Mr and Mrs Twit are really disgusting. They smell because they never wash, they fight because they play tricks on each other, AND they hate children. But worst of all, they keep monkeys in their back garden. In cages. It's time for the monkeys to get their revenge on these two most revolting creatures…
The Twits 19 csillagozás
Eredeti megjelenés éve: 1980
Tagok ajánlása: Hány éves kortól ajánlod?
Nagyon morbid, de én jól szórakoztam rajta. :D Mondjuk kíváncsi lennék van-e bármilyen korosztályi besorolása, mert szerintem kicsi gyerekeknek nem való, de nyolc éves kortól felfelé már nem okozhat álmatlan éjszakákat. Meg különben is, létezik ennél durvább Grimm mese…
This book is gross. Yucky. Horrible. I'm not sure if it gives the right idea – I hope my little one will never put worms in my spaghetti – but it's entertaining like mad :D
What was surprising, I read it to my 5-yr-old and she completely understood it, although it's written in a nicely complicated way. Thanks, RD!
Have you ever seen a woman with an uglier face than that? I doubt it.
But the funny thing is that Mrs Twit wasn't born ugly. She's had quite a nice face when she was young. The ugliness had grown upon her year by year as she got older.
Why would that happen? I'll tell you why.
If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until it gets so ugly you can hardly bear to look at it.
A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.
In her right hand she carried a walking-stick. She used to tell people that this was because she had warts growing on the sole of her left foot and walking was painful. But the real reason she carried a stick was so that she could hit things with it, things like dogs and cats and small children.
If you looked closer still (hold your noses, ladies and gentlemen), if you peered deep into the moustachy bristles sticking out over his upper lip, you would probably see much larger objects that had escaped the wipe of his hand, things that had been there for months and months, like a piece of maggoty green cheese or a mouldy old cornflake or even the slimy tail of a tinned sardine.
Because of all this, Mr Twit never went really hungry. By sticking out his tongue and curling it sideways to explore the hairy jungle around his mouth, he was always able to find a tasty morsel here and there to nibble on.
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