We're Going To Have A Baby, Charlie Brown
By: J. M. Blockhead
Prologue:
Charlie Brown had always fancied meeting the little red haired girl. Of course he did. It is a common, correct, and credible conception that when a boy is particularly fond of a girl, but has never met her; he often fantasizes about the pleasantries with an oddity of exquisiteness in broad detail. Or, is that just me? But, all in all, through Charlie Brown's many years of a struggle, he not only managed to meet Heather (that was the red-head's name of course) but to date her as well. Charlie Brown and Heather had been steady ever since. It was a beautiful combination of anecdotes, or stories (anecdotes are generally shorter than stories), leading up to Heather's proposal, but I have not the time, nor the energy conceived in my quill, to lay them all out for you. All I can say is this: upon becoming acquainted with Heather, Charlie Brown inadvertently discovered that she was very near close to perfect, not perfect but close to it. Heather was everything one would hope for in a lady: kind, caring, compassionate, forgiving, warm-hearted, affectionate, fun-loving, intelligent, wise, athletic, talented, and capable of speaking so many languages that if I were to state the quantity of it, it would, in turn, arouse a sense of practical and prominent disbelief and, by all the same means and measures, completely ruin the story for you and incompletely spoil my rhetoric or where the two adverbs are reversed and switched around. "Completely," I'm not quite sure if it fits. As I were about to say, Heather was not a carbon-copy of any other member of Charlie Brown's peers, Linus, Schroeder, Peppermint Patty, Marcie, that which he knew. She was more or less the epitome of every last talent, that which they possessed. These semantics do have their elegant distinctions, which one must understand comprehensively in order to dub the girl as distinctively impressive. While Linus was rather gifted in the scriptures, Heather could simultaneously read, memorize, and recite the whole book over again by heart, word for word, paragraph by paragraph (verbatim). While Schroeder was rather elite at playing the piano, Heather could play the Second Hungarian Rhapsody with a certain stimulating and electric jolt of the fingers while they danced at every one of the eighty-eight keys like a rag-tag decet of miniature sugar-plum fairies tap-dancing on the vast floors of a grand ballroom in Tír na nÓg. She could also play the violin and the bagpipes quite skillfully as well. And, while Peppermint Patty was well off at baseball, football, and other sports, and the obvious choice for any team she could get her mitts on, Heather surpassed her in strength, agility, chutzpah, and every such category. Altogether, Heather was, as I say again, very near close to perfect, some of the spectacles that I've illustrated for you which seem ridiculously unbelievable, but not as easily ridiculed as her knowledge of foreign languages. I must revisit the topic, and you must trust me on that. My story (or their story as it were) takes its setting during Charlie Brown's days in high school, his freshman year to be precise, and it bears the apoplexy of a shock that will render you enthralled and keep you that way for the remainder of (with the permission of a fellow author much more known to the world than I) your corroborative "journey from the cradle to the grave". I am all but uncertain that this particular tale will (through the actions and activities illustrated here, though never actually shown) address the pressing issues of birds and bees, and above all demonstrate just the manner of a wonderful lover that which Charlie Brown was, and not your average or ordinary boy.