Slim Dubrow and his brother, Pickens, lean next to their battered pick-up truck adjacent to a nameless Kansas field. They have a tale to tell. The brothers were digging a well on their farmland when, suddenly, all the equipment, as well as the two brothers, were sucked into a sinkhole. They plunged down hundreds of feet.

Slim shakes his head. “We didn’t know what happened. When we came to, we were in this underground world, with a city that seemed like it never ended. There were suburbs all over the place. Like ‘Leave It To Beaver’ suburbs. And the cavern walls all glowed like a big light bulb. They were magic!”

Adds Pickens, sagging. “They were phosphorescent, Slim.”

Continues Slim, “We saw a big crowd of citizens heading for us at a gallop! They were all kids! They yelled ‘Are you our daddies?’ I shook my head ‘no.’ ‘Can we have hugs?’ one little girl asked. ‘Sure!’ I replied. They just climbed all over us, hugging us, kissing us.”

“It was like big ugly cats were climbing over us,” Pickens says. “These mewing little snot-noses would not let go.”

“He doesn’t like kids,” Slim confides. “Anyhow, all the kids got their hugs. It was then I noticed they were dressed like 1950s kids. I guess they ranged from two to ten years old but they were all dressed like they came from the fifties. Outdoor big screens played 1950s kid shows, filled with commercials encouraging kids to chow down.”


Pickens jumps in. “The little mopes were always shoving food down their mouths. Breakfast crap. And friggin’ beans! Beans! What is that? Their power supply? I wanted to leave but Slim, or should I say, ‘Great White Hunter,’ wanted to explore.”

Slim grins. “We met their leader, seven-year-old King ‘Stinky,’ an obese boy with a welcoming attitude. He ordered the National Anthem played. It was the theme song to ‘The Little Rascals.’ I burst into tears. The kids all hugged me and we swayed, side-by-side.”

“I upchucked,” injects Pickens.

“In the middle of all this, a blazing white light zapped down and illuminated this really retro crystal statue. The children grew silent. King Stinky walked up. ‘The Old Ones want to meet you.’ I shrugged. Whatever. And we were led to a magical door. It swung open. We walked into a dark chamber. The door closed behind us. Another door opened and we were in a gigantic 1950s rec room, phony wood wall paneling, big Victrola, the works.

“Close to fifty 1950s people lounged in there. I guess they ranged in age from 18 to70. They had bongo music playing. A few of them did the twist.”

“They were assholes,” adds Pickens.


The Old One’s leader, Biff, revealed that they were not the original Old Ones. The originals were albino high priests and priestesses who first moved underground after the great flood. They were from the ancient land Sumar in Mesopotamia. In the 1950s, they found that more and more babies in the above-world were being abandoned or put in orphanages.

They discovered that their entire population was sterile. To keep the underground kingdom thriving, they began to “rescue” children from above. These new “Old Ones” were the grown-up kids who decided to stick around once they turned 18. They keep the underground lair going. “We teach them and mentor them through a combination of science and magic,” said Biff. They were looking for more folks to help them out.


“I began to be a little scairt, then,” says Slim, “so we excused ourselves and went back into the grotto with the kids. King Stinky walked up, adjusting his beanie crown. ‘I deqwee that these fewwos be, fwum henceforth, be known as our daddies.’”

“No way, Jose,” Pickens says he uttered. “And my big, brave brother, here, started bawling!”

“Those kids were wonderful,” Slim sniffs. He wipes his eyes. “I asked Stinky if I could come back, later. Now, wasn’t the best time to make a decision.”

He says Stinky considered that and agreed. “But you have to pwomise that you will nevah tell anybody about us. If you do? We’ll come faw you.”

The two brothers sit silent.

Pickens turns to his brother. “You know you just friggin’ broke our promise, right?”

Slim doesn’t seem too upset. “I got caught up in the heat of the moment.”

It’s then that this WEEKLY WORLD NEWS reporter notices a tide of children heading our way on bicycles. Slim stays put. Pickens dives into the truck and peels out. This WWN scribe sprints for his car when half of the bicycling children dismount in front of Slim yelling “Daddy!” They exchange hugs and kisses forever.

The other half of the cyclist kids speed up after Pickens, singing “Gooble gobble, gooble gobble, we accept him, one of us.”

The official WWN car got away from there as quickly as possible, avoiding all roads and heading towards a nearby highway by tearing through five miles of corn fields.

(Note to editor: Am I allowed to submit my car repair bills to you? Also: can you use 300 ears of corn?)

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