The children 'round these parts are on strike. They have decried the necessity of school and poutily proclaimed that they wish they were "ZERO YEARS OLD SO I DON'T HAFTA GO TO SCHOOL!"
Of course, this proclamation is not rooted in any real injustice, but in their desire to stay up late tonight, the last day of the weekend, the last time they can watch the Disney Channel til Friday.
So, they have blown up an air mattress in the living room. They are currently watching The Emperor's New School. They just bid me good night (sister is already knocked out, having laughed herself to sleep thinking about how they're going to be wailing in the morning). I am saying nothing.
But in the interests of being good capitalist management, thoroughly unsympathetic to their plight and intent on punishing them for daring to protest, I'm going to wake them up ten minutes earlier than usual in the morning. And I'm going to do it by singing the "Wake Up, Mr. Sleepyhead" song. And I'm going to be chipper and talk loud and say "Hurry, hurry, hurry!!"
I figure there's no time like the present to teach them the nature of class hierarchy and conflict.