6 Send ’em a message

Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat!
“Send ’em a message, little Drew!” Granny Guss was re-animated by baby Andrew’s flailing arms. He could kill the intrepid insects, who looked where they had no business of looking.
Swatswatswat! “Geed ’em, Deadeye!” She took her eyes off Kelly Ripa and Reeg to see baby Andrew swat those that dared march. There would be no procession on the two sacrosanct yards of carpet ‘twixt crib and recliner, not with her christening day gift in the baptism boy’s hands. It was fond-making for Granny Guss that the boy was ambidextrous, like her. With his new flyswatter, he could annihilate the foes left and right. For years she giggled only when Kelly Ripa made her giggle, but she giggled now, glad to see talent in the family again after an entire skip-generation, glad to see the ants and flies morbidly flattened.
Granny Guss wanted to shout, Gee! Gee! Haw! Haw!
She settled for something as succinct, but in its mellifluousness more compatible with her blood pressure:
“Send ’em a message.”


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