Mum had had enough.
‘I’ve had enough,’ said Mum. ‘Dad is going to have to go.’
Dad was sad.
‘Why do I have to go?’
‘Because,’ said Mum, ‘you are a fucking liability.’
‘Just like me,’ thought Floppy. ‘I am not just ANY fucking liability, mind. I am the ORIGINAL fucking liability.’
‘I am not a fucking liability,’ said Dad. ‘I am an excellent husband.’
‘Excellent husband?’ shouted Mum. ‘EXCELLENT HUSBAND?’ In the last 24 hours you have fallen down a manhole, released a herd of cattle onto the M1, pogo-sticked into the neighbours’ garden pond and set your own foot on fire. You are not an excellent husband. You are a fucking moron.’
The children went upstairs. ‘What is going to happen?’ asked Kipper. ‘Why are Mum and Dad arguing.’
‘Because Dad is a fucking moron,’ sighed Biff.
‘Are they going to get divorced?’ asked Kipper.
‘I expect so,’ said Chip. ‘I wouldn’t stay married to Dad if I was Mum.’
‘No,’ mused Kipper. ‘I wouldn’t either.’
‘Who will we live with?’ asked Biff.
‘The one who social services say is the best parent,’ said Chip.
The children looked at each other. ‘We’re screwed,’ said Kipper.
The next day Mum and Dad sat down with the children. Mum said that her and Dad were having an argument. ‘We are going to live in separate houses for a bit. But we still love you all very much.’
‘No you don’t,’ said Chip. ‘We have an attendance level of 34% and we spent half of last week outside of our own solar system fighting alien pirates. You don’t deserve to have children.’
‘Who are we going to live with?’ asked Biff.
‘Mum,’ said Dad, just as Mum said ‘Dad.’ There was an awkward silence.
‘Let’s go and see Gran,’ said Chip.
Gran was at bingo. She was drinking lots and lots of water. The water came in a bottle called VODKA.
‘Hello Gran,’ said the children.
‘Hello children,’ said Gran.
‘Mum and Dad are getting divorced,’ said Biff.
‘About bloody time,’ said Gran. ‘I never did like that man. Not since he spiked my drink that Christmas with ketamine, tied me up with a piece of tinsel and whipped me with his slipper.’
Everyone was very quiet for a moment.
‘Can we come and live with you, Gran?’ asked Kipper.
‘Not bloody likely,’ said Gran. ‘I’m running a bar in my living room, a pole dancing club in my kitchen and a brothel in my basement. I don’t want you lot ruining my fun.’
The next day the children went to school. At the end of the day Mum was waiting for them at the school gate. She was holding Kipper’s hand. Kipper looked suicidal.
‘Hello children,’ said Mum.
‘Hello children,’ said the creepy caretaker.
‘What are you doing with my Mum?’ asked Biff.
‘I’m going to be your new daddy,’ said the creepy caretaker. ‘I have some puppies in my car. Would you like to see them?’
‘I’m calling Childline,’ said Chip.
‘I’m calling Ofsted,’ said Biff.
‘Oh no,’ said Kipper.