When the evil awakens in children at the ripe old age of 2, the little bomb makers play havoc on all members of their family. Dad, who never had much of a work ethic, is now engrossed in his job, and volunteers for overtime any chance he can, under the ruse of saving for a college education. Mom, on the other hand, lost her prime directive to make sure all her children’s needs were met. She now hides out in the basement with cigarettes and a bottle of wine and prays for a phone call from another woman her age. She will lie profusely about the home front. Any siblings conceived downstream of the first child were accidents involving huge quantities of alcohol and drugs. The up and comings pay close attention to the antics of the lead lunatic and will bestow the same insane tortures onto their parents, too. It is right about here when the parents’ brains short circuit and starts formulating a strategy to go out and buy that little disaster devil an electric kidde car. With little hope that this large purchase will slow the midget misfit down, it still has to be tried. Off to the department store they go together, while the psycho squirt is left with gramma under the guise that they want to surprise the little genetic mistake. Gramma ain’t stupid. She knows the drill and remembers her tormented youth putting up with the now grown-up brat that tortured her. She smiles and serves up the impossible imp enough high fructose Kool-Aid to sweeten a borax mine. She times the chemical reaction to take place just as the happy, reunited family is leaving her driveway. Tick tock. Once home, the kidde car is fully charged and instructions are given to the new driver. “This is forward, and this is full throttle.” They aim the pygmy barbarian down the driveway and out into the 4-lane highway with elderly drivers asleep at the wheel. It’s back into the house as fast as their parenting legs can run and see where fate takes them in their quest to just be free again.

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