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| ...and then the young boy is ripped to pieces... |
Having no kids, thanks to a womb that chews up sperm and then spits it out, I have no knowledge of what "Story Time at Bed" entails except to say that it involves hyperactive youngsters hell bent on never sleeping and their poor, exhausted parents wishing they had used a condom (judging by my friends who look as if they will never know what's it's like to sleep in past 4am).
But perhaps if the little shits got read to by Game of Thrones and Santa impersonator George R. R. Martin, they might settle down and listen as Jack gets eviscerated by wild animals or to the menu offerings that disappear down the gullet of the gluttonous Little Miss Muffet before falling gently into the ether of dreams.
Or, they will be up all night screaming in fear...what do I know?
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