Huh? Did you hear what this motherfucker said to me, Chester?”
“You skinny prick. If I weren’t just a huge, doughy, outa-fuckin’-shape desk jockey with a bad ticker, I’d stomp your sorry ass, punk,” said the lard-ass-on-wheels named Chester. “Nobody talks to my fuckin’ bitch like that!”
“Hey! I was just admiring the old heap’s artwork, man. Her tattoos are awesome.”
The willowy Mina spoke up: “He’s gonna be a prince and I’m gonna be his princess someday.”
“Oh reeeeally?”said Brutehilda. “You two look the part now. Take my advice, ya better do it while you’re still a stick figure, flower child. That goes for you too, granola breath.”
Mina, always the saleswoman, reached into her purse and produced a small jar of cream. “I can perk up that flab for you, ma’am. My name is Mina.”
“I’m Brutehilda and everyone calls this laugh-a-minute turd Chester the Jester!”
“I sell an anti-gravity skin cream that is far more than a simple moisturizer,” said Mina. “It will firm you up. Just rub some there and there…”
The change was magical. Visibly, the sinking ship tattoo on Brutehilda’s arm became buoyant. Beneath the biker mama’s jeans, the weeping willow tattoo on her thigh became a proud oak, reaching toward the sunny warmth of her ‘hoo hah.’
“Keep a sample,” said Mina. “Let me know how it works. My email is on the jar. In a few days I’m off to Slovakia. I got a letter from a woman named Lupta Axe who represents a rich countess whom she says I am related to. Imagine that! So, this Countess Bathory claims that she has found an all-natural ingredient that can rejuvenate not only the skin, but the entire body. It’s supposed to be the real deal.”
“I’ve heard that nonsense before,” said Chester.
“I’m bringing my ingredients to Slovakia. The Countess says that she’ll fly me over and purchase everything that I can make.”
“Me and the wife here are taking some business associates and some Nordic friends on a bike trip through there and along the Danube in a couple of weeks,” said Chester.
“If this stuff works, I’ll buy everything you’ve got here in town,” said Brutehilda. “Maybe we’ll see you in Europe .”
“Unless the skinny bitch turns sideways,” said her old man Chester.
“Ha. Ha. Don’t listen to the old fool, string bean.” Brutehida’s stood up to stretch her six-foot-nine, no, six-foot-ten-inch frame.
Jonathan stepped forward assuming Mina would need protection against the imposing beast.
“Don’t worry, kid,” said Chester. “Brutie’s as gentle as a bear. She won’t crush your little friend. Besides, there ain’t enough meat on her bones.”
Mina stepped back to look up at her imposing new friend. “Yeah. Maybe we’ll see you around.”
“…and around and around,” said Jonathan. “Around Mrs. Monstro here, that would be quite a hike.” He tried to suppress a laugh.
“Orrrrrrrr…unless your dainty T. Rexstands in front of the sun and causes a total eclipse,” said Mina with an elbow to Jonathan’s ribs. She couldn’t stop giggling. Neither could Jonathan. “We’re really sorry,” said Mina.
“Hey!” said Chester. “Noooooobody talks to my fuckin’ bitch like that!”
Jonathan sobered instantly and grabbed the neck of his guitar ready for a fight.
Chester broke into a big laugh. “Chill out, boy. I’m only joshin’!”
Jonathan and Mina looked at the mighty Brutehilda for a reaction, knowing that she could have pounded either of them into poi for the way that they were talking about her.
Then they all joined Chester the Jester in a hearty laugh. (Hardy fuckin’ har har.) There was nothing particularly funny said that afternoon in Santa Monica. It was just that the biker couple had been tooting nitrous oxide (laughing gas or N2O/O2) continuously. Chester and Brutehilda (‘Brutie’ had a dentist brother named Kong) always inhaled a tankful on Sundays, before they cruised the Pacific Coast Highway.
Mina had to rush home to make cream that afternoon. When she re-entered her Venice beachfront studio, she found a large puddle in front of her refrigerator. The electrical plug had been pulled out of the wall. On the floor, next to the plug was an empty package of Witchy Snack’s Wasabi Newt Eye. A witch snack? thought Mina. Meanwhile, Mina’s new skin cream “ingredients” (a drunk who’d been sleeping in the planter outside of her ground-floor apartment window) were rotting and leaking out onto the tile floor.
An old six-shooter, $5000 in bloodstained cash, and a handwritten note from Lupta Axe sat on her white Formica kitchenette table. Who the fute is Lupta Axe? And why did I just say “fute?”
The note read:
I’m so sorry about the mess, deeeeeeearie, but you have to leave Los Angeles. Now. Opportunity awaits you overseas. This gun used to belong to the outlaw Belle Starr in the 1880s. It’s a Colt Single Action Army pistol, custom made for Belle. It always protected her. No bushwhackers ever whacked Belle’s bush as long as she had it on her. Don’t let TSA find it, dearie. There are also three boxes of silver-tipped bullets in the bag. All of the documents that you need have been taken care of by order of the Countess. There will be a taxi waiting for you in Budapest. The Elizabeth’s personal chauffeur will take you to Čachtice Castle in Slovakia. Happy travels! FYI: Fute means “fuck” in Romanian.
Over the centuries, Vlad and Elizabeth had consumed their entire human armies. They never once considered their “nom-nom-nom’s” or victimelor (victim’s) advice about creating new armies made up of the undead that had, for decades, been utilized successfully at the Department of Motor Vehicles. The Prince and Countess had “lost” their household staffs years ago. They’d also slaughtered their so-called “friends” and loyal subjects who did no more than plead for their puny lives. Elizabeth asked Lupta if she could “dig up a few distant relatives” after both herself and Vlad had had children centuries ago, all who eventually “flew the belfry.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said the witch. “I’ve got a line on two of your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandkids who so far are, well, not that great. There are some shadows in their lives. Hmmm, they might have potential. Right now, they just look like a couple of smelly hippies.”
After extensive research, Lupta pinpointed the two youngsters—both living far away, like in, fer sure, sunny Southern California. This looks promising! Both their addresses were listed exactly where the crystal iBall had indicated, near Santa Monica. And both could be found on the dating site Blacksheepshame.com, “Where the lowest common denominator of psychopaths meet!”
Vlad’s great-grandson, eight times removed, was one of them. He was Jonathan Tepes, a part-time junior college literature teacher, Santa Monica lifeguard, and tone-deaf folk singer. The young man looked very much like Vlad—without the mustache—who also had a striking resemblance to the singer James Taylor—before Mr. Taylor had lost all-his-fuckin’ hair. Blacksheepshame.com also showed that Jonathan had a “history,” a string of assaults on his police record.
Wilhelmina (Mina) Bathory Blythe (the Countess Bathory’s great-granddaughter, eight times removed) was a lithesome blonde, age thirty-two, who owned a small cosmetics company. Young Mina also had a passion for guns and was once arrested for “ghoulish behavior” and the illegal trafficking of human organs…(?!) If she were dark haired, Lupta the witch thought, she would look like a thinner Elizabeth. That cute ass of her’s nails it. On a dating app description she’d listed herself as “all willowy an’ shit.”
Transylvania needed new blood—now. Lupta would make both of these children offers that they couldn’t refuse. The two young people had never met, until Lupta put her spells in motion …one day…
I feel so “willowy” today, Mina thought. I’m young, blonde, thin, and springtime fresh! (She wasn’t that young.)
(Imagine, dear reader: Can you picture her long fine hair blowing in the late afternoon breeze as she walks along Palisades Park above the sparkling Pacific? Can you see her as she kneels to pick flowers on her way toward her “favoritest” bench overlooking the Santa Monica pier? Oh look! There sits a handsome minstrel!)
Graceful Mina, holding a fistful of traumatized wildflowers viciously torn from their roots, approached the young man in slow motion. The smooth, shirtless, and easygoing young fellow was butchering James Taylor’s hit song, “Laid Back and Cool,” on his guitar beneath an oak tree.
“You sound just like James Taylor!” said the willowy one who, luckily for Jonathan, was also tone-deaf.
“I assume that you mean the young James Taylor, the carefree James with long, thick hair. Alas! Fair maiden! You look just like Gwyneth Paltrow. All willowy an’ shit,” said His Mellowness.
“My name is Wilhelmina Blythe. You, my handsome thirty-something-year-old irresponsible type, can call me Mina,” said the thirty-something-year-old faux Paltrow. “Someday I will be a princess!”
“Aye, my princess, my name is Jonny, short for Jonathan. The life of an irresponsible musician is in my blood. My father, Jonathan Tepes, was also a musician. He too was a talentless irresponsible leech…‘cept he’s bald and old. Observe, dear maiden, I’m lanky and young and cool without a care in the world. I don’t carry a wallet or wear a shirt. You, my dear, look extra extra extra willowy to me.” He attempted a few major sixth and seventh chords from a song by Bread. He knew that those soft romantic chords were willowy chick magnetizers.
“I am willowy,” Mina said. “You could blow me away with a fart.”
Jonathan, who had just eaten at Tito’s Tacos, tooted. A breeze ruffled through the green grass. She grabbed onto a nearby tree for safety.
Jonathan smiled. “A fart straight from my heart, dear maiden. I haven’t bathed in a week or washed my underwear in a month. I pray that it doesn’t offend thee. I’ve been living off of the land, our Mother Earth, since this morning.”
Kokonuts (of Kauai) ran as a daily cartoon strip in The Garden Island News of Kauai (Mahalo to editor Jeanne Holmes) from 1981 until 1983, when we departed Kauai (months after the decimation caused by Hurricane Iwa on November 19, 1982). Here is an early introduction to the cast of Kokonuts (1981)…PLUS another early cartoon…There were approximately 500 cartoon strips.
Sneaking out of Town.
That disheveled lump of greasy lard on the bed is the hero of our story. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, the world knew him as “Johnny Passion,” the once handsome front man of the rock group, The Love Muscle.
This battered, balding, bloated creature with hair growing out of places hair should not be allowed to grow, sleeping fitfully on sweat stained sheets used to be that Johnny, the “original pop star.” These days, Rocker Boy, Mr. Passion, spends most of his time snoring, alone, in his king-sized bed. He abandoned his own successful singing career in 1972 because of an incurable broken heart.
With a Thong in my Heart
Johnny- The Formative Years
“Johnny” Passion was born Ionel GrtwszxtszckKyzt, (pronounced: Mngytr-grrrst-blik) in 1950, from immigrant Romanian parents.
Johnny’s parents, Vlad and Bebe were not what you would call “your average, fresh-off-the-boat hardworking Eastern Europeans.” The GrtwszxtszckKyztes came to America as wealthy underwear magnates, who wanted to realize their real dream of becoming professional entertainers.
Vlad and Bebe arrived at Liberty Island when the inebriated captain of their ship The Panty Liner, fell asleep at the wheel while heading for the Hamptons. The moon happened to be full, so Vlad, feeling frisky, ripped the captain’s throat out as retribution for the inconvenience.
We don’t know very much about Johnny’s parents, except that mom, Bebe, worked in “advertising” under the name “Bubbles LaRue,” while his father, Vlad, played drums under the name “Sammy Davis jr.- jr.-jr. or Sammy Davis IV,” although Vlad’s black housekeeper and drum teacher, Mattie, used to tell him, “You’re the whitest white boy I ever did see.”
The GrtwszxtszckKyzts had changed their last name to wife Bubble’s maiden name, Passion, after the first year in America.
* * * *
As a duo, Sammy (Vlad) and Bubbles (Bebe) were very popular entertainers in Romania Town, an area which encompassed three small apartments above a candy store in Brooklyn.
When the four-year-old Ionel (pre-Johnny) entered private nursery school, he was registered by his mother as Ionel Passion.
Ionel’s parents retired from show business in 1955, and opened an exclusive New York lingerie store called “In a Bunch,” where the child spent most of his charmed childhood.
* * * *
“The women customers would ask me, when I was still a child, to sing for them while they tried on different items in the dressing rooms. After trying on intimate apparel, the finest women in New York would toss the ‘gently’ used items over the dressing room door, virtually burying me, a little kid in (mostly) sweet smelling undergarments.”
— Johnny Passion, The Authorized Biography
* * * *
In those happy, formative years, the future Johnny Passion had decided what he wanted to be when he grew up: Covered in ‘sweet smelling undergarments.’
In his will, many years later, he would again request that he be buried beneath ‘sweet smelling undergarments.’
* * * *
The Passions sold their business in 1960, and moved their family to California. They knew that Los Angeles was the right choice for their talented son. They were sure that he would someday be a star. He would become a household name, like Windex or ‘Hey you!’ The entire world would soon know Johnny Passion!