His name is George.
Tewt the Newt is happy.
And, by the way? Dead. Tewt the Newt has been dead for many, many years. It was sad, really.
I don’t even know if George remembers Tewt the Newt, but we spent a hilarious Sunday afternoon in my parents’ basement making up ridiculous stories about my little brother’s newt, who he (my brother) had named Tewt.
“Toot?” my family asked when he first decided on the name for the little lizard-like thing.
“No, Tewt,” he said. I think he was maybe seven at the time. I don’t remember exactly.
So Tewt escaped his moist little tank home one night, and when my mother or brother (or whoever) finally found him, he was rather dried out. But not completely. So amphibian jerky Tewt was placed back in his moist little tank home and he rehydrated. Maybe they should have added Gatorade to his water, though. Because his little newt toes? Didn’t make it. He was a toeless newt for the remainder of his days.
I don’t remember how many days he remained. I think he might have escaped more than once, though probably not after he lost his toes.
Anyway, George and I did not make up ridiculous stories about newt jerky and toeless, lizard-like amphibians. That would have been cruel and insensitive. No, we made up stories about Tewt the Newt in his zoot suit starring in the much admired but little acclaimed daytime drama, Doctors In Covenants (which will only make sense to Mormons who have experienced what I like to call Open Mic Sunday) while eating copious amounts of Oreos (but first, for whatever reason, we called out “Oreo!” like somebody on a daytime drama set might call out “makeup!”) (honestly, we’d just come from church and we don’t even use wine in our sacrament) (we were young and goofy, and oh how fun the young and goofy days were, no?).
And that, my faithful followers and friends, is the story of George and Tewt.