You enter the living room and find your toddler, Sam, playing with his plastic building blocks; you decide to join him.
Sam has made a set of near-vertical towers. The bases are unsteady and each block is more uneven than the last. It’s a miracle the things are still standing. A foot or so away, one of Sam’s toy dinosaurs lies on its back.
“What’s that?” you ask, pointing at the towers.
“Thas sum skorskerp, dada,” Sam replies. You assume he means “skyscrapers.”
“Uh-huh. And what’s the T-rex doing over here?” you ask of the dinosaur.
“It da monser, dada,” Sam explains, grabbing hold of the dinosaur. He holds it by the neck and tips it side to side to simulate a walk while he edges it slowly toward the crude buildings. “Monser gon in da see an he an he come an an he come and peopers oooooh noooo an he come buh no the peoper and rawww.”
Sam smashes the dinosaur toy into the towers, sending their loose block components sliding across the tile floor.
“An tha wha happen dada.”
“Sam,” you say with a sigh, “I told you I’m tired of your crazy 9/11 conspiracy theories. Your mom’s going to hear about this.”
“Nooooo!” screams Sam. He crosses his arms and sticks out his tongue at you. “Baaa sheep dada baaa.
“...and I’m not paying for your website hosting anymore either. Doo-doo can’t melt steel beams? Honestly, son. Grow up.”