Humbert Humbert VS. Spunky Brewster

Oh, Humbert Humbert, you charming wordsmith and admirer of all things nymphet.  I was so mesmerized by your creepy tale of lust and loss that I almost hate to do this to you.  But I’m going to anyway.  You’ve been challenged to a duel, to the death, by twelve-year old ingénue Spunky Brewster. 

I don’t exactly get what you see in average-in-every-way Delores, although your little nicknames for her are pretty cute.  Especially “Lola”.  But when the middle-aged hairy guy living over Spunky Brewster’s garage started calling her “Spo-Spo”, she kicked him in the balls.  You married Lola’s mother just to get closer to her.   That’s commitment right there, self-sacrifice at its finest.  When Spunky’s new middle-aged hairy step-dad asked her to squirm around on his lap, she bitch slapped him so hard that in order to explain the condition of his face, he told everyone he got in a bar fight.  And they believed him.  You fed your beloved pre-tween sleeping pills to spare her the mental anguish that might be accompanied by you, you know, having to ask if would be okay if you, you know, expressed your love in a way she might find too, you know, “grown-up”, or “gross”, or “psychologically damaging”.   Spunky’s new dad slipped a roofie in her Dr. Pepper, and when she woke up, she straight up cut off his manhood with his own rusty chain saw.    

Spunky Brewster:  3     Humbert Humbert:  have fun in hell

Game Over