You Ought to Be Ashamed

Honestly, Harold. If I had thought for a moment that it would come to this, we would never have bought you that chemistry set. “Just a little extra sulfur,” indeed.
Your father and I have talked it over, and we think that the best thing for you would be to sacrifice Quackers on an altar before the throne of his Glorious Excrescence Moloch. There will be no more science in this house, young man. No, don’t look at me like that. I know you’re not really going to keep him as a pet. You want to dissect him, don’t you? Yes, you think I don’t know you’ve been hiding copies of “Scientific American” under your mattress, but your father found them the other day while he was cursing your room. Don’t you tell me to stay out of your room. While you are under this roof you will obey the rules that your parents, and the Dread Demiurge Astaroth, may his name grow in squamous horror, make for you. When I think of what your poor dead grandmother would say if she were here to see this, I just get shivers all over. I have half a mind to let her out just to tell her all about it. No, don’t cry, honey. Oh, mommy’s sorry. Granny will stay safely in her padlocked crypt until the pounding stops forever. I promise. No, you’re still grounded. Yes, of course we want you to make decisions for yourself, but sometimes we have to interfere.
Now, your father has said – well, those are just the consequences! Your father has said that you should stay indoors and work on your augury for a month. I know that sounds harsh, but it’s for the best. And I don’t want you hanging around with that George Braverman anymore. I think he’s putting bad ideas in your head. Well, do you remember the time he wanted you to summon Einstein so you could ask him how the theory of relativity worked? That’s not something an evil little boy should be doing with his time.
We also think you should spend less time in the bathroom.

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