(while cooking dinner at Rottnest)

RJ: (grabs a piece of uncooked spaghetti) Hey Dad. (crunch, crunch) What does this sound like? (crunch, crunch, crunch)

Dad: I dunno… Crunching?

RJ: Yes, but crunching what?

Dad: Umm… Crunching sticks? Bones?

RJ: Good… gooooood…

RJ: (grabs nearly-empty packet of uncooked spaghetti) Can I have these bits of pasta?

Dad: Sure thing. What for?

RJ: A secret project…

(5 minutes later while carrying dinner to a friend’s at Rottnest, RJ runs off into a dark alleyway.)

Dad: RJ! Come back!

RJ: (Silence…)

Dad: RJ! This stuff is hot and heavy and I don’t want to drop it. I need you to come back RIGHT NOW.

RJ: (Distant crunching noises… then a sudden explosion of rustling and snapping leaves and twigs) YEAH HAAAHAAHAA! IT WORKS!

RJ: (Excitedly runs around the corner) It works! It works!!!

Dad: What? What works?

RJ: The quokkas are terrified of me! Especially when I run up and make bone crunching noises at them!

RJ: (Triumphant) They think I’m a predator!

Related posts:

1. If you can’t trust the cook…
2. You smell food, then you see food…
3. ‘Cause that’s how he rolls
4. He needs all the help he can get
5. I’ve had the strangest dreams lately

(while eating breakfast)

RJ: I drew a great picture at school yesterday.

Dad: What was it?

RJ: A picture of a baby tennis racket still inside its egg… It was on fire and its eyes and mouth were sewn shut.

Dad: Cool. I didn’t know tennis rackets grew from eggs.

RJ: Yep! … You know, grown up tennis rackets live around rivers. They bury their eggs in big nests and stay around until they hatch. They stand guard to keep them safe from predators.

Dad: What kind of predators eat tennis rackets?

RJ: Wild strawberries!

Related posts:

1. Warning: Do not read while eating. Contains tapeworms.
2. Of spines and men
3. Fine Dining
4. Are you ready for the robot apocalypse?
5. My Alien

(RJ getting increasingly agitated attempting to attach porcupine quill to large inflatable hedgehog)

RJ: I need to stick it on. Hedgy wont be safe.

Dad: Safe from what? He’s in our living room.

RJ: He has no spines. He isn’t safe from predators.

Dad: (get increasingly worried about Hedgy getting punctured) We don’t have predators in here. The worst Hedgy has to deal with is that pile of unfolded laundry on the couch.

Mum: RJ, he’s a fuzzy hedgehog. They’re bred specially for living rooms.

RJ: He isn’t safe! What if… if… a lot of hungry dogs come in here… through the window?

…

Dad: (under his breath) Better Hedgy than us, then. We’ll remember him in heroic verse after we make our escape.

Related posts:

1. A terrible racket
2. If you can’t trust the cook…
3. Zombie, zombie, zombie, zombie, mushroom, MUSHROOM!
4. When a problem comes along…
5. A flag in the hand is worth two in the sand