“Mum, mum, may I have alphabet soup?”

“Of course.”

“And nuggets?” asked the boy as he plonked himself onto the sofa and grabbed the remote.

“Sure.”

Minutes later, she served the bowl of steaming soup.

Her boy frowned at the floating letters. “Sss… peh…”

She smirked. “It says ‘spoiled’, dear.”

Joey tries to write a little and is capable of making his own soup. You can find him and abuse him at joeytoey.com.