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Freddy Barnett's

And Then Things Got Weird….

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Sharks

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.

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.

14612352_1216326551760784_4789995738798171161_o.png

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.

 

 

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary’s Baby & Thyme

New Shark Fin Titled

A Ballad of Bonny Auld Scotland — from Shark Fin Soup (coming  soon enough)

On this cold Galloway night, deep within the Beane clan’s seaside cave, it was not going to be all talk. Father Sawney’s loving family realized that dad was dead serious …. and, oh yes, nearly dead drunk. “We can’t afford to buy meager portions of cold gruel any more, children,” he slurred. “Not if I’m gonna keep drinkin. You Scot-nosed bastards will either have to go to work, or we must start eating all of these piple, I mean peebles…I mean…. (snore)”

Sawney fell into a deep dream of sugar-plum fairies before he could finish his sentence.

Little sprout, the little pink cherub, chimed in with his choirboy voice, and an optimistic  “Aye! Why eat gruel, when we can have fresh meat nearly every night?”

Slowly the Beane family developed their unique culinary style. There were no cookbooks in Scotland at this time, and besides, the Beane family couldn’t read. It was often trial (guilty: execution!) and error. Eccy was born a natural chef who understood the cosmic secret of tenderizing.”

“True tenderizing, my children, often requires multiple beatings with heavy clubs and the trampling of horses.”

On the next fine Christmas Eve, father had captured a group of five fat jolly missionaries. Momma tried to cook the first missionary by roasting him. The result was “ He’s too tough!”. She boiled the second missionary and that one came out of the pot “too mushy!”. The third was stewed and was “too stringy!” After the fourth ruined attempt, by baking, Mama Beane ran from the kitchen in tears, and exclaimed “ I Can’t get these missionaries to cook right!. I Tried baking, boiling, stewing, and roasting….I cant do anything right!”, she said, breaking down in tearful sobs. Sweet, dear little Sprout gently put his arm around his mom and hugged her.

“Don’t fret, Mommy. That one’s a friar!”

The Tale of Jonah (for Shark Week).

Cover Bloody Good 2013Jonah “The Prophet” (when he was still operating as a non-prophet)

Swallowed By “Great Fish”

 

JOPPA, Mediterranean Sea

Monday, Fifth Century A.D.

…..They continued to pray, and finally, after ten more lovely coeds drowned, God stopped the storm. They then threw Jonah, the  party pooper, overboard.

Jonah immediately fell into the open jaws of the “fish.”

Miraculously, after tree soggy days and three glorious smelly nights in the great fish’s belly, the prophet was spat out alive (and whole), which may have been due either to Jonah’s legendary lack of personal hygiene or near-constant flatulence.

The predator was first assumed to be a cetacean (i.e. a whale, a mammal). It was most likely a shark… and a shark of that size was probably a White Pointer (i.e. Great White).

Sharks can turn their stomachs inside out (yeech). expelling foreign objects, such as prophets, whole!

(This story reached our city desk at 8:30 P.M., 467 A.D., just a few centuries after the event.)

Though the “oral” tradition of storytelling is a vast improvement over the “anal” tradition of story telling (Speaking out of one’s ass), some minor details may have been altered over the years.

“We do know that most of this tale is true, though the facts may not be ‘written in stone,’” said our editor Mr. Hezekiah.

On the next episode of Shark Fin Soup…

Bloody Hand Print Dark

>>>>> The cop was distracted by the sound of purring on the quiet pier as he approached the Cafe. He pulled a small revolver from the pocket of his windbreaker. The source of the sound was the size of small car, however white and furry.
It was Bomba rolling over and showing his tummy.
“Awwwww,” said the cop, unable to resist. “Good Kitty.”
When Captain Marquandson relaxed his gun and leaned toward the giant cat, Bomba took a swipe and split open the cop’s boozy torso .
Bomba then offered his prey to his boss, Artemis, to finish off.
Artemis ripped out Captain John Marquandson’s diseased liver and held it in front of his face.
“Ha ha! Hey, Johnny boy,” she said. “isn’t this thing supposed to go thump thump thump?”
“No, biotch! Only hearts go thump thump thump,” said Captain John on his slow motion voyage to the bloody planks.
“Dammit, Captain, I’m a goddess not a surgeon!” She threw his poisoned liver into a trash can.

By the Sea (from Shark Fin Soup)

 

The warm morning sun shimmered upon the rippling sea. A nice sized coconut bobbed up and down just past the surging shoreline and a few yards past the black skinned, golden haired, fifteen-year-old Mmbop Handsun, the prince of his own itsy-bitsy teenie-weenie Micronesian kingdom.

It was going to be another hot one, and Mmbop had forgotten his newest pair of certified-previously-owned Ray-Ban sun glasses given to him, in trade, by a rich tourist woman for one of his prized wood carvings — carvings that he ordered, weekly, from what he thought were poor dumb hard-working saps over in Malaysia. He did not realize that the Malaysians had been outsourcing the genuine Fijian carvings to a sweaty warehouse in Alabama, USA, that employed the children of ex auto workers. Mmbop only paid twenty-five cents apiece for the crude art. Yesterday he’d sold ten oversized one-hundred dollar wooden cannibal forks that his father, the Chief, Papaumaumau, had ordered from Taiwan at 50 cents apiece. It had been a good week, now that he’d also helped his parents decimate and sell off most of the island’s remaining palm trees to the Chinese.

As if any drunken tourist would even notice, there was hardly a substantial palm tree left on any of the High Society Islands within three hundred miles. Coconuts were scarce on both Little Hubba, and Big Hubba-Hubba, the two islands comprising the kingdom of Hubba Hubba Hubba.

“Shouldn’t waste perfectly good food!” Mmbop said, as he pushed his thick blonde dreadlocks back. The golden hair and clear blue eyes were a throwback to his Scandinavian sailor ancestors who’d visited, mated and had been munched on, in Micronesia over seven hundred years ago.

Mmbop lifted himself up, stretching his long thin shadow across the beach.

After eating the sweet coconut meat he would clean off the husk and carve a bearded monkey head for the dwindling tourists that have been disappearing along with the trees. Maybe he’d add a human finger bone through the nose.

Tourists always assumed that the “nose-bone” came from a chicken. Chickens were revered as Gods in Hubba-Hubba. They were only used for their eggs, by order of Queen Erica, after the island’s omelet loving priests had convinced her that the chicken fruit were a gift from Lomalagi (Heaven) and that ‘the sacred chickens, DID, in fact, come before the eggs.’

He watched the coconut bobbing in the water. After the carving was finished, he would add some shell teeth and toy glasses.

Tourists love that stuff, Mmbop thought as he bent forward, and tried to grab onto the bobbing nut that persisted on floating away in the slow current and morning glare. He hit at the coconut with a stick and it turned over. It appeared to have already been carved with a funny beard and a big schnozolla with a human bone through it!

It, of course, was a real human head.

Mmbop scooped it out of the surf and carried it to shore.

Granola grinding, hemp wearing, coral hugging tourists don’t want a real human head, he thought. Not even a fresh one like this. Maybe I should toss it back? He shook his head ‘no.’ I shouldn’t waste a perfectly good head. He decided to ‘fix it up’ with a few artful cuts. He reached into the pocket of his Izod swimsuit, which yet another rich tourist had traded him for a necklace of genuine plastic whale teeth, and grabbed his Swiss Army Cannibal Fork, that came complete with a saw blade, a grater, a marital aid, assorted knives, an Egyptian nose hook (for removing brains), a Phillips screwdriver, and a waterproof universal remote.

At home, waiting for him, was his main squeeze, Mmbopalula.

“Maybe I’ll take it to her as a gift.…Besides, nothing turns a woman on like a full head of hair.”

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

Shark Stories Review

Shark Stories — a bloody good read!

  • By Ray Pace, Honolulu Fine Arts Examiner

Author Fred Barnett

SHARK STORIES is not the typical book one encounters at the school book fair, say next to the ones about dinosaurs and the solar system. For that matter, neither is the book’s author Fred Barnett the sort who might monotone on about dorsal fins and the like at the same function.

No, Virginia, this is not your typical National Geographic offering on sharks and Fred Barnett just might be channeling both cartoonist Gary Larson and gonzo-journalist Hunter S. Thompson.

His publisher describes him thusly:

“Fred Barnett has been a professional underwater videographer, joke writer, performer and musician, wood carver (hellotiki.net), music and marine science instructor, and a cartoonist for the Garden Island Newspaper in Hawaii. Mr. Barnett’s previous works include two videos, Hawaiian Reef Fish Madness and Hanauma: A Day at the Bay, two music albums and one CD, Souvenirs, with Wiki Waki Woo, and two books, The Complete Humu and Silly Songs of the South Seas. His first full-length novel, Shark Fin Soup–A Tale of Shark Gods, Cannibals, Mad Cows, and Endless Love, he promises, will be completed and released at some point in the 21st century. Mr. Barnett claims his “real life’s purpose,” as revealed through recurrent dreams, is to feed his two cats. He was born in New York and raised in the sunny state of California. He currently resides in Kailua, Hawaii, with his wife, Jan-Joy Sax, and their two cats, Maui and Felicity.”

The publisher’s description of the book is perhaps a bit more modest:
“A rollicking adventure through time and the seven seas! Hundreds of fascinating TRUE facts and TRUE stories about our most famous denizens of the deep. “Fisherman arrested: Used wife as Shark Bait!” “Aussie Loses Same Leg Twice!” “Mako Attacks Fisherman On Beach!’ “Mom Eaten in Front Of Husband, Son and Six-Year-Old Quadruplets!” “Killer Arrested After “Monster” Spits out Murder Victims Arm.”

Imagine all of that for 10 bucks, plus a Bud Spindt cover illustration!

Who says we’re in a recession?

Arts & Entertainment |

Ray Pace's photo

Honolulu Fine Arts Examiner

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