Boldizsár, I Came to Kick Your Bony Ass.”

Illustrations by the incredible Anita Benson-Bradley

For decades, Lazlo Toth has been one of the world’s most famous authors. Until 2019, he always wore a wig of thick brown hair that made him appear young, healthy and virile. Last March, while he was being interviewed on the Red Carpet at the Oscars. That night, in front of a billions, a sudden gust blew the expensive toupee right off of his head, exposing him as the vain “cueball,” that he is.

Laszlo wrote novels about the supernatural. They were based on scientific fact and he prided himself on being a rational man. He became interested in genetics while working on a new novel, and joined the group called BlameYourAncestors.com.

Within two weeks after sending in his DNA sample, Laszlo discovered he was 87% Hungarian and, apparently, 13 percent cheese, citing a few stray genetic threads to Luxembourg, Switzerland and four other cheesy countries.

Thanks to BlameYourAncestors he was also able to narrow his search back his Hungarian family.

With a little bit of digging, he discovered an old Tóth family portrait. The Tóths in the painting, all the men, some of the women and even a few of the children and even a few family pets (hairless dogs and cats) suffered from severe baldness (alopecia).

Laszlo allocated another fortune, that he’d saved on haircuts, to expand the DNA search and finally received the results that he’d been hoping for. The ‘bald problem’ that plagued his life was traced back to a singular human monster.

The monster’s name was Count Oszkár Tóth. He was a rich landowner in 16th century Walachia.

The Count once possessed long flowing locks that made him look like a golden hero on the cover of a bodice-ripping romance novel. The vain Oszkár combed his proud mane day and night. One evening, he desired a grooming, and summoned his magic golden comb — Magic comb? Yeah, right, Give me a break — only to find out that the comb had been stolen.

Oszkár’s mother, The Countess Cynthia, told her son that she had seen a well known local magician, named Madik, running away from the castle and into the Scary Dark Forest carrying a shiny yellow object in his hand.

After apprehending Madik, Laszlo ordered the Magician to be burned at the stake. At the Barbeque, Laszlo, was cornered and cursed by the magician’s wife, a powerful witch named Eegahd.

The next morning, as Oszkár combed, his glorious mane shed. The hair that made him such a ‘wench magnet’ fell to the ground.

As a result of the Eegahd’s curse, all of Count Oszkár’s children, male and female, became bald as well; that is until in October 31, 1712, when the entire clan were tortured, murdered, dismembered, and turned into a savory paprika goulash by a nomadic Gibors.

Only one Tóth escaped the massacre, the youngest noble in line, Boldizsár, who continued to selfishly spread the Tóth baldness curse throughout the western world.

“The Bastard!” Thoughts of revenge pushed their tendrils in into Laszlo’s vain and twisted mind. Online, he hired a Hungarian scholar, to help him track down ‘Baldy’ Boldizsár’s resting place. That is when Laszlo made the first irrational decision since his seventh marriage, to visit his cursed ancestor’s crypt and ‘kick his bony ass to Hell.’

The following October, before the frost set in, Laszlo made his trip, alone, to Walachia.

Unfazed by local superstition, Laszlo arrived ten minutes before midnight at Tóth Citadel in Ploiești.. He quietly drove his rent-a-car around the back to the cemetery, parked and opened the trunk and removed a lantern and a Road Rager Crowbar.

Laszlo found the rusty cemetery gate open, and by the light of the full moon, jimmied his way into the Tóth Mausoleum. Once inside, he lit his lantern, shooed away the vermin (Bald rats!) and quickly began to go to work. He located the Count and slid the heavy lid off Boldizsár’s stone coffin, only to find out that most the Count’s bones had already been defiled. The pelvic bone, the skeleton’s ‘ass,’ was still in tact.

Jubilant, he carried the pelvis outside among the gravestones.

MIDNIGHT

Laszlo kicked Boldizsár’s bone ass all over the churchyard until he could kick no more. After a short rest and a drink from his flask, Laszlo gathered up the broken pelvis parts back inside the mausoleum, dumped them back into the coffin and took a cellphone photos — including one of the inscription on the wall above:

Lehet, hogy halott vagyok, bolond utódom, de még mindig kopasz!’

The author, satisfied with the bony ass kicking, didn’t review the inscription until he arrived back home in the states.

Translation:

“I may be dead, asshole, but you’re still bald.”