Zeffwee's Bwains

This is Zeffwee. Well, I think it's supposed to be Jeffrey but it certainly sounds like Zeffwee when Woody says it.  And this isn't Woody, it's Rex, sorry that's confusing.

Zeffwee is very old, possibly originally belonging to my brother, Wee Bro.  His forehead has been mended many times but keeps coming open.  Woody occasionally finds a quiet moment to sit with Zeffwee and fondly "pull his bwains out."  Lucky Zeffwee.

This is the worst game you've never heard of.  The mother is vaguely aware of the sounds of her offspring riding bikes and scooters on the driveway, and then comes the sickening sounds of bikes and scooters forcefully falling to the ground.  She looks around to see her offspring lying in a horribly mangled, twisted heap, apparently having had a major crash and all fallen over.  Just when the mother's finger is hovering over the zero ready to dial 000, the children all gleefully jump back up onto their bikes and scooters and repeat the whole process.  It takes a while for the lower-intelligence mothers to learn not to be fooled by this again and again.

I would like to apologise for all the guests who have visited us over the last month and been treated to the seven signs in the toilet, all bearing the same recommendation.  I never remember to remove the signs before guests come over, I'm only reminded they're there when a guest either laughs from the direction of the toilet, or comes out sheepishly saying, "You'll be pleased to know that I flushed."  The signs are down now.  It seems that when they're up for longer than a day, they cease to work.  It's maddening to see a child casually walk past seven signs urging him/her to flush and saunter off without flushing.  And anyway, it's time for my next project: seven bright yellow signs saying, "For the love of all that is good, WASH YOUR HANDS!"

Here is a little boy on his first birthday.  All he needed was a few new clothes and books, and some tiny cupcakes called "Angel Babycakes"which was cute.

Jessie's hair is extremely thick and it's getting very difficult to brush.  I said to her once, "If you don't let me brush it, we won't be able to get the knots out and you'll ... you'll ... you'll have to get it shaved off or something."  She then went away to write her usual passive-aggressive note about life, only it was more sad than aggressive.  "Dear mother I don't want my hair to be shaved off or else I'll be so disappointed!  Because I will burst with tears and I'm doing it right now.  Love from ... etc."  And a little picture of a girl with extremely long thick hair bursting with tears.

Well I couldn't leave it like that, could I?  To make it a true representation, I did this and let her discover it for herself.  It seemed that nothing was noticed until ...

...her usual game of Hangman now had a new punishment for not guessing the target word in the appropriate number of guesses:

The player who doesn't guess the word in time gets their head shaved.  Cool!