"You'd better have a good explanation for those spinning heads, young man, or there's going to be trouble!"
    "Uh, what spinning heads, Ma?"  The boy looked warily at his mother, as if trying to assess how much she knew.
    "Don't play dumb with me, Damien!" she scolded. "I know all about your tricks.  Ms. Dinkle called me this afternoon and told me.  She said you just sat there laughing while all the other children's heads spun around and spit pea soup.  Now, what do you have to say for yourself?"
    "Aw, I didn't do anything," pouted Damien. "Ol' Dinkle just has it in for me."  There was only the hint of a smirk at the corners of his mouth.
    "Well, I believe Ms. Dinkle," said Ma. "Laughing at others' discomfort is very rude.  There will be no ice cream for you for a week, young man!"
    "No ice cream?" sputtered Damien. "SHE SHALL BE CONSUMED BY THE FLAME!"
    "Oh, my, Albert!  I believe our little boy's voice is changing!"
    Albert was in the den reading the newspaper with one eye and watching TV with the other. 
    "Hmph," he muttered. "Hey, look at the TV, Marge!  Looks like Ms. Dinkle just spontaneously combusted.  Well, whattaya know."
    "Oh, dear!" Marge looked pointedly at her son. "Damien!  You're going to have a substitute tomorrow!  I don't want you giving her any trouble!"
    "Serves 'er right for giving homework on Fridays," growled Damien.
    "That's another thing, Damien," chided Marge. "That growling stuff has got to stop.  You need to speak up and enunciate!"
    "I GROWL THAT THE MOUNTAINS OF THE EARTH MAY TREMBLE!"
    A tremor rattled the windows of the house.
    "That's much better," said Marge. "Albert, Damien's voice really is changing!"
    "Hmph."
    "Can I go now, Ma?"
    "Not so fast, young man!" barked Marge. "There's still the matter of those friends of yours!"
    "What friends?" asked Damien innocently.
    "Those four guys who ride around on horses, that's who!  They've completely ruined my flower beds!  Just who are those guys, anyway?"
    "Oh, Ma, they're just some guys I know," said Damien placatingly. "They're ok."
    "Well, they're odd, if you ask me.  Horses, for goodness sakes!  And the funny things they carry around - swords and bows and crowns and scales.  What's that all about?" Marge huffed. "The guy with the scythe really gives me the willies."
    "Oh, that's just Big D," said Damien. "Don't mind him."
    "Big D?  What kind of name is that?  Are you in a gang?  Or is it a rap band?"
    "No, no, nothing like that," said Damien. "We just call each other by initials.  That's all.  Big D is Big D, and I'm Little D.  See?  Then there's P, and F, and ..."
    "So what are their real names?" Marge cut in. "Like, what does 'F' stand for?"
    "Famine, if you must know," said Damien.
    "Watch your tone with me!" warned Marge. "Fa-min?  That sounds like an Arab terrorist name.  I don't want you hanging around with terrorists!"
    "Listen to your mother," droned Albert from the den. "Say, says here in the paper that the entire wheat and corn crops in the Midwest were destroyed by hail.  Imagine that."
    "What about the P guy?" Marge continued.
    "That's Pestilence," said Damien.
    "Funny name for a kid," said Marge. "Must get beat up a lot."
    "Not really," said Damien.
    "Wow!  Look at the number of people who died from AIDS last month!" called Albert. "How interesting."
    "And the one with the sword?" asked Marge. "I don't think young people should be carrying swords!"
    "Oh, that's War," said Damien. "We just call him W.  And these guys aren't exactly young."
    "So much the worse!" Marge was outraged. "Adults taking advantage of an impressionable child!"
    "Would you look at this?" said Albert. "War has just broken out between Oklahoma and Texas.  Will wonders never cease?"
    "Yes, actually," said Damien. "Ma, can I get on the computer now?"
    "Not by a long shot!" said Marge. "Principal Perkins said you cut class today to play with those guys with the horses.  You're grounded for three days!  No TV and no computer!"
    "HE SHALL BE SWEPT AWAY BY THE TEMPEST!" roared Damien.
    "Hey, Marge," called Albert from the den. "I believe I just saw Mr. Perkins sail by the window."
    "Ma, you're not being fair!" whined Damien. "Johnny got into trouble at school today for talking in class and throwing spitballs.  What about him?"
    "Johnny!" called Marge. "Your brother says you were talking in class and throwing spitballs.  Is that true?"
    Enter Johnny.  "Um, well, no.  That is, not exactly.  Er, maybe..."
    "Johnny, you're grounded for five days," ruled Marge. "And no ice cream for you, either!"
    "Oh, Ma!" protested Johnny. "Damien did worse stuff than I did.  How come I get grounded longer than him?"
    "Because you didn't give me a straight answer!" said Marge. "I'd think you kids would know by now that you can't put anything over on Ma!"