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The Collected Letters of Lord Huthbert Grieves and Lady Penelope Weeps

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From the celebrated Novel, Bats, by Lord Frederick Barnett of Kailuashire 

I.

The Collected Letters of 

Lord Huthbert Grieves and Lady Penelope Weeps

(1779-1790)

A Letter from Lord Huthbert Grieves to Lady Penelope Weeps, Ghoolkamish 

April 30, 1779

Dearest Penelope,

The artillery has stopped momentarily. As I lie awake in my muddy foxhole beneath the night sky of Ghoolkhamish — Alas, my angel, I can only think of you. 

When I come home, my dearest, though it may be five years from this day, I promise we shall marry. Your father hates me, I know, as does your dog — a part of whose shattered jaw is still attached to my buttock. 

Despite what your husband thinks, I know that we can make this marriage work. Though I lost half my face, one-third of my manhood and a nipple in the bloody trenches of Dyfthphedif, I promise that the cottage that I have purchased will be a happy one, surrounded by the warm laughter of children, or — at the very least — very immature adults. 

How is your cough, my Angel? I was distressed to find that your last correspondence had a small bloody piece of your lung stuck to it, Sweetheart. Please hang on to God’s precious gift of life until I can limp to your side.

Your precious letters warm my heart, Darling. I smell your perfume and, with a shield between my mouth and the envelope, kiss the lipstick on the seal before I dream my happy dreams every night.

With my good arm, I long to hug you and keep you warm, even when you cough (Though, alas, I regret, there will be no deep intertwining of tongues).

All my love,

Yours forever — Huthbert Grieves

 April 30, 1779

_____________________

II

The further love letters of Lord Huthbert Grieves and Penelope M. Weeps 

England 1769 -1784

(Sent from Port Apotty, Africa, May 31, 1784)

My Dearest Darling Angel Penelope,

Alas! This will be my last correspondence, my sweet, as I make my way home across the sea to your warm bosom after so many years in the muddy battlefields of Hominahomina. Please have a coffin and a plot prepared for me if I do not make it home alive. Our cavalry surgeon, Doctor Osândă, has informed me that the insect known as Arden’s creeper or the acid roach, has taken up residence in my ear, while I was stationed in the steaming tropical jungle of Haffarredrash. The creature has traveled to the part of my brain called the dorsal hypothalamic, which controls the heartbreaking spread of psoriasis especially in the remaining two-thirds of what the natives call my huk-huk.

Oh, blessed heavens above! Before we left port, I had received a correspondence from my servant, Mr. Upton. He says that you are now a free woman. Joy of joys! Could that be true, my angel of angels?

Upton had written that your childhood sweetheart and spouse of twenty years had passed on after receiving a dreadful blow to the skull. My tears are flowing for you, my love, like the mighty Incontinence Falls of the great Amazon.

Mournfulness overtook me when I had found out your tiny cherubs had been called to heaven on that calamitous evening as well. Your poor spouse and children—all dead—all on the same day! Oh, Providence! Forsooth! I had no idea that you ‘were with children.’ Eight? Well, fuck meself.

I had instructed Upton, my man Friday, to insure the safety of your children, but alas, it was too late. Upton reported that the fire had spread too quickly through the mansion. By the time the frightening oaf had arose from his drunkenness in the barn, the mansion had become a mound of ashes. Thank the Lord that Upton was able to rescue and deliver you to the safety of the barn before the fire spread.

About the pregnancy. For my part, I do pardon you your irresistible charm. Upton can be unruly and some days I question my hiring the brute from the Calcutta Circus. Be assured that he is my “responsibility.” Upton comes from fine stock and I will personally claim the cherub, Uptonette, as a Ward of Court. When he approaches his fourth year, the child will be assured a fine position in a reputable shop.

I am a gentleman, my love. I will support you both until I can find the guttersnipe bastard a suitable place of employment where the sun and lice shall not harm his fair skin.

 The hour of my arrival draweth fast on. Lastly, I vow that mine remaining eye desireth thou above most.

All my love,

Yours forever and ever,

Huthbert Grieves

___________________________

III

(Sent from Bristol, England, May 14, 1784)

My Dearest Darling Huthbert, 

Every day I look for your letters. Today, I feel that cupid is in the air.

A terrible thing happened at the Hollis’ grand mansion next door to my home this week. A terrible man attempted to kill neighbor’s entire family, except for the young wife, Hippolia, a woman who might be mistaken as my twin.

After clubbing the husband, Rhynos Hollis, to death, and presuming that the children were all asleep in bed, the villain set the house on fire. Thank the Lord above that all eight Hollis children were spending the week in London’s Marshalsea Children’s Prison because of a misunderstanding over the property rights of a beaten elder, or they all would have perished in that fire.

 During the blaze, the wife, Hippolia, was dragged outside only to be violated repeatedly until the rapist dragged her blindfolded down to Cornwall, where she was spotted, by drunkards no less, laughing at the Duck n’ Fishes pub. The rough beast continued his assault upon Mrs. Hollis the entire weekend, attracting numerous noise complaints at the inn. Mrs. Hollis had managed to escape from the brute and seems to be handling her weekend of terror quite well. She did tell me that the impetuous monster has threatened to return again, here to Bristol! The cheeky devil warned Hippolia that he will hunt her down like a fox, and imprison her royal suite at the notorious Saint Germaine Hotel in Paris and prod her day and night until her wicked spell upon him is broken. The poor woman. How dreadful!

There is some good news—for you, my hero.

My husband, Owen, has left me, knowing that my heart belongs only to you—and his own heart belongs to his ballet coach, Fabricio. My two children are both fourteen-years-old and have moved away with their own large families. I sit, all alone, waiting ONLY for you, my love. I pray that I may be worthy of such a pure soul.

More good news! My consumption has disappeared entirely since I refashioned my diet to only simple sweets. You will find that there is much more of your dear Penelope to love when you return.

I hope you are well. Please tell me when your ship, The Obbrobrio (The Disgrace), comes into my port, my heart of hearts.

If the recipient of this letter is not my beloved Huthbert, please disregard, I prefer chocolates.

My love, you are forever in my thoughts and dreams.

Penelope

_________________

IV

(Sent from London, June 1, 1784)

Penelope,

Oops!

Yours,

Huthbert

One last abysmal Letter from Lady Penelope Weeps 

Sent from: Kent on Birminghanfordkingshire

To: Lord Thaddeus Huthbert Grieves— by way of Lord Ward Toady, Wraithamwichshire, February 21, 1790

_______________

V

 My poor dear Lord Huthbert!  I am in distress!

Since you wrote Oops! as the only and last word in your final letter, I’ve had troubling cogitations, my dearest. For aught I know that you may soon be with the angels, and after losing half of your face, one-third of your manhood, one nipple, and discovering that an acid roach that had entered your brain at Hominahomina, has affected the remaining two-thirds of your huk-huk. 

Three days ago, I found out that you were alive, my darling. Joy of Joys! While I was relaxing at the Drivel Pub in East Piffle I overheard the sailors, talking about how their frigate, the Countess of Cachtice, rescued a man who called himself “Huthbert” within the hold of an abandoned Chinese junk (?). One of the sailors at the Pub, who’d been given the epithet Jack-the-Gaff by his shipmates (Curiously, it was neither of Jack’s rough hands that were shaped like a hook), said that you were found nearly dead aboard a ghost ship adrift among the treacherous whirlpools of Vodu, West Africa. 

Oh dear, what were you doing in China? 

The Daily Advertiser directed me to Charity Hospital in Piffle. Alas, I was barred from visiting your room by the Empiric Doctor Phineus Osândă who instructed me to come back later in the week, as your medical situation was “extremely distasteful.” What could that mean? I thought.

 While resting at the Piffle Inn, I came across this story on the front page of the Journal. A similar story regarding your recent condition also appeared in Lloyd’s Post. 

“One unfortunate passenger, identified as London’s Lord Thaddeus ‘Huthbert’ Grieves was found below decks, soaked in his own blood. Specialists from Shire Bedlam Hospital reported the Lord Huthbert’s colon was “severely damaged by an Asian swamp eel” (Monopterus albus). The grotesque fish had chewed through the poor fellow’s colon!”

Huthbert my love, how on Earth did that abhorrent creature end up inside your lower intestine? What were you doing in China, my heart of hearts? Who were these “opium men” who were “playing a trick” on you, as per the article?

I fear that this may be the last chance to tell you that you have always been the Love of my Life, my greatest thrill, equal to my recent swim in a vat of chocolate, with the two equally pale Cadbury Brothers at their new desert parlor in London. The brothers playfully nicknamed me “Bonbon.”

I ended up marrying the elder of the brothers, Sir Richard Cadbury. I never saw his very wealthy brother, Sir Simon, alive after our dip. The police had come over one afternoon asking questions about a public argument that the two brothers had had in the Lamb’s Lair Pub. It is as though the thick London fog had swallowed Simon. He was a nice lad.

My new husband, Sir Richard, it seems, has had a number of wives but only keeps a picture of his first, Hermia, upon the piano. The sorrowful man had lost Hermia along with his only two children when the three sailed into a maelstrom, though, this time, near the island of Bermuda. Richard often talks of her beauty and her long red hair and warned me that his deceased and beloved Hermia, managed to ruin his following six marriages and mysteriously drove all the ensuing wives away! Richard fears that I will also disappear because of an apparition. You, of all people realize that I am made of sterner stuff.

Oh goodness! As I look from the front window into the moonlight, I can see a woman with long red hair, with two barely clothed moppets in tow. Poor things, so pale and hungry. I will not wake our butler, Grieves, who has already turned in for the night. 

I’ll try to write again, soon. The children are crying just outside my door. They seem to be asking for pudding, of all things. Poor dears. Their cries are weak.  I’ll offer them a warm fireplace and something to eat. 

My heart-root, I have addressed this letter to your very close friend, Ward Toady, at Wraitham, as I cannot seem to locate you, my love, my life. 

Yours in Eternity,

Lady Penelope Cadbury

P.S. Richard said that he would post this for me on the morrow. It is time to greet the poor family outside. More crying. I must go and answer the door.

________________________________

VI

This last express post was sent on August 6, 1790

From: Lord Ward Toady / Wraitham Hospital, Southeast Londonshireham

To: Lady Penelope Cadbury, London

This letter was never read by the recipient, Lady Penelope Cadbury *Lady P. never had a chance to read her last mortal link to her beloved Lord Huthbert. The letter was found unopened at the Cadbury home a week after her disappearance.

_______________

My Lady Penelope Weeps Cadbury,

My god woman, did you not hear? It is with great sadness that I must inform you that your love, my oldest and dearest friend, Lord Huthbert Grieves, had been brutally murdered in the early hours of February 18. I pray that you will not take umbrage. I was certain that you, yourself, had been murdered back in February. The Lord’s assailant was a maniacal woman with long red tresses followed by two young children. 

The trio were seen by my own hospital staff, hovering near the stone path leading into to the hospital grounds at two in the morning.

No one knows how the fiends had gained access to Lord Huthbert’s private room, as several members of my hospital staff were awake and on duty! 

My primary nurse, Mrs. Walinkova, was first alerted when she heard the voice of a woman screaming your name from the garden. “Penelope! Penelope’s gray matter will be my …pudding!” The woman’s screeching was followed by the wailing of children (“Pudding! Pudding!”) which was heard by the entire hospital staff. 

 The cacophony outside was followed by the agonizing scream of our dear  Lord Huthbert. His private room was on the second story. The staff and I ran to Lord Huthbert’s door. It took four people, ten minutes to force the door open as it was being held shut by a ghostly gale of wind. When my four servants were able to gain access the wind came to a sudden halt. They found Lord Huthbert in the closet, hanging by the neck. My scullery maid, Fifi LaDerrier, reported that the poor man’s skull had been gnawed through as if by a giant rodent. 

After the staff and I had taken Lord Huthbert’s body from the closet and lay him on the bed, Fifi, whispered in my ear — with hot breath — in French, that poor tortured Lord Huthbert was finally at peace. As we drew a sheet over Lord Huthbert’s face, we both caught a glimpse of the Arden’s Creeper (the acid roach from the jungles of Hominahomina) crawling behind the headboard. I could no longer blame Lord Huthbert’s insanity on my souple pâtisserie Fifi! Indeed, It was the roach, boring into the afflicted man’s brain that drove him mad enough to harbor eels in his bottom!  

As the Lord’s body lie covered, a quartet of my servants, who were embracing and adjusting one another’s bed clothes at the chamber window, were frozen by a spine-chilling scene in the garden below. They had become transfixed by three pale figures beneath the cold moon, screeching like Irish banshees and dressed in thin white shrouds — It was the red haired demon and what must have been her two children. As if gliding on wheels, the phantoms left a trail of fresh sea algae along the cobblestones before vanishing into the woods. Wraitham is a two day’s journey to the nearest coast.

Dearest Penelope, I am so sorry to be the one to impart this terrible news.

May our Huthbert rest in peace,

In friendship, 

Lord Ward Toady

P.S. Mrs. Walinkova says that she was familiar with you from the circus days at the Drury Lane theatre. She asked me to relay this message: 

“Cheers, Penny! I am well, and though I no longer soar above the crowds at Drury, Toady says that I still defy gravity. The silly man! Please stop by for draught someday.”

_____________________

*************Mayflies*************

Mayflies  

(They may lay dormant, sometimes for years. Then BOOM!)

Three gazillion times upon a time…..

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(Asteroids getting their rocks off…)

Ten billion years ago two asteroids from opposite ends of the newly expanded universe crashed head-on into each other. (Okay, you want an explanation?  Zeus and Leto, husband and wife, throwing shit at each other during dinner. “You want another meat ball, asshole? Here’s your goddamned meat ball?”) There was a great explosion and together the pieces, caught in a gravitational pull, ended up plunging into the near-boiling oceans of an emerging planet, Earth.

Both asteroids carried the basic building blocks of life.

The future lovers, Chloe and Brady simmered slowly together until they mixed with other ingredients producing their first billion one-celled offspring (eukaryotes), all named either Cassie or Cassius — depending on their random choice of eukaryote underwear — who, bored sh*tless, after another two billion years — discovered hot sex.

Before becoming human, the eternal lovers, Chloe and Brady had also ‘experimented’ as insects.)

Insect sex rarely worked out well for Chloe, who was often assaulted by swarms of horny males on mating day, or for Brady, who often ended up headless or cannibalized.

But…at least to Brady (I cannot speak for his ‘hottie.’) …. well, Brady was ecstatic that he got laid, while his surviving mate, Chloe, usually got stuck taking care of hundreds of thousands screaming, pooping larva.

References:   

Eat me, Baby! — The Cannibalistic Lives of Black Widows — by I.M. Glootenfree

Mr. Praying Mantis — Losing his Head (and not giving it a second thought!) by I. Gumby

Mayflies: Stupid, Smiling Males Going Down in Flames by Ari Havinfunyet

The Mile High Club of Honey Bees by Stamen and Pistil

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.”

 

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.

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.

 

 

Clown Car — A Date with Mr. Jingles

“Clown Car — A Date with Mr. Jingles ”

3. ClassicClown

Miss Giggles paced the hallway of her small apartment in South Bouncy Town. She did not know what to expect of Mr. Jingles, the blind date that her girlfriend,  Roly Poly, had set her up with. A tiny polka dotted VW pulled up to the curb outside the window below Giggle’s small apartment. A cacophony of horns went off from inside the car. Who is this mysterious stranger?

Anxious, Giggles paced, skipped and did hand springs across her apartment. The funhouse mirror along with her silver jumpsuit made her look slimmer and taller than her squat five-foot frame.

anitas-sketches-5

She had a new look and a new name. Many years ago, after a big sneeze from her giant fire-engine red nose, cruel classmates laughed at her and named her “Gluey.”

The name Gluey stuck for years. (Hyuk, hyuk! HONK!)

anitas-sketches-4

 

Her new boss at the SMACME Fun Company had given her a better name, “Miss Giggles,” that was more suitable to her laughter. Giggles fixed her orange hairdo by Bozette and repositioned the two water balloons in her bra.

Her date knocked on the door with a familiar rhythm, “Shave and a haircut. five cents.”

“Hiya, hiya, hiya! Call me Mr. Jingles!” Mr. Jingles was dressed to the nines in a yellow baggy jump suit with six-inch blue polka dots and three red buttons the size of custard pies. His matching hat was two feet high and came to a handsome duncey point. Thank the Lord Bozo he wasn’t another hobo clown like her ex, Patches —with charcoal all over his face. My daddy, Boingo would like Mr. Jingles, she thought. So would my mommy. Miss Giggle’s mom, Bingo always wore the baggy pants in the Tumbles family.

“I bought you some di-did-diddlely flowers!” said Mr. Jingles, as he thrust forward a bouquet.

anitas-sketches-3

The flowers flopped over when she grabbed them. “How pretty! I’ll put them in water.”

“No probalobelummo, Miss Giggles! I have plenty of water right here!” He squirted her with his platinum plated Fizz-o-Rama seltzer bottle. “Hyuk, Hyuk!”

Soon, they were performing summersaults down the stairs and out to Jingle’s star-covered Volkswagen bug, she wondered, Is it true what they say about size 28 feet?

Mr. Jingles clicked his remote and the “Merry-go-round Broke Down” played across the Rubbermaid Habitat lined street as his car doors popped open. “Everybody, out! Hyuk, hyuk!” said Mr. Jingles as he motioned for his date to step back. Twenty clowns, two wearing “Kick Me!” signs on their backs, three riding miniature bicycles, some with pet chimps, and a couple with a pig in a baby carriage wearing a bonnet emerged from the back seat. They streamed down the dark street, each honking their “own horn.” Mr. Jingles held open the car door for Miss Giggles. “You can get in miss! Safety first! Buckle up!” He handed Miss Giggles a buckle. “Golly! I hope you’re hungry! Hey! How about Chuckle’s Cheese? I reserved the ball pit for us.”

“Isn’t that a bit pricey?” Giggles asked politely.

“Heck no! Nothin’ is too much fun for my girl! Hyuk, hyuk!” said Mr. Jingles as he pulled out a wad of Monopoly money. “We’re gonna paint the town red, and green and yellow and…”

Part II — Chuckle’s Cheese

“Please, my dear have a seat,” said Mr. Jingles as he pulled a “Wet Paint” sign from underneath his date. “Gotcha!”

“Oh, Mr. Jingles!”

“How about pie? Do you like pie, miss Giggles?”

“Custard.”

anitas-sketches-2

“Oh, goody!” He called to the waiter, “Garçon! May we order a half dozen custard pies — with whipped cream?” Mr. Jingles turned toward Miss Giggles and placed his giant red glove on her giant blue glove. “Would madame care for something to drink? Oui? Waiter! We’ll have two bottles of your finest seltzer.”

When their meal arrived they shoved three pies into each the other’s face and rinsed each other down with the two bottles of 1856 Dieu Maudit le Clown Seltzer water.

“I don’t feel well,” said Giggles suddenly. She bent over the dinner table, stuck her tongue out and … “Hack, hack, hack!” She pulled a blue handkerchief out of her mouth, which was tied to a yellow one, which was tied to a green one, which was tied to…… This went on and on for nearly a two gazillion minutes!

“Are you okay, missy?” he asked. “Let’s get some air!”

“Whatsamattah? Can’t ya take a choke?” she giggled.

Mr. Jingles took her by the hand outside. He lit a cigarette and tossed the match into her pocket.

Mr. Jungles casually asked Miss Giggles if she smoked.

“I only smoke when I’m on fire! Oh, no. I’ve been incinerated!”

“Well, there ya go! Hyuk, hyuk! You sure are hot!” Mr. Jingle’s lifted his duncey cap to reveal a plastic fireman’s hat. His red nose began to blink as he blew into a siren ring and ran circles around her.

“Save me! Save me, Mr. Fireman!” she cried.

Mr. Jingles stopped at his VW, unlatched the hood, grabbed a pail of confetti from inside and dumped it on her head. “Hyuk, hyuk! Gee, I’m sorry!” he said. “Here! Have another flower!” It squirted water into her eye, then drooped like the roses. Mr. Jingles grabbed her rouged cheeks and kissed her on her wax lips. Their noses beeped together.

“C’mon!” said Mr. Jingles. “Let’s go for a ride!”

It was a wild ride as they careened through the faulty stop lights of Bouncy Town and headed up the Benny Hills toward Sock-it-to me Lane overlooking moonlit Lake Guffaw.

anitas-sketches

Sock-it-to-me Lane

Once parked, they kissed and squeezed each other, producing many honks and beeps. There was barking from the back seat. Mr. Jingles was also an accomplished ventriloquist. “Woof! Woof!”

“What’s that Mr. Jingles?”

“A banana!”

“No, silly. I mean who is barking?”

“That’s my dog Sprinkles! Wanna see? Hyuk, hyuk.” Mr. Jingles opened his door and got out of the car. He tilted his seat forward and said, “Mr. Sprinkles needs to go for a walk!” as he grabbed a leash and pulled on it. The leash had an empty loop where the dog’s head would have been. “Miss Giggles, We’ll be right back! Then Sprinkles will leave us alone.” Mr. Jingles walked to a nearby tree with the leash and waited while his imaginary dog did his business. When they returned to the car, Mr. Jingles threw the leash into the front seat. “Oops! Sprinkles wants to sit in front, Miss Giggles. Whaddaya say? Let’s sit in the back seat. It can hold forty clowns!”

When in back, Mr. Jingles slipped off his size 28 shoes, and SHAZZAM!  Yes, thought Miss Giggles. It IS true what they say about big feet! ———— They stink!

And before you could say ‘Honk Honk’ Mr. Jingles had stripped down to his Happy Birthday Suit. “Har Har! Make a wish and blow!”

“Mr. Jingles you’re so much fun! Hee Hee Up until now, my love life has been a roller coaster — a Tilt-A-Whirl — and, and a funhouse!”

There was a knocking on the car window. The spell was broken.

“Uh, oh,” said Mr. Jingles. “It’s the Keystone cops! Get dressed, Hoppy.”

“Hoppy?” Who’s Hoppy? she thought. “Who in the Three Rings of Barnum is Hoppy?”

Jingles ignored her question. “They only want to chase us around the car with billy clubs ‘til our pants fall down.”

“Hey, I asked you something, Buster! Who is this floozy named Hoppy?  Have you been up here with other clownesses?”

Jingles ignored her again. “Oh, come on! Isn’t this fun?” Mr. Jingles rolled down the window! “Good evening occiffers…huh?”

Miss Giggles recognized the men outside the car behind the glare of their kaleidoscope flashlights. It was the notorious Muggles Brothers! Scary clowns.

“All of youz! Everybody! Outta the car!” said Boffo Muggles.

“Go steal a hamburger!” said Mr. Jingles as took the bubblegum from his mouth, fastened his jumpsuit with it, and stepped out of the car. He offered the Muggles brothers jelly beans if they promised to go away. Miss Giggles followed Jingles straightening her boxer shorts. She looked behind her to find out that yet another steady stream of clowns were exiting Mr. Jingles’ car.

The Muggles Brothers began “mugging” or making faces at the couple. Mr. Jingles surprised Boffo and knocked him down with an inflatable baseball bat, resulting in birds around Bofo’s head. Boffo popped right back up. Bobo Muggles said, “Give us all of your M&Ms, Jingles.” Boffo pulled out a gun that looked like a cannon. Mr. Jingles stood back and offered to give them everything. He started to empty his pockets. There were frogs, a rabbit, giant bloomers, white pigeons and hand-buzzers. “That’s all I got! Hyuk.”

“Mr. Big-shot Jingles is holding back on us,” said Bobo.

A “Bang!” sign popped out of Boffo’s gun barrel. Then, his brother Bobo hit Mr. Jingles with an inflatable sledge hammer sending him flying across the dirt lot where he landed squarely on his butt. Jingle’s big ears made his head look like a wing nut as it spun around. Jelly beans blasted from his pointy hat like a Piñata.

Miss Giggles remembered the two whoopee cushions in her back pocket. She threw them onto the ground and jumped on them with both feet, scaring the Muggles brothers away and saving the candy for all of the little children who love the Circus.

“You saved my life, Hoppy, uh …I mean Miss Giggles,” said Mr. Jingles, who was weaving, as she scooped up all of his candy and put it into her over-sized pockets. “Hoppy, huh?” Clown or no clown, he was only dating me for FUN! Mr. Jingles had  passed out before she could strangle the Casanova with his six-foot checkerboard necktie.

The ambulance arrived within minutes. Miss Giggles watched as the attendants loaded Mr. Jingles into the back on a gurney and sped off, in circles, of course… dumping him back onto the parking lot and, on the next round, fatally running him over, repeatedly, until the honking stopped. Mr. Jingles had gone to the Big Top in the sky. “Huyk, hyuk, hyuk!” Miss Giggles laughed. “Your fun-filled nights at Sock-it-to-me Lane are over Romeo!” She skipped back toward Bouncy Town, laughing-all-the-way. “Hyuk, hyuk, hyuk!”

But we all know that poor Miss Giggles was really crying on the inside.

anitas-sketches

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

A wee little circumc…uh, snippet from: The Man From Nantucket

“The hair in Sam’s nose and ears caught fire, and the threadbare material of his pants began to dissolve in response to the wench’s corrosive parlance. Mariah’s skirt, now in shreds, was no more than a mop swabbing Sam’s bounding foredeck.”
― from “The Man From Nantucket: The Man From Nantucket (American Legends)”
The Man from Nantucket copy

Bats ^^Ö^^ The Dinner Hall Scene

“No one tells my Gibor children what to do, Gretel Van Helsing!”roared the twenty-foot tall Saturn who had burst through the door and took a place in front of Vlad’s crew. He squatted and opened his arms to the stupid trusting Gibors. “Come to Daddy, kids!”

“This doesn’t look good, brother!”said Gretel. “We should make like lightning, and bolt!”

Always obedient, the repulsive Gibors ran into the arms of their daddy, who had created their miserable but delectable race long ago in ancient Mesopotamia. Daddy Saturn began to bite their heads off in quick succession. The entire room, already sick to their stomachs, was startled to see a continuous splattering loop of Francisco Goya’s Saturn Eating His Son. Drooling, the giant smiled with his mouth full, burped and asked, “Who’s got the Sriracha?”― from “Bats”

^^Ö^^

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