Lazarus and Bobby Jo

 

They had met in a head-on crash. Terry and Bobbi Jo had both been jettisoned through the front windshields of their respective cars, smashed into one another in midair and died face to face on the rough wet pavement. 

Rather than die alone, they had reached out to one another. Their cooling hands intertwined, forever bonded on that lonely country road.

Terry and Bobbi Jo had both been speeding: Blame it on youth.

Terry and Bobbi Jo had both been texting: Blame it on technology. 

Terry and Bobbi Jo had both been sipping beers: Blame it on the alcohol.

Both had been scanning their radio dials: Blame it on rock ‘n roll. 

The roads were dark and slick: Blame it on the rainy night. 

The head on crash: Blame it on love.

 

There was a ballet in midair when their bodies collided, mangled and tangled. They’d almost reached their goal, the perfect melding of bodies and souls that the two teens had been working toward. They were splayed out only a few yards north of the wreckage, among a field of glass and burning debris. 

“We just have to stop running into each other this way,” said Terry, who was always the class clown.

“Hey, Terry, listen.”

“Sirens. Grab my hand, Bobbi Jo. The response time is much quicker today. I have to admit, I called in the crash ten minutes ago on my way over to Highway 95 and Cedar Lane.”

“Fucking with their heads. That sounds like you, Terry. Do you think that anyone will catch on to our routine?”

“Before the light fades from your beautiful eyes, Bobby Jo, I want to give you new flowers.”

Terry’s last act was to hand Bobby Jo the bloody bouquet.

“Awwww, thanks Terry.” Blood spilled from her lips onto the pavement as she mimed a kiss. (cough, cough) “You brought me white roses this time. They’re beautiful. I’ll …I’ll see you at the funeral. I hope that they can bury us closer this time.”

________________________

 

“Poor thing. The flowers are still in her hand. Love at last sight,” said Don, the older of the two Highway Patrol officers, walking around the wreckage in the rain. “The girl’s car engine is still running. There’s still smoke from the burning rubber. This just happened. About a minute ago.”

“I’m so tired of this spot,” said his young partner Christine. “Are they ever going to put some lights out here?” 

Don shook his head. “Oh. No. Another one. I feel like God is a seven-year-old boy who can only get off by watching shit blow up.” 

This is so wrong,” she said. “Someone called this accident in over ten minutes ago. The boy must have been bent on suicide.” 

“This kid was hell bent on killing himself and someone else as well. There must be a registration in here.” Don said as he searched though the glove box.

“Maybe it was her idea,” said Christine. “They both had to be going over a hundred to do this.”

“I hate this Damned Dog Park Road,” said Don. “In less than five years we’ve had half-a-dozen bad accidents at this intersection. Each time, bodies were launched through windshields.”

 

“Her name is, was named Barbara Jo Murray. Poor thing,” said the young patrolwoman as she held the girl’s wallet taken from the spilled purse. “Those flowers. She must have been coming home from a date. What is it about the name Bobby Jo that bothers me, Don? Do you remember, a few months ago, when some creep was stealing flowers from the graves at Acadian? I was there when they found the pile of vases and stems on a grave of another Barbara Jo — Barbara Jo Massey.”

“At least a few of the young female victims on this road were named Barbara, Bobby or Bobby Jo. Our boy was Terrence Lazarus, age 18,” said the patrolman holding the boy’s registration. 

“Lazarus?” said Christine.

Don studied the wet registration card.

“What? What are you thinking?”

He looked up at Christine through the rain. “Jesus told Mary of Bethany, ‘Your brother, Lazarus will rise again.’”

“Enough! You’re scaring me Don. This is one time that I hope you are full of shit.”

__________________

“I wish they’d scoop us up and get us out of here already,” said Bobby Jo.

“Maybe next time we can get really mixed up,” said Terry.

“Mixed up? You’re talking about more than just holding hands.”

“Yeah, totally splattered. A Terry and Bobby Jo smoothy.”

Bobby Jo laughed. “They won’t know what belongs to who!”

“We’ll be totally together, babe! A tragic teenage romance!”

She loved how Terry always made her laugh. 

“They’ll have to hose down the street.”

“Wipe off lamp posts for a mile,” she said. “Oh, Terry! That was sooo hot.” 

“Just wait. I’ll get us faster cars, next time.”

_____________________________

Posted in 1960sFantasy, blood, Comedy, funny, Love, music, Rock n' Roll, Romance, Sex, Teen | Leave a comment

No Noose is Good Noose from Fred Barnett’s “Second Chances”

No Noose is Good Noosecartoon castle demon102

The Everyday Adventures of Ether Gray and his sister, Anesthesia

Two dull grey smudges appeared on the horizon – with a happy dog in tow.
The smudges and their spotted companion approached the blossoming rural town of Cowsill.
When six-year-old Ether Gray and his four-year-old sister, Anesthesia, took their little brown and white dog, Femur (Woof! Woof!), for his morning walks down tree-lined Sunny Lane, the street was normally empty.
The two Grays were not welcome in town.
Innocent seven-year-old, red-haired, Theodore “Squiggy” Martin walked along the flowering gardens, toward Ether and Anesthesia. Involved with performing a “cats cradle” on his new Imperial Duncan Yo-Yo he couldn’t avoid them in time.
Squiggy, though shaking, forced a smile. “Hi, Ether! Hi, Anesthesia! Are you going to the Big Fair tonight? They got bumper cars and a giant slide!” said the good-natured young boy, dressed in blue overalls.
“Yes. That may prove diverting. Don’t you agree, Ether?” said the drab four-year-old Anesthesia, who was looking up at her equally drab older brother.
Ether approached the red-headed young boy. “Pay close attention, Squiggy. Do you know where the bumper car ride came from?”
“N-n-n-no, Ether.” said the apprehensive boy. He felt trapped.
“The bumper car ride was invented in 1917 by Victor Levand, an inventor who was employed by General Electric or, by two siblings, Max and Harold Stoehrer, who called their company ‘Dodgem.’ They started their version of the flat amusement park ride in Massachusetts in the year of 1919. Electrical contacts established on the ….”
Within twenty minutes, Squiggy was falling asleep on the sidewalk. Even with the crows pecking at his eyes, Squiggy played dead.
That was okie dokie with “Squiggy” Martin.
He’d heard, many times, (He’d been warned!) that Death was always preferable to one of the Gray children’s droning monologues.
Saying “Hi” to the Gray children was a very serious mistake; a lesson that he should have learned from the “stories.”
“If only … if only…” thought Squiggy.
A great light came on in the boy’s head. Squiggy understood that he was too stupid to live. So, he let the crows keep pecking at his smiling face until he was dead.
Esther and Anesthesia’s only joy in life was chocolate. They scattered the crows and searched through Squiggy’s overalls. Sadly, they came up empty.
No chocolate.
Ethan kicked the red haired boy with his new pair of Buster Browns and verbally classified the kid as “a waste of space!” He stopped kicking when saw his sister had shed a tear — out of hunger.
Uh-oh. Big brother Ether needed to look elsewhere to satisfy his little sister’s sweet tooth.
“E-E-E-Ether? Maybe we could trade the Yo-Yo for chocolate later on”,” whimpered poor Anesthesia.
“Of course, my darling sister!” Ether wrenched the Yo-Yo out of Squiggy’s cold, dead hand and the two moppets headed down the street toward Wingnut’s Drugstore and Soda Fountain.
Wise old Alvin Wingnut hid behind the counter when he saw the children out on the sidewalk, approaching his store. The two colorless tykes and their friendly dog, Femur (Woof! Woof!) waited patiently as the Gray children wanted to negotiate a trade with Alvin; a Yo-Yo for some chocolate snacks. They had a very special speech prepared for the cranky old skinflint.
Tap. Tap. Tap. No Alvin.
Ether and Anesthesia began talking about real estate and Madonna to each other, instead. Alvin, though suffering severe arthritic pain, crouched quietly until he could no longer hold his bladder nor stand their chatter.
Escape. The old druggist began his painful lurch from behind the counter. He would make a dash toward the outhouse, which had never looked so exquisite and inviting. Freedom, relief and a meager, but peaceful future waited beyond the back door. As he moved beyond the cash register, the druggist discovered that the two boring tykes had put each other and their doggy into a deep sleep on aisle two.
This was no time to take any risks. He had been lucky enough to escape Stalag 13 during the war. Maybe the lord was still watching over him.
The Gray children awoke to the festive sounds of local kids laughing and stealing all the cookies and candy off of Wingnut’s counter. From across the street, Old Alvin watched — as the well-bred children of Cowsill ransacked his life.
“Fine.”
Blindness, theft, and even a pauper’s death were preferable to listening to those two lifeless whippersnappers who were still inside his store.
The Gray’s classmates had run out of the store with their booty in a hurry, making believe that they didn’t hear Ether and Anesthesia calling their names.
It was dark when Ether and his little sister had left Wingnut’s. Bags full of “free” chocolaty snacks were stacked up in the little red wagon that the two tykes had borrowed.

The Gray kids and their trusty pooch (Woof! Arf!) headed off for the Fair.
“Observe, Anesthesia! It’s Goofy Moofy!”
Moofy whined to himself as he lay in the gutter.
“I’ve got ‘man tits.’ My suckling babies are coughing up hairballs! Whaaaaa!” cried Goofy. Moofy was Cowsill’s official town drunk.
Anesthesia was puzzled. She looked up to Ether and asked, “What are ‘man tits,’ big brother?”
Ether began to roll on the subject. “Well, my little sister … Wait! … Sit, Femur! Sit! ‘Woof! Woof!’ Good boy! … Okay, Anesthesia. Man tits. What Goofy Moofy means is … that he is in possession of rather capacious breasts for a male of the human species.”
“Oh! You mean hooters!”
“Uh — ‘that’s what our father calls them, Anesthesia. A sophisticated person would refer to the mammary glands, respectfully, as breasts. Breastfeeding provides nutrition for baby mammals….”
“What are you yapping on about? Please! Stop!” said Goofy Moofy.
“Listen, Mr. Moofy, and you will learn! A mammal is a warm-blooded animal, associated with the class Mammalia. Mammals possess a vertebrate, hair, or fur, and bear live young who are nourished by the secretion of milk by the females of the species by way of special glands, or as my Yale Medical professor calls them … ‘a nice rack.’”
Luckily for Goofy Moofy, he was piss-drunk and had already passed out.
Another lucky soul saved from tedium by excess alcohol.
Femur, after licking up the booze in the puddle next to Moofy, was trying to bark “Woofth! Woofth!” (which means: “Hey, I love you, Dog.”).
The little terrier could not walk any farther. Femur needed to be put into the wagon with the bags of Wingnut’s candy.
The trio soon entered the Fairgrounds.
* * * *
Marcus, the 16-year-old carny, had never met Ether and Anesthesia. However, he knew that they were too young to ride the Ferris wheel without an adult present. Then, there was the drunk dog (‘Woofth, man.’) in the wagon.
“Sorry, kids. You’re too young.” said the bloated teen (whose greasy long hair and face could have been a promising new site for oil exploration) .
Anesthesia’s turn this time. “Age is relative, Your Unctuousness.” she said. “My brother and I are quite mature for our age. We have both been favored with I.Q.s well beyond the genius range.”
Marcus looked perplexed. “Smart asses”,” he thought. Impatience lit up the bloodshot eyes beneath his filthy baseball cap: “Screw I.Q. I prefer D.Q.!”
“D.Q.?” said the two Browns, who themselves, were perplexed.
“D.Q. — you know — Dairy Queen! ARE YOU KIDS MORONS?!” barked the carny, hard enough to release a pint of crude oil from his fat neck.
“I beg to differ!” said Ether. “My sister and I will soon be entering Harvard Medical School, following our graduation from Yale Law School, next year. My sister Anesthesia already merits a top ten nonfiction book on the New York Times bestseller list. Perhaps you’ve heard of it, Mr. Trailer Trash? The book is titled ‘Gray’s Quantum Barbie!’ It is based on the theories set forth by Einstein’s granddaughter, in which she states, ‘If there were a universe completely devoid of genitalia …’ Sir? Hello-o?”
The young carny had fallen asleep and tumbled into the motor assembly of the Ferris wheel. It spat him out — as a green and red paste.
* * * *
The fair closed at 10 p.m. Ether, Anesthesia and Femur (Woof! Woof!- which meant “Ow! My fuckin’ head!”) were walking along the country road on their way home.
Out of the darkness, a big black sedan pulled in front of them and blocked their path.
A sweaty Frenchman wearing a beret, an earring and a black overcoat hopped out of the car and said, “Bonjour shildren! Do you know where zee Old Mill Road is?”
The coat was buttoned. The Frenchman’s legs were bare except for black shoes, Argyle socks, and garters.
“Enfants! I cannot find zee road on zee map. Do you like chocolat? How about some of zee best chocolat ever?”
Outside of the accent, this fellow had a curious way of speaking. Muffled. Slurred.
“Woof! Woof!” Femur knew the word “chocolate”!
“I have some here in zee back seat of my seenister black automobile! Ju me-pelle, uh, my name eez Chester (he pronounced it “Chesthair”) I’m a very nize guy. You can trust me. Hop in! S’il vous plaît!”
The obedient trio climbed into the back of the Cadillac.
As Anesthesia spoke about economics, the sweaty trench-coated Frenchman began to appear tired: though not out of boredom. Chesthair had been driving the country roads in search of chocolate-loving children since last night’s opening of the Fair.
For the second time that day, the two children were perplexed. Zee Frenchman should have fallen asleep by now. They should have already been on their way home with Chesthair’s chocolate.
The man was still awake and driving deeper into his favorite secluded spot, the dark rock quarry. The perv had not fallen asleep like everyone else to whom Ether and Anesthesia talked.
Chesthair was more than determined.
“Sir! Can we go home?” Anesthesia was beginning to get frightened.
“Sir? Can you hear me?! Chesthair! I cannot speak French! Monsieur! Do you understand English?” screamed Ether into the man’s right ear, which sparkled with a gold loop earring.
(No reaction from zee Frenchman.)
“Oh — my — God, Anesthesia!” said Ether. “I think that he’s deaf!”
Deaf. DEAF!
* * * * *
Sensing the concern of his human friends, Femur began to bark loudly at the unresponsive and dangerous man behind the wheel.
Ether had to think fast. he reached into his pocket and felt for poor dead Squiggy’s Imperial Duncan Yo-Yo equipped with special high-tensile, polyester Slick String. According to the advertisement, the new Duncan Yo-Yo string was “strong enough to use as a garrote.”
Young Ether tied one end of the slick nylon string to the back door handle on his sister’s side of the car. As the road was too narrow for the trench-coated Frenchman to exit the car safely, he would need to back the car up away from the edge of the 100-foot drop off. Then, he might be able exit the shotgun seat and begin his fun.
As the car backed up, Femur “took his cue” and leaped into the front seat, ripping off the man’s right earlobe along with his earring.
Ether kicked one back door open, looped the string around Chesthair’s neck, and, like lightning, wrapped the other end around the opposing door handle. The open door snapped on to a tree as the car jerked back in reverse. The choking Frenchman was losing his control of the pedals. The door, grabbed by the pine tree, pulled the nylon line tight enough to slice the perv’s head off completely.
A guillotine may not have been faster or cleaner.
The jubilant Ether produced a triumphant, “Vive la France!”
Femur followed with a proud, “Woof! Woof! Woof!” (which means, “I deserve to sniff some ‘fine’ French poodle butt!”)
The terrified Anesthesia finally caught her voice and spoke to the man’s head lying by the gas pedal, “Monsieur! The garrote has been a method of silent assassination for centuries since the Spanish Inquisition. It may have originated in Spain, but gained renewed popularity in the 1970s movie classics, Godfather’s One and Two….”
The children rolled Chesthair’s headless carcass down into the fathomless quarry and spent the night sleeping in the car — fat on the day’s bounty of chocolate. Femur rolled the head like a ball until it too tumbled down into the darkness.
Police rescued the trio the next morning after a quarry truck driver spotted the sleeping children and their dog.
Chesthair was found at the bottom of the hundred-foot drop-off.
Femur barked happily inside the police cruiser. Next to him, the monotonous Gray children were driven home with gags tied through their lethal mouths.
All three were later hailed as heroes on the evening news.
Chesthair had been unsuccessfully hunted by police detectives, in five states, for over three years.

Coming soon: The further adventures of Ether and Anesthesia Gray
Their own tortured mother bores them to death, by cooking them tofu in: “A Tisket, a Tasket; a Green and Yellow Casket.”
Second Chances Cover Title

Posted in 1960sFantasy, Children, Comedy, funny, horror, murder, sinners, WEird | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Two Limericks from The Man From Nantucket

The Man From Nantucket
A story by
Fred Barnett
Adapted from The Timeless Children’s Classic
‘The Bountiful Mutiny’
By
Infinity Upton-Downes
The Man From Nantucket for Web-2 copy

“There once was French girl, LaRue,
who’d used her hot tub for Fondue.
All her beaus bought her cheese
Gruyere, Swiss and Bries.
As she dipped them, she wished them Adieu!”

“Agent Bond had a sex change I’ve heard.
“She” ‘jilled off’ ‘til her eyesight was blurred.
Flew her jet ‘round the horn
just to hear some great porn
that would keep her quim shaken, not stirred”

Posted in 1950s, Beach, Comedy, funny, gods, Great American Legends, Invasion, Love, Sex, sinners, Uncategorized, Western Lore | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Yay! Though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow

Yay! Though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow
(an Excerpt from Fred Barnett’s ‘Bats’)

Riding in the 1970 Dodge Challenger are Vlad and Elizabeth (bloodsuckers), young Jonathan and Mina (up & coming bloodsuckers) and everyone’s favorite aunty, Lupta Axe, the Witch.

Elizabeth paid the fee and they parked. The crew of five piled out of her Barracuda and walked toward the VSD picnic area. Vlad knelt down on the newly dead grass. “This is the very spot where I found that stone that Elizabeth is wearing now.”
Mina looked at Elizabeth’s black diamond pendant wide-eyed. “Right here? Do you have any idea what that stone is worth? We could buy back the entire …” Mina stopped and stared.
A tall black robed figure approached them from the woods. Vlad thought Ah, yes, just what the world needs another freakin’ gothy black-robed figure. It was ‘the one and only Shadow,’ as in ‘The Shadow of the Valley of Death.’
The group froze before the Shadow’s frightening specter.
The Shadow turned slowly and spoke to Elizabeth. “What’s up, bitch?”
“Bitch? I was telling my family here just what a miserable little…” The Countess paused. “Listen flushabye, we came here to tell you that a group of the Van Helsing’s mercenaries are on their way to cut down all of your precious trees.”
“No way. Why would you warn me? After you called me, like, a ‘bit of a dick.”
“I’m shocked!” said Mina. “You called Shadow of Death a dick? No way!”
“Whatever! And my last name is O’Death.” said Shadow. “You can like, eat my shorts, skank!”
“Ewww. Not Even,” said Mina.
“I see that you are familiar with the language of the Valley, lithesome one?” asked the robed dick.
“Stop that.Everyone!” demanded Elizabeth. “The Van Helsing’s soldiers will be here in a few minutes. We need to surprise them.”
Vlad stepped forward. “We will hide, but in plain sight. Mr. O’Death would you be so kind to fetch some black robes, and, maybe some cups and plates. Let’s make it look like a family picnic.”
“All right, I’ll go check out my extensive wardrobe.” said Shadow. “It will cost you!”
“He is a dick, isn’t he? ” said Jonathan. He turned to Shadow who was gliding back toward his cabin in the trees “We’re here to save your valley, you ungrateful dead pric…!” Jonathan stopped speaking when he saw that the ground was completely covered in huge black gleaming diamonds. “Unholy fute! Wow!”
Shadow soon glided back toward the picnic area with a pile of neatly folded and monogrammed robes. “These belong to my family. The ‘M’ is for Marchand O’Death. He is my brother. We call him the Merchant, Angel, my sister and my parents, Void O’Death and my mom, Abyss or Abbie. I keep clean robes here for when they visit. Put them on, and sit at the table. I also brought along a bottle of O- plasma.” Shadow set a picnic basket down on the bench. “Have a drink.”
(Two minutes later …)
“Here come the mercenaries.” said Lupta. “Just keep talking. Anti-Christ! What in the heaven are they wearing?”
The Mercenaries, were dressed in pastel colored jumpsuits, heavily armed and equipped with chainsaws. They approached the picnic bench.
Vlad’s group carried on as if the mercenaries were not even there.
As if.
“Dude,” Shadow said to Jonathan.“Your babe is totally hot.”
 “Tre. As if! As if you’ll ever get to score any, looooooser.” said Jonathan, pretending to answer his cell phone.
 “Whoa! Who’s being a pulă (dick) now?” said Shadow, pretending to dial his.
The apparent leader of the mercenaries, dressed in avocado green, rapped his knuckles on the table. “I am Arsch Hut (Ass Hat)!” he said. “We are Die Kleinen Pferde (The Little Horsies) and we are taking control of this valley. Let me introduce a few of my colleagues. This is Tasse Kuchen (Cup Cake), and Numnum Knödel (Numnum Dumpling) among a few of my other favorites.
The colorfully dressed Horsies loomed over the picnic table, above the black figures who continued chatting, drinking plasma from Dixie Cups and ignoring them.
“Who isssss in charge here?” demanded Arsch Hut (Ass Hat).
“I’m the big Kahuna around here,” said Shadow. “I like the outfits. Cute. Festive!”
“You really like them?” asked Silber Tanga (Silver Thong). “We did the rhinestones ourselves,”
“We’re also part of a men’s chorus called the Van Hell Singers,” added the multi-colored Regenbogen Zuhälter (Rainbow Pimp).
Pastie Funkeln (Pastie Sparkle) curtsied then pulled the rope on his blue chainsaw (the one that matched his eyes and outfit). He stomped on the ground when he was unable to start it.
“Gnarly Chainsaws.” said Shadow. “What are you guys planning to do?”
“Cut down all of your trees.”
“For skateboards?”
“No silly,” said Numnum Knödel. “Parking spots for the new amusement park.”
Jonathan began talking to Mina. “Janis says that she is dating Steve!” He stuck his index finger into his throat making believe he was going to, like, hurl.
“Like oh my god. For real? That’s sick!” said Elizabeth “I’d better let Ashley hear this.” She dialed her phone.
“Steve? The poser?” said Vlad, opening his phone. “He deals ecstacy.”
“Not even!.” said Lupta.
 “Even!” said Mina, who was also making believe that she was talking to her best friend Courtney.
“Not even!” said Jonathan, said Jonathan into his phone.
 “Even!”said Shadow, who was texting.
“Achtung! Excuse me!” said, Arsch Hut, the Horsie’s commander. He was becoming very angry.
Vlad was sexting Elizabeth a picture of his looooong tongue, while speaking to Mina . “I would like totally hang up on the dude. He’s no Baldwin,”
They all heard a far away rumbling was heard. Lupta Axe perked her ears up. No! It can’t be! After months away, her twenty-foot-tall wayward husband, Saturn, was stomping his way home through the forest, whistling while he whittled a load of sharpened branches, most of which he carried on his huge shoulder.
The group needed to keep talking and killing time. Vlad, the big-shot warrior, was trying to think of a plan when Elizabeth had just sexted him back a nude portrait she had posed for in the 17th century.
“Well, I’m seeing Susan Anderson now,” bragged Shadow.
“Ewwwwww. Total slutbag.” said Jonathan.
“No way.”said Shadow.
Arsch banged on the table. Elizabeth looked up calmly. “Have a seat. Take a chill pill.”
“Fick you, and your ugly Challenger,” replied the very rude and impatient Horsie commander.
“Elizabeth! Dudette!” said Lupta while looking toward the edge of the park. “These douches totally egged your wheels in the parking lot!”
Elizabeth was seething. “Noooooo fucking wayyyy!” She couldn’t attack until Vlad had a plan. She texted Vlad: “Plan, Darling??? Hurry d fk up!” He sexted her back a shot of his middle finger between his legs under his robe.
“Excuse me!” said, Arsch Hut. “What are all of these black rocks? Valuable?”
“Black diamonds, guacamole dude.” said Shadow. “Take ‘em. Just leave the trees alone. Careful, they’ll cut right through your … the assholes are wearing disco boots?
“Really? First, we have orders to cut down all…Oh, mein Gott! The ground is covered with them?!” said the wide-eyed Arsch.
“They are not man-made cheapos. They are made of Human bones stressed for a minimum of three centuries.”
“Three centuries?” asked Luftigen Brötchen (Breezy Buns). “How are they pressurized so quickly?”
“Extreme stress,” said Shadow.
“You mean pressure?” asked Arsch Hut.
“No, Stress,” said Shadow. “These diamonds come from the bones of people who’d done nothing in life. Their souls remain within the bones until they are reincarnated into something useful, like a family pet, a dildo or a pizza. The first thing that we do, every day, is wake the bones with a loud alarm clock. Then we turn on the guilt. “Dead is no excuse.” I tell them. “I’m dead, but you don’t see me laying around. Look at your dead brother. He was a millionaire doctor! Get your feet off of the couch!”
Next, we give them irrational things to worry about by playing the TV news sixteen hours a day.
When “rest period” comes, we wake them every fifteen minutes with a combination of heavy bass disco, incessant barking dogs, power tools and crying babies. Oh, and sulphuric fart gas that they cannot escape from.
Then we threaten them all day with divorce, symptoms of illness, loss of work, hair, sexual dysfunction, and finances, lawsuits, teenage acne, unwanted hair, public embarrassment …well, you get the idea.
Before you know it, their bones have become huge black diamonds.”
“Fer shur.” said Elizabeth. “You’re okay, Shadow.”
Arsch Hut and his men bent down at the waist to gather the stones, failing to look behind them.
Several sharpened tree limbs shot from the woods, impaling all of the Horsies right up their big wazoozies as they were bent over in a line. A booming voice followed. “Hi honey, I’m home!”
“Saturn!” Lupta screamed.
“Uncle Saturn!” said Elizabeth. “Let’s decorate! I also feel festive!”
Saturn got to work stabbing the skewered bodies into the soil along the path toward the trees. “They look like popsicles. Can I eat one?” he said, proud of his display.
A frog fell from the sky as a flurry of roaches ran through the woods, heralding the new Plague Season,
“Plague season, again?” asked Jonathan.
“Three times a year, Jonny. Isn’t it just lovely?” said the very happy Lupta.
“Toooh-tally tubular!” said Mina.
“Radical!” said Shadow.
Four-and-a- half-foot-tall Lupta and twenty-foot-tall Saturn walked back toward the lot hand-in-hand beside Shadow. “You’re okay, Shadow.” she said. “You’re not such a tool after all. As a reward, in my next novel, I’ll let you bone Elmira.”
“Elmira, the evil queen?”
“No. The entire town of Elmira, California, stud.”
“Awesome! I want to marry your books. Seriously!”

Posted in horror, murder, religion, Romance, Sex, Transylvania, vampires, WEird | Tagged | 1 Comment

Teen Spirit Theme Park (an excerpt from Shark Fin Soup)

Late Breaking News from your friendly
Lakeside Gazette!
Teen Spirit Theme Park Closes It’s Doors on Friday, November 19
The biggest stone bore in Cleveland, Teen Spirit Theme Park, is closing its Pearly Gates as of this Friday. It seems that Cleveland’s local kids had been finding more action at Lake View Cemetery, and it was free.”
In 2003, Teen Spirit Park was created, named and financed by Christian Network Broadcasting as an alternative to “the sin-filled” Cedar Point Amusement Park, which had been operating since 1870, in nearby Sandusky. In the CNB network’s statement about the closing there was no reference to lawsuits from a “cancer cluster” that emerged two months after “a group of intoxicated juvenile delinquents” were discovered swimming nude in a bubbling, toxic, fluorescent upwelling within the park. The springs have unexpectedly appeared within the Flats area since 1969 when the entire Cuyahoga River spontaneously burst into flames.
Memories:
Here are some persistent, nagging memories of Teen Spirit Park:
The bearded, animatronic Moses who greeted visitors at the entrance of the park (a certified pre-owned Abraham Lincoln robot from the original Disneyland).
Well-known TSTP attractions included “the Resurrection,” a ride where the face of Jesus magically appeared on everything (everything) through the worn-out magic of holograms.
Children WON’T fondly remember the “Holy Ghost Haunted House,” wherein spirits moaned from twenty-foot-tall pages of the scriptures as the visitor’s carts skirted safely along the edge of the paper mache “Pit of Heckfire and Darnation.”
The highlight of the park was the “Wor-Ship” boat ride, which re-created the events of Sea of Galilee where Jesus threw fish to the multitudes. Inside the ride, food fights often ensued when the Jesus-for-a-day started pitching the overripe fish at the heads of teens who were ‘fishing’ for each other’s tonsils as they drifted in the shadows. The decaying fish, mostly discarded fillets supplied by the dumpster divers living on the nearby “flats,” were thrown back at the Jesus guy, often with sides of slaw, soft drinks (which aren’t so soft when tossed in cans), and sides of greasy fries. The lucky “Jesus-for-a-Day” often emerged from his shift bruised and — battered.
The centerpiece of the park was the “Walking on Water” surf-park which offered two foot ankle-slapper waves and a lifeguard who resurrected drowning victims. Lifeguard Johnny Henson was fired in May, after numerous complaints about him choking some of the hired shills with his slithering, nicotine stained tongue.
Who can forget, Abel? The badly scarred magician who performed a fifteen minute act entitled “Mackerels” on the stage of the Sinai Amphitheater. Not only was Abel able to turn construction paper cutouts into multitudes of fish (and cook them with his blowtorch), he would recite Solomon’s Song of Songs, with his deep basso profondo voice, to “She-who-has-no-name,” — an actual burning bush. (A different branch of dried Norfolk Pine was set afire for each performance.)
For Abel’s grand finale, he would plunge his entire face into the flames and extinguish the bush with wet kisses.
I’d like to forget Abel’s oozing face, but the dreams keep returning.
And …who, didn’t emerge unmarked from within the A-Maze-of-Grace: a confusing network of tall thorny weeds that lead to “Enlightenment Land?” In the “A-maze,” teens were steered away from a wonderful choice of juicy temptations by electrical shocks and booby traps. After nearly an hour of cattle prodding and bruising about the extremities, the wounded teens would finally be “rewarded” with yet — another (!) holographic vision of the Savior; bloodied, tortured and dying a horribly prolonged death on the cross. Jesus would look up at his young audience and, with his last breath, say: “See, sinners! Shit can always get a lot worse!”
I wish employee Ron Taylor a farewell. Since the park opened, Ron has portrayed the bile covered Jonah, standing inside the mouth of the hoodwinked whale, waving goodbye to all the young “escapees.”
Though I’ve tried, I cannot forget the Rock of Ages Music Theater, where the 86-year-old “Fabulous Darlene” entertained, between naps, at the Hammond B-3 organ.
Least of all, we will remember that there seemed to be no restrooms. The presence of ‘unseemly’ restrooms were initially objected to by church elders. Required by the state, “True Confessional” comfort stations were carefully concealed along the back fence of TSTP to “purge the body and spirit.” The hidden stations naturally became notorious hangouts for pedophiles.
R. Stanley, Lakeside Gazette, 2013

Posted in cannibal, Cannibals, Comedy, Love, mistake, religion, Romance, Scams, sinners, Theme parks, Toxic, Uncategorized, WEird | 1 Comment

Pull My Finger! (Another excerpt from Bats by Fred Barnett)

BATS

Excerpt from “Bats” by Fred Barnett (Coming soon!)

“Pull my finger!” 

“One of the oldest, and most effective gags in the world.” ★★★★★ Slime Magazine 

Featured in Auntie Lupta’s Grab Bag of Gags for Hags

and her Big Book of Cogent Curses for Crones

_______________

Time: Modern Day

Candy, the Dominance Pizza delivery person is driving the Bats Mobile full of Transylvanians (vampies, a witch, wolves, and bats) east, toward Čachtice Castle, to rescue the Bloody Countess Elizabeth from the even more evil Van Helsing Twins (Hansel and Gretel). Once she is free, Elizabeth (the only ‘person’ besides Candy who is allowed to drive) must take the entourage, plus her zombie housekeeper, Penelope (looking forward to a “hot” date), west, to save Vlad’s embattled home at Poenari. Candy joins Question Mark (“?”) and the bikers who follow…

_______________ 

Čachtice Castle: The Magic Tower

Gretel Van Helsing was bending down near the Countesses hand. “Her ring doesn’t fit, brother! It’s loose!”  

“Just take it then!” said Hansel.

Elizabeth’s mind was still sharp. A devious message — a trick, from the witch Lupta Axe snuck in to her brain. She must be nearby! Thank you, Auntie! Thought Elizabeth. 

Though her stomach ached from the Naga–Chili-Stuffed dinner earlier, Elizabeth managed to bare her fangs and challenge the twins.“If you think that you can take my father’s ring, I’d like to see you try!”

Meanwhile below…

The Bat’s Mobile, Elizabeth’s 1970 Sapphire Hemi Dodge Challenger, pulled into the driveway of Elizabeth’s Čachtice Castle. The car’s inhabitants had already sung Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer five times, John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt four times and were now into the second verse of the maritime classic “Barnacle Balls the Sailor.” 

‘What if you should get the chair? What if you should get the chair?

What if you should get the chair? Said the fair Young Maiden…’

“All together now!” said Candy, the pizza delivery driver at the wheel.

“I’ll lay a fart and blow it apart!” said Barnacle Balls the Sailorrrr….”

Everyone was singing. Hubba, the wolf, and his mate Hubba Hubba howled along cheerfully, alerting the imprisoned Countess in her tower above. Both wolves suddenly stopped singing. They sensed dread, apocalypse in the air. Their naughty sea shanty changed to doleful wails.

Meanwhile, upstairs …

Elizabeth’s ears perked up. They’re down stairs! Outside! Good doggies!

“Pull it!” said Gretel.

“What?” Hansel looked worried. Uneasy.

“I said, pull her finger! If you won’t, I …will!”

Hansel pulled. Elizabeth threw her head back in a howl of laughter.

“What’s so funny, fiend?” asked Gretel. “We’re going to take everything that you love away from you. Pull harder, brother!

The walls began to tremble and moan. 

Elizabeth was on the cusp of a great release, her evil grin nearly orgasmic, as the dust from the walls shook loose.

“She’s fooled us!” said Hansel. “It’s the old ‘Pull My Finger’ trick …I should have …Duck!”

Amidst the roar, the walls made from hardened unicorn shit evaporated. The canopy of stars twisted as if empathizing with the stricken Countess. Newborn galaxies spun away from the chaos.

Hideo, the vulture, swept down and snatched the Van Helsing twins from the sky as they were blown hundreds of feet above the castle.

The Countess Elizabeth remained on the bare stone floor of the tower which now had no walls. Her nightgown was torn to ribbons. Her furniture and the marble chair were simply gone.

“Jesus! Who cut the cheese?!” said Mina, who was the first to appear at what used to be a doorway. She had literally flown up the stairs to the tower. 

Vlad, landed right behind Mina, began to salivate at the sight of the shredded nightgown, and made the mistake of inhaling before he spoke, “Are you okay, Darl …? Unholy fuhhhque!” His mustache wilted.

Young Jonathan, who had heroically slithered up to the top of the tower to help, nearly lost his footing when he was pelted with hundreds of dead birds. He managed to slither back down to safety.

“Don’t!” The embarrassed Elizabeth raised her hand up in warning as she tried to catch her wind…I mean breath. “Don’t come in! I’m …I’m fine! I’ll get dressed and be right down.” 

________________

Midnight

The Countess Elizabeth Bathory emerged from the main gate, showered and ready for action.

Transformed into a blithering blob of blood jello, Vlad said, “Mlop!” This happened whenever Elizabeth put on her “standard” combat attire: a black backless fishnet halter, tight red cigarette pants, lethal stiletto heels and a very short midnight blue skirt (with a wide array of handy pockets designed to hold zip ties, duct tape, and paper clips). Her red streaked hair was tied in a long braid (I know that you are interested). Vlad had to avert his eyes to restrain his untamed limbă.

 

 The Journey Back to Poenari

Jonathan poured the remaining jugs of Gibor juice (blood and fixins) into the Bats Mobile’s tank. When he was done, he slid into the middle of the front seat next to the Countess, the only one who could drive. Vlad always took “shotgun.” The two bats Cherubino and Angioletto hung from the bars supporting the convertible top. The wolves, Hubba and Hubba Hubba, sat in the back seat with Lupta Axe.The willowy Mina sat in the middle of the back seat, as she might blow out of the car with sudden gust of wind or a …uh, never mind

Elizabeth’s gloomy zombie housekeeper, Penelope, was humming “John Brown’s Body” as she, herself was a-mouldering in the car’s trunk. 

  The smell of sulphur still lingered in the air outside. The trees around Čachtice Castle continued to burn as Elizabeth and her passengers drove away.

Candy had joined “?” (The hunchback Question Mark) on his Segway and along with Vlad’s new army, the recently “bat indoctrinated” Hell’s Angles Architect and Motorcycle club, they would follow the Countess’ Bats Mobile five hundred miles back toward Poenari.

In the car, Jonathan clicked on the radio. Elizabeth’s daddy’s record “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” was playing. Every time the lyrics “Gas, gas, gas,” came on, the group in the back seat would sing and howl along.

“Cut that out you kids! Or do I have to stop the car!’ Elizabeth yelled.

“Sorry, Countess,” said Mina. “Are you mad?”

“Fuuuuuming!” said Vlad. (He couldn’t resist.)

“That’s it!” Elizabeth pulled the Challenger over to the side of the road. “One more fart joke and I’m gonna get out of the car, break an old harpy’s head, dig a fuckin’ hole, and …and …then I’ll …I’ll…”

“You’ll call me up at dinner time and ask me if I can complete a five minute survey?” yelled Lupta.

“Devious idea, I must admit. Is that what you’d really like me to do, auntie?”

“No.” said Lupta, sheepishly.

“ Then watch it, buster!” yelled the Countess. 

“Lighten up, Elizabeth,” said Vlad. “We’re just breakin’ your balls. C’mon let’s go.”

Countess Elizabeth emotionally overwrought, buried her face in her hands and began to bawl.”

Vlad turned his head toward the back seat. “Do you see what you’ve done to Liz?”

“Liz?” asked Lupta. “Who’s the heaven is Liz?”

This the heaven is Liz! Do you see what you’ve all done to my little Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth shot Vlad a venomous glance.”Little, huh? I could kick yourrrrrr leathery ass.”

“Listen, dearie.” Lupta Axe said to Elizabeth.”How about a snack? Some leftover Caliente Casserole?”

Elizabeth steered the car back onto the pavement.

Vlad turned around. “Lupta, let’s change the subject. Hey! Let’s sing some folk songs!” 

Jonathan, who had begun napping, suddenly looked back toward Mina. “Pass over the guitar, Mina.”

Lupta shouted out, “Jonny, do you know ‘Blowin’ in the Wind?’”

The car jerked to a halt. “Motherfucker! That’s it! I’m gonna destroy that desiccated stick of jerky!” screamed Elizabeth. 

“What’s desiccated,” asked Lupta?

“I’ll show you desiccated!” Two bolts of lightning shot from the Countess’ black pupils, bounced off the rear view mirror, and set Lupta’s dry hay stack of hair on fire. 

Lepta only cackled. 

 

From the Land of the Pharoahs

“Whoa!” shouted Vlad. 

“Watch out!” shouted Jonathan. 

While the Countess raged, the car had narrowly side-swiped a Mummy enjoying a foot-dragging stroll near Astray Trail. 

“Asshole”!!! (Fuckers!!!), said the enraged Kharis. Startled, he had dropped his chalis of tanna leaf tea. “Young Punks” (Young Punks!) He cursed and pointed his amulet at the car as it passed. Disgusted, the mummy tried to resume the slow easy peace of his evening shuffle. Kharis loved his midnight walks which usually culminated in vengeance upon British scientists and the throat of the reincarnated Princess Ananka, the woman who dared to reject him.

Hubba the wolf howled toward the moon above. “We saw a mummy, and we have had 500 miles of open window!”

 

God’s “Monkey Wrench”

At 1 a.m. Sinatra’s “Summer Wind” began to play on the car radio, to the Countesses obvious displeasure.”Change the station! Now!”

      Elizabeth had had enough guano for one night. Her rage was suddenly broken when above the loud music, a loud knocking came from the rear of the car.

“What in blessed Heaven? Said the dozing Jonathan.

“Flat tire?” said Lupta. 

“Oh, no. Not now!” said Mina.

“That’s your housekeeper, Penelope,” said Vlad. “She might be lonely, stuffed back there. Maybe she’s hungry. You better pull over. Zombies are ‘God’s monkey wrenches’ to be thrown into the machinery when things seem to be running smoothly. Full of surprises”

Lupta blurted out, “Like a whoopie cushion?”

Frankie Lane music blasted from the radio. Luckily, Elizabeth didn’t hear Lupta’s comment as she steered onto the shoulder.

Jonathan grabbed the keys, jumped out and stood back as he flipped open the trunk. Elizabeth reached for her pistol from beneath the front seat and got out. The rest followed. The light from the trunk shone on Mina as she stood guard with a hammer, a machete and a wooden stake “in case there was any funny business” with the zombie.

“Sonofabitch!” said Jonathan. “Elizabeth! A gun? I thought the miserable woman was dead.” 

“She is, kiddo.” said Elizabeth, firing three shots into Penelope’s wormy cadaver.

“Well, you just killed her again!” said Lupta.

Elizabeth took a breath, relaxed her shoulders, lifted the pistol again. “It’s only murder if she stays dead!”

Jonathan grabbed her wrist. “Stop! Don’t shoot the face! She’s got a big date with Huthbert.”

“Let her rest in peace. She’s dead enough,” said Vlad. “Do you feel better now? We need to get back before sunup.”

Willowy Mina gently removed the gun from Elizabeth’s hand — took aim, and continued to empty two more rounds into the dismal rotting thing named Penelope. “Borrrring.” She handed the gun back to the Countess. “Zombies are like inflatable punching clowns.” 

Vlad sympathetically placed his filthy razor-sharp claws on Elizabeth’s shoulder as she walked around to the driver’s side. “Would you like me to …drive?”

Without answering, the Countess pocketed the gun, climbed back into the Challenger and paused to take another breath before turning the ignition key. “I’ll be okay! Besides, none of you ‘fine nobility’ know how to f’n drive!” Elizabeth said with a snark. “Just be quiet. All of you.” She pulled the Challenger back onto the pavement. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“Well, then,” said Lupta. “You’d better step on the…..”

“Don’t say it!” While hurtling down Route 13 at ninety-miles-per-hour, Elizabeth took the gun out of her pocket and pointed it back toward Lupta. “Not ONE word.” The little witch held her crooked hands up in mock defense.

  This time, Vlad turned his head around 180 degrees, turned crimson and roared within a torrent of bile,“You DO NOT want Elizabeth to stop the car … again, and have ME come back there! I PROMISE that BOTH of you WILL NOT be able to sit for a week …What’s that?” 

Out of the trunk they heard a tortured moan. 

“Oh, no,” said Mina.

“Moses fucking H. Christ! What does that dust magnet want NOW?!?” hissed the exasperated Countess. 

Another Loud bang and “Wwharrrrrrrr Uuuuuumnk!” came out the trunk. (Zombish translation: “Are we almost there? I have to go pottyyyyy.”)

“I dunno. Zombies are kinda cool.” Jonathan said. “They just don’t give a dusty fart about anything. Oops, sorry, Ma’am.”

Elizabeth gave him a look that could kill.

“Too late!” he winked back at her.

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Witchipedia / Tragic Lust #27— by “Infinity” Upton-Downes

Witchipedia - Lupta Axe

Bătrînă “Lupta” Axe ( born:1147) is a Wallachian witch who may be best known for helping her great-great-great nephew Prince Vlad “the Impaler” Tepes  and the Prince’s main squeeze, the Countess Elizabeth Bathory, reclaim their tourist infested kingdom of Transylvania and restore their damaged native habitat in 2012.

In the 1980s, Lupta Axe was a very popular author who wrote under the pen name Infinity Upton-Downes, or simply “Infinity.”

“Infinity” established a world-wide following after penning some twenty seven books in the Tragic Lust series that she began in 1987. The entire series of “bodice-ripping” TL romances was completed during her thirteen years at Screamin’ Jay Hawkins Insanitarium where she (Lupta/Infinity) was incarcerated for a series of practical jokes that may have been the cause of death for thousands of Romanians.

 

Lupta Axe was finally given a trial by the International Criminal Court in June of 2000 for the murder of over 3000 Gibors living in Transylvania. The Court had never met a live Gibor before. Once the jury met a handful (‘More than enough!’) of these unsightly dreadful beings with their awful music and clothes, the court unanimously decided to immediately free Ms. Axe, award her an undisclosed financial settlement and “take a few souvenir ‘swings’ at the Gibors, just for fun.”

The Tragic Lust books have sold over twenty-five million copies and have been translated into over thirty languages.

Lupta’s photo appears, personally autographed, in each book of the TL series. (Some fan’s call it the Tongue Lick collection).

She never slows down!

Lupta Axe continues to operate her famous Sugar and Spice bakery (originally called Batrina’s), near Constanta, specializing in fresh buns and unique Gingerbread cookies. She also offers a popular line of infantile spells, potions and childish curses.

For relaxation, Ms. Axe writes children’s stories and is the current editor of The Weakly Bleeder. 

______________________

Tragic Lust #27: The New-d Generation. 

Willy, disgusted by the book Tragic Lust, has taken up reading family friendly Cowboy adventures. Though she is in Transylvania, it might as well be Tombstone. Willy’s imagination is in the Old West.  She can almost hear the jangle of spurs as a mysterious stranger approaches the door of Willy’s room.

Knock, knock.

“Mosey!” Said Miss Willy, who was entrenched her Tales of the Old West.

As the door slowly opened Willy could swear that she heard the “Yellow Rose of Texas” being played on the old upright piano in a rowdy saloon downstairs.

“Howdy ma’am.” Said the tall shy Jonny, as he removed his white ten-gallon hat and bowed to the lady from the doorway of her sparse and dimly lit room. There was a small bed with a lace covered quilt, above it hung a painting of her family, the Donners, crossing the snow covered Rockies in their wagon train. Willy was taking a bubble bath in an old wooden tub. A red kerosine lamp flickered on a small plain table nearby.

Johnny flipped his hat back onto his unkempt hair and removed a match and cigarette from his vest. As he bent down to strike the match on the heel of his boot, a bullet whizzed by open spaces where his head would have been, shattering the door jam. Cool as a cactus, Jonny never turned an eye. He straightened up and lit his cigarette. “Aw shucks, there’s somethin’ on my mind an’ … (He saw her.) … Oh my sweet savior!”

Willy had turned on her side in the bath to turn up the flame on her kerosine lamp. She knew, by the smell of manly leather, who it was. “Howdy Jonny. It’s been many moons.”

“Two   soft   full   ones.” He replied, as he watched them rise above the bubbles.

Uh Oh. Mistake, thought Willy. The bath scenes that she’d recalled in Tragic Lust always ended up dirtier — AFTER the bath.

The Marlboro dropped out of Jonny’s studly stubble, and durn-near set the creaky plank floor on fire. He was transfixed by the phenom of female pulchritude before his trail weary eyes.

She spat her plug of tobaccy at his feet, extinguishing the coffin nail. He looked down. Hey! Watch the boots!

He squinted his eyes back toward the source of the expectorate, scoping in on Miss Willy, a-sitiated in her bath tub with only a Tom Mix novel to protect her chastity. Gentleman Johnny quietly closed the door behind him, and stepped into her parlor. Being shy, and all, he kept his eyes down upon his cowpie covered boots.

“My land, Miss Willy!” said downcast Johnny, gesturing toward her bathtub with his hat, which had now grown to twelve gallons. “Is that there a mirage? [pronounced: Meeeerahhhj]. Would you mind if I jes’ wet my whistle, Miss Willy? or …or fill my canteen, I mean, I’ve been herdin’ little dogies on the lonely trail fer …well, over an hour now and my immensely talented tongue is a bit parched. I’m jus sayin’ that your soakin’ tub over yonder, looks invitin’!”

Jonny paused a moment for respite and a fill of soul mending scenery as the music downstairs turned to a jaunty banjo version of “Oh, Susanna.”.

“You a-courtin’ me, Buckaroo?”

“ As I was-a-sayin’ Ma’am, If me an’ my pardner…”

“Your Pardner?” Willy felt worrisome chills.

“He’s takin’ a nap.” Said the cowboy matter-of-factly as something moving  within his britches let out a sinister villainous rattle.

“Your Pardner! No! Don’t wake him!” Willy worried. Tragic Lust. Am I dreaming this?

Jonny startled her into the present when he resumed jawin’: “Are you okay? Is everything hunky-dory ma’am? My stallion, can he partake of your trough? Or mehbee you can point an frazzled bronc buster toward a saloon where…”. ”

“NO! That won’t be necessary, Stranger. Come in! You can lower your peacemaker.”

OH MY GOD! WHAT AM I SAYING? She thought. “These parts are friendly.” She said, stumbling along. “I mean, you’re safe around my parts, I mean, these parts. I mean. Awww shucks, Jonny! I don’t know what I mean!”

“Much obliged. I ain’t carryin’ no gun, Duchess.” Jonny said while pacing the floor.

“Well, then, pull in your horns, Kemosabe, and have a set.” OOPS! Sweet Jesus. Just shut yer pie hole, Willy, she thought to herself

Then, Jeeehosiphat! Jonny’s gaze became so intense that the bath waters around her tore asunder! Waves split apart, right down the middle of the wood tub! Jonny had the power of old Moses! He could open the mighty sea upon command!“

Uh, Oh! Taken aback over Jonny’s miracle, Willy started theorizin’. She slunk down in the tub, peered over the tub’s rim, and took herself a moment to recall the story of the Israelites. Now, what was it that the rummy Preacher “Octopus-Hands” Octavius, said to her after last Sunday’s sermon, as she pushed him away?

“Willy! Just like God said to Moses, ‘Take in your hand the wooden staff that turned into a snake.’”

It’s the devil a-come git me! Willy pointed a finger at Jonny. “Depart, Satan.” She said with a complete lack of enthusiasm.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Ma’am. I’ll git.”

A few soft full moons ago, an impure thought would have had to force itself into her rock hard skull — with a crowbar and a jar full of nitroglycereeen.

Today, dirty double entendres would casually stroll through her frontal lobe like they were durned Hi-hat V.I.P.s!

“Wait!” She said.

“ No. I …I … I better git.” Said Jonny, unconvincingly upset with his rude, yet paranormal unveiling of her appetizin’ vittles. He offered a somewhat sincere apology: “ Sorry, Miss Willy. It’s just that, I … awwwww shucks.”

Lonely Jonny’s parched soul was so empty that Willy could hear the lonely harmonica music around Jonny’s campfire beneath the prairie sky. The poor thang was like a twisty dead tree without a single gut-hungry vulture to keep it company.

“Time’s a -wastin’! Cut to the chase,” said Willy. “and state yer business.”

Raised poor in a cabin, young Jonny couldn’t dig up the big city words he was mining for to impress the young lady. Jonny knew that his cowpoke routine was moseyin’ along at a very slow trot, so he switched trails.

Jonny stood up straight. What would the mighty Prince say? He thought.

“I vant,” he shouted in Wampirese, “to drink your …”

“You were better as Jimmy Stewart.”

“What?”

“If you insist on talkin’ wampire talk,” said Willy, “I’ll be tellin’ you to hit the trail. More Jimmy Stewart.” She said while lowering her book where the bubbles danced. “More of that Western twang you lanky trail bum.”

Jonny stuck his boot toe into a small puddle of red water (What was in that water?) on the floor and began to draw circles.

“Well, aw shucks, ma’am.”

Well, wee dogies, readers! Willy shore had a hankerin’ for Jonny. The water in her tub began to boil like a kettle until the steam went right up her caboose and exited as a locomotive whistle blast, right out of Willy’s rosebud lips.

Wow! Jonny thought. It could have been much worse in reverse!

“Jonny was bedazzled! Mesmerized! “If that’s soup yer makin’, I’ll have some of that with all the fixins!

Without warning, Jonny lifted the four hundred pound tub from the floor — with the young filly still inside! As he tilted the tub toward his thirsty gullett,  Willowy Willy slid with the torrent of bath water onto his …

“Oh! My Lord!” Said the suddenly aware Willy, sure that she was trapped within the latest installment of Tragic Lust!

Before she could shout “Save me! I am a helpless damsel in distress!” her long coltish legs were tangled up around Jonny’s fool head. He let the empty tub drop, then gently lifted the blushing damsel from his asphyxiatin’ face to the floor. He set the poor frightened maiden down on her feet and brushed himself off, with his buck skin gloves, tryin’ to appear to make himself more presentable to the lady, who was steaming, pink-beyond-blushin’ — and possessed with the fire (pronounced: Farrrr). The fire of a feeerocious bobcat ragin’ within her purty blue eyes.

Jonny smacked his lips. All satiated, he blabbered on, like the dangdest durned fool ever, this side of the blue Danube: “Ma’am, that libation was as satisfying as a warm summer sunrise across the green countryside!”

WHACK! Willy, smacked Jonny’s lips. “Did you say: “A warm summer sunrise across the green countryside??? I should wash your mouth out with granny’s lye soap, you mangy saddle tramp! Take your horse and jerk off into the sunset, you Whoopdeedoodle! You’re lower than cow pie, I’d have…”

Jonny pulled her perky nose up to his, squinted at her with his left eye and hissed like a mean rattler: “Them’s fightin’ words! Did you just call me a Whoopdeedoodle?”

“You deef? Youuuuu heard me, Whoopdeedoodle.” Within a half-a-second, Willy grabbed the shotgun from the corner of the room, swung it around the back of her beeeehind, aimed it at Jonny from between her thighs, cocked it and said, “You better skeedaddle before I start shootin!’”

“Whoa! Okay, Annie Oakly, I’m callin’ you out in front of the saloon at midnight. Choose yer weapons and prepare to uh, agitate … to the death!”

“Agitate?”

“Just be out there! High Moon, Midnight! In front of the Snake Charmer Saloon! I’ll be a-waitin’! An’ I promise you this: The last thing you’ll ever hear, Missy, will be the jangling of these spurs … walkin’ away from your … cold … dead carcass!”

“ Yeah?” she snapped back. “After I’m done with youuuuu, you horny toad, there won’t be enough to feed a hill of ants! Sure! You’ll be the one hearin’ spurs, but they won’t be clankin’ on your shit covered boots. They’ll be clankin’ on myyyyyyyy Come Fuck Me Heels!”

“You’re going to show up to a duel, in the street, wearing Come Fuck Me Heels?”

“Yup.”

“The silver ones? Please, help me, Jonny thought. Please help me, whats-yer-name, the holy guy with the beard, the robe and the plate thing round yer head.

“ The LOSER will be leavin’ HIS boots on Boot Hill!” she said.

Jonny became introspective and began to circle the floor with his toe, again.

He repeated softly: “The silver ones?”

“Yeah, the silver ones … and my Indian loincloth.”

“…Oh, man… I’m dead.

 

(Lupta Axe was watching and taking notes through a small hole in the ceiling. She thought that it was sad to see a grown man cry.)

 

The showdown, a draw, did take place on that dusty main street, August 15, 2012, —  a night that will always be revered in modern Western lore.

 

The Great Plains Gazette wrote:

It’s a good thing that Jonny and Willy set-to their wranglin’ while the good citizens of sleepy town of Poenari slept. 

Last we heard (from a wagon train full of missionaries, no less)! “Them two wild tumbleweeds were a-ruttin’ an’ a-buckin’ an’ a-neighin’ like crazed broncos beneath the prairie moon. They was also cussin’ loud enough to scare the coyotes and settin’ a mighty poor example for frightened little niños as far south as Tijuana.”

 

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