John was back with the group.

He had learned his manners.

“I’m a good boy!” he nodded, smiling proudly.

After lunchtime, everyone sat in a big circle. 

This time John knew better than to sit next to Mary and he sat next to Dr. Williams, the one who smelled like donkey ass.

“We’re going to play story time!” Dr. Williams said with a great big smile. “One of us will start the story, I’ll start!  Once upon a time, there was a little boy…” and he pointed to John who smiled proudly.

“…who smelled like donkey ass!”

John ended back in ‘Solitary’ for three more weeks.

And he only got to be in the group if he promised to never say donkey ass again...

"I promise! Never ever..."