Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental multi-fandom project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 26 November.
In the immortal words of Samuel L. Clemens... "Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR."
Disclaimer: Don't own "Addams Family", "Addams Family Values" or anything else related to the characters and franchise. Sorry.
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"Added Values"
By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'
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The man adjusted his glasses with his free hand and then used it to poke his infant son's stomach carefully, "I always get nostalgic at this time of year... it brings back memories of when your mother and I first met, you know. It was also the first time I ever broke someone's spirit, I had never thought I could enjoy it that much. The tortured wailing, the crushing feeling of despair, my god, it was wonderful."
"Blagch!" The baby belched, a cloud of green smoke rising from his mouth with the action.
"Your Uncle Pugsley was never able to look at a turkey the same way again, for that matter," the father added, "We were so impressed when he led the turkey uprising through town a few years later - there were rivers of gravy in the streets for weeks, the Governor declared it a disaster area. It made us all proud to be Addams."
"You weren't an Addams then," a female voice interjected from the doorway.
"Wednesday," her husband looked at her with a knowing smile, "You were stuck with me from the moment I didn't die."
"The night is still young, Joel," Wednesday Addams reminded him as she entered the nursery, "Telling bed-time stories?"
"He has to start learning sometime," Joel Addams - he had taken his wife's name upon their marriage - answered, "Do you have any idea what they teach in schools these days? Peace and tolerance. It's horrendous."
"Someone should do something about it," Wednesday agreed, "Do you recall where I last had my dynamite?"
"I think it was at Uncle Fester and Aunt Dementia's anniversary party," Joel answered after a moment's thought, "Unless it was Pubert who wired the cake to explode when they cut it."
She smiled cryptically in response, "It turns out that younger siblings do have their uses... do I dare ask what story you're telling our son?"
"Just about the first time we met - at summer camp - and how they expected conformity and recieved rebellion instead," Joel replied as their son belched again, releasing another cloud of green gas.
"Oh," Wednesday took the baby from her husband, "It seems someone can't handle Grandmama's swampwater stew, poor baby. Do you think we need to induce vomiting?"
"Give him a chance to do it on his own, first, Wednesday."
"If you insist," Wednesday responded airily, "You know... I still have her retainer as a trophy. Father insisted."
"Believe me, I'm well aware - and I still say you should have mounted it on a cherry plaque instead of oak," Joel shook his head, "It would have gone better with the furniture."
"If you're interested... Thursday is the Sherwood School Thanksgiving play," Wednesday raised an eyebrow.
"I'll call your parents and see if they're willing to babysit," Joel smirked.
"Bur...RAP!" Both parents smiled proudly as their child finally belched and shot a trail of flame across the room, igniting all three candles of a candlelabra.
