Lazarus and Bobby Jo

Cover Rock Invasion

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.”


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My new author page at Amazon

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Books on Amazon by Fred Barnett (Bats and Shark Fin Soup coming soon!)

 #1,2,&3 are available in ebook and paperback on Amazon! Bats should be out in October 2014, Shark Fin Soup in 2015!

 Nantucket is a wee bit of smut available on Smashwords for 49 cents!

 Cover Bloody Good 2013 Cover : Second Chances Cover Rock Invasion Cover Shark Fin   Cover- Man From NantucketBATS

Posted in 1950s, 1960sFantasy, Beach, Cannibals, funny, Great American Legends, horror, murder, music, religion, Rock n' Roll, Romance, Science fiction, Sex, Sharks, space, WEird | Tagged | Leave a comment



“Let me teach you young vippersnappers something about patience’” said Prince Vlad. “I vonce knew a young voman named Igorrina who lived in the haunted forest of Hoia-Baciu.”

“Is there any other kind of forest?” asked the young MIna.

“No. Now listen, my children of the night. Because Igorinna vas convinced that there vas nothing very exciting up ahead, she took her goddamned time. She vas never in a big hurry to go anyvhere. Vone day she decided that she’d had enough of this vorld. So she tied the end of a rope around her tasty slender neck and the other end to a young spruce tree, determined to stay there until either death took her away or her Prince Charmin’ arrived on his white steed to rescue her from her misery.

Local volves and bears found her uninteresting and unappetizing. Poor Igorrina spent much of her life in Hoia-Baciu Forest vatching the bats and ghosts in the evening vhile protected by the vicious badgers who lived in dens that circled the tree. They didn’t care for Igorrina, but vere curious to see what might happen to her in the end. They kept her fed vith vorms, grubs, and insects. Over time, Igorrina had begun to grow old and ugly. She stayed tied to the same branch of that tree for forty-five years until …”

“Until what, pops? A handsome woodsman came along?” asked Jonathan.

“Fah!” said Vlad.

“A knight in shining armour?” asked Mina.

“Fah! You children can be so gruesome,” said Vlad.

“Of course! The prince!” said Jonathan.

“No vay. Prince Charmin’, the assvipe, never showed up. So, sad Igorrina sat, leaning against the tree trunk until….vone day, the spruce finally grew tall enough to slowly pull Igorrina up by her neck and hang her.”

“No guano!” said Jonathan.

“Talk about patience!” said Mina.

“You kids should see her. She can vear a choker, a string of pearls, a locket and ten necklaces…at vonce!”

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New Book coming…Art By Sveta Trushchenkova.

“…worked side by side in a Naple’s restaurant with God, who’s name was then Rodolfo, in Napoli, when he invented Pizza, declared that he’d “Done enough” for mankind, went back to his apartment, set off Mount Vesuvius and was never seen again. Artemis talked longingly about her home along the shores of Lake Como.
Bernie was in awe. “You were there when God created Pizza?”
“I helped. Thin crust was my idea.”
Book cover : Shark Fin Cover

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“It takes a child to Raze a village”

Ten-year-old orphaned Viking Gunnar Eriksson

“It takes a child to Raze a village”

Oh …
Let’s go a-pillaging
a village-ing, a-pillaging,
with Odin a-thundering
our horde goes a-plundering,
a-sundering each underling,
A-pillaging we’ll go!

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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.
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’
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