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And Then Things Got Weird….

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Breakfast at Donette’s

This is a little chocolaty taste from my upcoming big-assed novel, Shark Fin Soup….Ying Yang by Fred Barnett

In this scene, Dauna the Fijian shark goddess, owner and only waitress of Donette’s Cafe on the Bolsa Chico pier, and owner of her own coffee empire is trying to cheer up Bolsa Chico’s Surf Patrol chief who has just been scandalized by his wife across international news….Dauna suffers from Tourette Syndrome, cursed because she used Gods name, in vain, one two many times in her 3000 years on Earth….  

 

“C’mon, Chief snap out of it. One day you’ll fall in love again. Hey, look! I allllllsooooo…” Dauna bent toward Bernie, and reached behind herself “Oh, there it is!” …to reveal… “Ooh! I think that this may be a magic happy birthday hat for you, chief! It is!” She pulled the shiny hat from below her skirt. “I’ve been warming this up for you, hun.” It was a foil hat and the crinkles in the metal made it look happy. She sat down, and presented him with the consecrated flat hat. She opened it up and put it on his sorry head. “It’s magic! You never know, right? It might be. Wow! And It’s so toasty warm. Feel!”

“Ouch!”

“Muy caliente, eh?” Dauna, stood up and announced to all, “WHAT WOULD YOU EXPECT AFTER SPENDING AN HOUR NESTLED BETWEEN THE HOTTEST ASS CHEEKS in…uh…Oops. Sorry, folks! Not really.” Monsieur Tourette was speaking through Dauna today as if she were a tawdry ventriloquist’s dummy.

She turned and whispered to Bernie, “Did I say something dirty again, hun? Hopeless! I better just go and fetch your…… FUCKIN’ EGGS!” She sashayed to the kitchen and returned a few moments later. “Here they are! Hot, soft and oooey-gooey. Like…me.”

“Huh?” She tossed the plate on Bernie’s table and left him to wallow in his  misery. He absentmindedly picked up his fork, and that’s when he heard a choir begin to sing. A choir at the end of the Balsa Chico Pier? Bernie looked up and out the restaurant window and saw only Sol, the restaurant’s mascot seagull who was known for his huge loose bladder and perfect aim on people’s heads. Sol was eating from a drunk’s bait bucket. Bernie heard a chirp and looked up to see another Donette’s ‘regular,’ Dwayne the lizard, scurrying across the ceiling.

My damned life couldn’t get more fucked up.

#

“God Over Easy.”

The sound of the heavenly Choir resumed. Bernie looked up. Nothing there. He turned back to his breakfast. 

What Bernie saw next was a face staring at him from his sunny-side eggs. Maybe it was the pepper making the design, or the way that Reynaldo the cook had routinely over cooked them.

A tiny bearded face was smiling at Bernie Benedict.

“Waitress!” Bernie screamed. “ Hurry!”

“Hold onto your baguette! GODDAMMIT! I’m covered in chocolate!” Dauna sashayed toward the chief’s table. “What do you need?”

He could only point at the table.

“You didn’t do a Linda Lovelace on the Polish sausage, did you? I don’t do Heimlich.” She looked down at Bernie’s plate of sunny-side eggs, and did indeed see the smiling face of Jesus, in all of his shining glory. Bernie was nearly choking. Unable to grasp the conversation between the waitress and the eggs. “You didn’t RSVP!” Dauna told the eggs. “Are you coming to my wedding in a few weeks?”

Bernie felt paralyzed.

“I’m working on my comeback TV special, shark goddess” said the runny Messiah. “How about I show up at your honeymoon, instead?”

“Hardy har har, smart ass. Stick to preaching.”

“Why are you flirting with Bernie?” asked Jesus. “Poor guy.”

“Lupta, the sage of Kupaio, told me that I must protect him. I don’t know why. Look at this busted up schmo, J.C. He’s feeling really down. Right now, he’s the saddest man in the world. I’m just trying to cheer up the dumb lug. Can I get you some coffee or something, chicken fruit?” she said to the sunny-side son of God.

  “Chicken fruit? Have you been behaving yourself? Why are you here, God Junior?”

“I’m honing my rusty social skills. Ahem! Commandment number eight: Thou shalt not steal. Are you listening to me, Dauna? Do not steal Bernie Benedict’s heart. He’s in pain.” 

“Excuse me everyone,” Dauna put her hands over her face. “Ah…aH…AH… FUCK!”

“Are you catching a cold?” asked Jesus.

“No. I’m just allergic to bullshit.”

 

The Thriller Driller

ManSurfing

Sylvia Benedict was discovered crying inside of the Sea Lion Beach Geezer World Van by local lifeguard, Brad Stokely, as he was headed home. “I found the woman sitting inside the van, crying over Mr. Noway Sr. The motor was still running. The van’s motor, not the old fart’s. Noway had suffered a heart attack.”

Way.

Sylvia , the spouse of beloved Bolsa Chico Surf Patrol Chief, Bernie Benedict, confessed to the ambulance staff concerning the death of her eighty-eight-year-old lover:

“We’d just had a friendly dinner, celebrating Wayne’s new Thriller Driller Penile Implant. He suggested that we to go out and replace all of the steel fasteners on the Long Beach bridge with his new… Oh, poopsieeeeeeeee!” (Crying.) “Wayne seemed fine! He really did. Then, after his little nap time, he wouldn’t respond.”

“That’s quite enough, Mrs. Benedict,” said the nauseous  ambulance driver.

The truth was el vomitosio. Somehow, the video of her story ended up on the local news.

Wayne Noway III’s (the grandkid) surfer buddies said that the sixteen-year-old surfer had been “blowing major chunkage,” “praying to the porcelain” and “hurling with a mighty chunder” after reading about what his grandpa and his ex-teacher had been doing. Los barfos, mesdames e messieurs.

#

My Sylvia! Bernie thought. And…and Wayne’s grandpa?! Noooooooooo!

He had to get out and get some fresh air, now.

#

After the broadcast, it seemed that the entire town of Bolsa Chico wanted to line the pier and join local hero  Bernie, in his major heave fest. It was if they’d all been hit with the dreaded Nosoi flu.

For days afterward, Bernie felt as though he were wearing a big red ‘D’—for Dumbass — on his forehead. Time had come for him to leave his longtime friends, his beloved job and his hometown of Balsa Chico.

####

Donette’s

Donette’s Cafe, formerly Rosie’s, was built upon the end of the Bolsa Chico Pier, in Orange County, California, in 1956. Recently, it had been purchased by a dark, sultry, dirty-talking  shark goddess, Dauna Robinson, who bought the cafe to promote her native Fijian coffee products: the high-octane Getthefuckouttamyway and Outtamywayasshole coffees, grown on her private  island of Kupaio. Dauna was the one and only waitress at Donette’s.

Bernie rarely drank the coffee, but loved the food. It was the following Sunday, Bernie’s birthday, when he ordered his final breakfast at Donette’s.

The TV was on and…

“Oh, Fuck! No! Not……. on…….. my………goddamned birthday!” Bernie said. The other customers were wondering if the patrolman had caught Tourette’s from Dauna.

Nope. The news was on CNN — and Bernie was pissed. His tragic ‘train wreck’ had gone both bacterial and viral. Millions, perhaps gazillions, were following Bernie’s sad story.

Artemis gets Her Perfect Ass Banished

New Shark Fin Titled

One celestial evening, after 50,300 hits on YouTube the voguish goddess Leto was forced to watch (in shock and horror) a video of her daughter shopping while dressed in a hideous floral nightgown and tennis shoes.

Artemis grabbed the phone. “Daddy?” The voice on the phone was powerful enough for Bernie to hear every word. The voice was angry enough to generate lightning from the earpiece.

“Artie. Dear Artie. Your mom and I decided that you can’t come home until you lose weight and come to your fashion senses,” daddy Zeus had said. “And tell your hobo friend to hijack himself a new suit with real pants if he’s gonna paint the town with my baby. Bernie’s friend Frankie should have already told him that life’s too short to dress like a bum. And what the hell is that thing you’re drivin’?”

“Uh…” Munch, munch, munch. “Bernie’s Chia.”

“Everyone up here thinks that you’ve gotten weak and out of control. We can’t afford to have the other deities think that the Olympians are pushovers.” Zeus shouted into the phone. “For gods and goddesses sakes, Art-Art, you used to knock ’em dead.”

“Art-Art?” Bernie, her human, heard that, and giggled.

The goddess shot lethal optikos (eye) arrows at Bernie. “Shut up, sandal licker! No, not you, daddy. There is going to be an epic battle with MacHeath’s army soon, so I promised to help Bernie and his trollop friend.”

“You mean Miss Soapy Puppies?”

“Yeah, Dauna.”

“Princess,” the voice said. “Don’t come home until you’ve cleaned up your circle of friends.”

Zeus hung up.

“But, daddyyyyyyyy?” The heroic figure wept a flood of tears. A text appeared. Final judgment came to Artemis swiftly in a furious “bolt of rejection.” The bolt was hurled in the form of an angry text, with an angry minotaur emoji attached. Artemis had just been officially banished from her home and family.

“What family, pop?” she texted back. “Do we even have a family name?”

“Good point, pumpkin. Let me ask your mom,” he wrote. Back on Olympus he asked his wife, “Leto, dear? What’s our last name?” He texted Artemis, “You still there? Okay. Your mom says that our last name is ‘On High.’ We don’t need a last name, pumpkin, unlike the Kardashians. We’re bigger than Lady Gaga. We only use first names. Oh, your mom wants to know…what the hell kind of shoes were you wearing on the Walmart show?”

Zeus’ mighty presence was suddenly gone, and Artemis was hurt, and that meant that she needed tacos. Artemis had become “an embarrassment” to the fashion-conscious Olympian gods, who were tolerant to a point, often turning their backs on lesser Olympian crimes, such as torture, mass murder, incest, rape, infanticide and eating one’s own children.

Preview: Shark Fin Soup — The 1st Illustration by Vitaliy

This is T.K. Betelnut,  Interpol agent in charge of the TPN

Telepathica Pacifica Network. He’s about to fall in love with a potted plant.

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Shark Fin Soup – Final Chapter: Donette’s Cafe

Final Chapter.

BestCoffeeInTown3

Bernie carefully lay his fork on the table and stared at his plate. From across the table, his friends Jules and Claire were able to share Bernie’s ‘vision,’ which was framed by bacon, rye toast, home fries, a sprig of parsley and an orange slice. A trio of smiling faces, on his three sunny-side up eggs, began singing ‘Happy Birthday’ in ancient Aramaic. For his birthday, now that he had attained full god status, the entire Holy Family had shown up to wish him well. Well, what do you know, thought Bernie, I must be hanging out with the right crowd. “Darling!” He yelled toward the kitchen, “Darling! Look who’s shown up for my Birthday! Hurry, dear!”

“Hold onto your baguette! God f*cking dammit!”  Donette, his goddess spouse, has Tourettes. She can’t control her foul mouth and she carries a doctors note to sonofabitchf*cking prove it!

“F**K!”  said Donette’s diners in perfect harmony, (‘Group Tourette’s’ is a rare phenomenon) …because…

Glass imploded into the dining room.  A crazed woman, dressed in a XXXXL Walmart flower print Muumuu, commandeering a red mobility scooter, crashed through the restaurant window. Her flapping right arm was clenched around the neck of the frightened Viking MacHeath, who was trying to stab her with a jewel encrusted trident harpoon — that he’d lifted from Poseidon. The scooter’s front wheel was stuck on the window sill when the huge woman grabbed the pitchfork and drove it through Edwin MacHeath’s neck as they nearly tumbled onto Donette’s customers. The scooter wheels were followed through the broken glass by a huge white cat, who managed its own bloody swipe at the Viking’s already spurting neck. The Viking’s helmet fell off revealing a two haired combover. The scooter with the trio on board flipped back out of the window and onto the pier outside where the heroic pair continued to tear into the Viking without getting as much as one drop of blood on themselves.

 

 

Moonlight, Artemis and Cheeseburgers

Bernie cracked open an eyelid. The lunar light had filled the room. Light as a feather, the specter of a tall pale woman had settled astride his waist, replacing his cat who now sat at the foot of the bed. A long black braid, full of stardust, tumbled down her bare right shoulder. The light danced across on her long white legs and silk tunic. The folds of her garment fanned out like gardenia petals. With each of her deep breath the white cloth fluttered and teased across Bernie’s chest. She leaned close to see if he was still asleep.

There was no scent of flowers when she exhaled above his  lips. That would have been simple and pleasant. Poor Bernie Benedict never knew what hit him. A goddess! The woman’s lips had been anointed with the divine.

A dazzling blend of home-made chili, tangy American cheese, fruity floral onions, crisp kosher pickles and magnificent beef accords.’ 

MoonGoddess

Two Goddesses at a Wedding

Artemis Goes to a Wedding 

(From: Shark Fin Soup by Fred Barnett)

A scene from the arranged marriage of the Shark Goddess Dauna, and her chosen beau, the dim-witted, self-absorbed, pretty-boy Shark Demigod Bunji.

New Shark Fin Titled

The Zeus family couldn’t make it to the wedding. Most of the gods on Olympus had been bedridden with the Nosoi Flu, otherwise known as βροντές και κεραυνούς από τον κώλο, or  thunder and lightning released from the γάιδαρος or even more commonly known as sun flares.

Zeus, himself, was too ill to get to the phone, so he asked his wife Leto to call their daughter, Artemis. Artemis the Goddess of the Moon and the Hunt, who  was in Wyoming tracking a family of Yetis. She’d been trying to control the spread of Big Foot’s progeny for years. They were becoming a road hazard. She was trying to issue the elders a warning before the issue of total extinction would be their only other option. Most of the drivers who hit them at high speed had thought that the piles of fur and blood had been bears.

“Could you attend the (cough, cough) wedding of the Fijian Shark Gods Bunji and Dauna as our special envoy – as a special gift (cough) from all of the ailing Greek gods?” Leto asked her daughter, Artemis.

“Sure, Mom. How’s Dad?”

“All he can do is sleep. We both had a terrible night. Your poor brother has been sitting on the golden throne since early this morning.”

“That’s awful.”

Artemis would use all of her expertise in planetary design and cosmology to provide the lighting for the royal function. It would be a strenuous evening that would require that she control the movements of the Earth, moon, and stars, providing a light show lasting over an hour until the young marrieds dashed off toward their fahhhhhbulousssss honeymoon.

Artemis was uncomfortable with the idea of marriage, romance, and especially – fahhhhhhbuloussss honeymoons.

While standing in the long reception line, Artemis thought about the bride and groom, Bunji and Dauna. Six sunny fun-filled days! And five glorious nights! … in beautiful, romantic Hawaii! The A-holes. (She could imagine the two, breeding like filthy damned Yetis in the hotel’s heart-shaped tub.) 

Artemis was not jealous. To her, gods and goddesses should always strive to be above such “base” behaviors. A honeymoon was a primitive rite, common among reeking humanoids, recently emerged from the Tyranno- toilets called swamps.

Sleaze.

Above all things, Artemis was pure. Superior as both a goddess and a  huntress, she manifested dominion over the animals of the Earth and skies. Dignified.

But then, she has these long legs. Hoo hah.

__________________

Cool as the blue moonlight with her long black braid swinging, the majestic Artemis approached the newlyweds, Dauna and Bunji, as they received their guests. She tried her best to bow modestly in her short, off-the-shoulder white tunic. The self-designed garment enabled the Goddess to move quickly when she was in pursuit of fast prey.  To Artemis, the bride, Dauna, didn’t look ‘thrilled’ about the wedding. It had been an arranged marriage to bring peace among the Micronesian worshippers of opposing shark gods.

Dauna eyed her new husband, Bunji, trying to gauge his reaction to the long-limbed beauty approaching them. Dauna, a steaming hot goddess herself, looked up and met Artemis’ thinly veiled breasts at eye level. Uh-oh. I’m fucked. 

The mighty Chief Kivana, whispered into his stepdaughter Dauna’s ear, “The Huntress is an avowed Oh, my! virgin and a Wowser! legendary man-hater.” At first, disarmed by Artemis’ smile and the spark in her eyes, Chief Kivana found himself enraptured by the goddess’s cherry red lips. The Chief looked at his daughter and then back at Artemis. He shook his head: Uh-oh. Dauna’s fucked. 

The young groom Bunji tried to speak next. He eloquently expressed himself: “Hominahominahominahomina.” Then he took a big breath and said, in English, “Miss Huntress. Those, those are some …homina homina …impressive …uh, arrows …in your … thingy. Is…Is that a holster?”

“This thingy is called a quiver, my Lord Bunji. These are my golden hunting arrows. Please, both of you, call me Artemis.”

“Quiver?” (That …uh …sounds hot) the thirty-five-year old Bunji’s fourteen-year-old imagination raced ahead.

“That’s right, Hotshot,” said Dauna to her betrothed. “A soft sheath to keep your shafted projectiles warm.”

It took awhile for Dauna’s comment to register with her new husband. “Oh yeah! Ha! I get it!” Artemis blushed…all over her body.

“Please!” whispered the statuesque Goddess to the couple. “Let’s try to keep this conversation out of the gutter.”

The bride and groom stared at each other in amazement and then back toward Artemis in embarrassment.

“We’re sorry, we were just…” said Dauna.

“I know. Honeymooners. To me, sex is not a laughing matter. I am the virgin Goddess of the Hunt and the Moon. I hunt many types of prey. I also kill to protect the virtue of both myself and the innocent. I hunt nearly anything that moves …except men. They hunt me, then they end up killing themselves as soon as they find out that Artemis, the Goddess, doesn’t need a γαμημένος date! I wouldn’t waste my arrows on such weak and easy targets!”

“Oh, P-leeeeease,” said Dauna, rolling her eyes. ‘Cept that girl is spot on.

Artemis continued on as if nothing had happened. “I must apologize for the absence of the other Olympians tonight, all of whom are suffering from Nosoi.”

“Nosoi Flu?” asked Bunji. “That is nasty.” Mesmerized by the thin material of her tunic, he added, “Goddess! Do you have a card …on you?” He was unable to turn his gaze away from the tall porcelain-skinned wonderland before him. Dauna imagined a target glowing on her husband’s forehead.

“The gods of Olympus have sent me here to help light the heavens and set the mood for your wedding. Let me convey all of our best wishes and Congratulations!”

“I’m, uh, honored to uh meet youuuuuuuuu,” said the groom, who was looking down, maneuvering his shiny black patent leather shoes, so that he could  cop a peek up the Huntress’ short skirt.

“Honored to meet you, Artemis,” said Dauna, giving her new spouse a sharp elbow to the ribs.

“Next in line, please!” said Chief Kivana.

Though the Chief hated to see his stepdaughter marry the half-witted mannequin Bunji, his quick thinking probably saved the young groom from getting a golden shafted projectile through his empty skull.

__________________

“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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