Mitchell's Playpen Pandemonium

Zander, Mitchell's caretaker, watched with a mixture of resignation and fascination as the preschool workbook was snatched away. Mitchell's tiny body moved with the determination of a tiny dictator.

"Playpen," Zander declared.

Mitchell waddled, shirt riding up, Pampers already whispering tales of impending chaos. The playpen became his new battlefield. His stuffed animals—innocent bystanders to his digestive performance—watched in silent anticipation.

"Go ahead," Zander instructed.

Mitchell's face scrunched with pure toddler concentration. He gripped the playpen bars. A thunderous fart erupted—loud enough to make the stuffed animals tremble.

Squatting. Concentrating. Pooping.

The Pampers expanded, telling a story of pure, unfiltered infant audacity. Mitchell settled in, surrounded by his plush companions.

Six hours of playpen domination began. Every 20 minutes, a new fart. A new declaration of toddler power. His stuffed animals bore witness to his reign of chaos.

Mitchell: Playpen Chaos Incarnate.