Zapadeedumdum Shoobaloo

This is the story of a boy.

Most sentences that begin with ‘This is the story of a boy’ go on with a ‘who’, followed by further elaboration of how he is a boy worth reading about. For example:

This is the story of a boy who has a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead given to him by an evil wizard whose very name people fear to speak.

Or:

This is the story of a boy who hides away from bullies in the attic of his school, and finds himself in a fantastical quest to save the Childlike Empress with the aid of a very fucking huge dog. It is well worth noting that this dog can fly. And speak. In the language of yobs, this dog can be aptly described as ‘full of schizer’.

Well, this is the story of a boy. If indeed an elaboration is in order, then you might want to wait awhile. There are stories here that need time to come to you, like a very shy little girl tentatively approaching what seems to be her grandmother, but with larger eyes, ears and teeth. The tale of this boy needs to be coaxed out, to be told that it’s healthy to share itself for the consumption of any number of greedily inquiring minds and eyes.

Maybe it’s alright to reveal his name. It would be a good start. After all, stories are just choppy courts for a name to preside over some complicated dealings with existentialism.

The boy’s name is Zapadeedumdum Shoobaloo.