"DOLLY VON LAUS'S DOTING DAUGHTER"...

BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST

CHAPTER  13



Another nasty Mynah bird from the nasty aviary of Faux-ville.

     Oh Faux-ville did have its fair share of good folk too...   just not the ones that I will write about.   I will most definitely poison pen the rotten ones,  especially the most blatant,  disgusting hypocrite that ever crawled out from under the backseat of a married man's (or married woman's) car...  Ora-Delle Von Laus.

     "My father does whatever he wants... Cheats on my mother, drinks, smokes and gambles behind her back and judges everyone within his "rose colored glasses" sight,  but then he just puts a one hundred dollar bill in the church collection plate and all is forgiven".  That was one of the many sincere musings to come out of the very large maw of Mizz Von Laus...  and her list of "born again" typical behavior was pristine and full of born again "goals"...

1- Fornicating Adulteress (frequently in the back seat of a car behind a dive bar with one of her many class mates Fathers).
2- Switch hitting  (mostly with much older already coupled women)
3- Recreational drinking and drugging (professional downhill skier and weed wacker)
4- Professional tax evader and scheister. (feigned a terminal illness to change legal records and avoid failure grades in college par ex.)
5- Guilty of molestation... several accusations on several different levels... All unforgivable (and swept under the faux-ville over stuffed rug)
6- Nasty Minah bird gossip who spread (dumped) more vicious rumours on the "lawns" of her own closest "friends" than manure found on a 2,000 acre hog farm.

  ... and these are only some of Ora-Delle's "born again" (and again) better qualities.

    The big "D" (as in Delle?) had one of the largest mouths in all of faux-ville and had no control over what came out of it...  or what went in it.  A very large girl, the big "D" (also known as the big O.D. at times) sauntered around town with the delicateness of a T-Rex or at least a chemically impaired male Moose.

It's quite often that it is the upper class families that produce the most principle-less hypocrites, such as OD Von Laus.  The first to crucify you if she even thought that you dared to lie to her, (and never let you forget it).  OD failed to see that her whole life and existence were nothing but a grand lie. From her old man wining, dining and fornicating his secretaries in his office while holier than thou evangelistic, hen-pecking mother sat home all day with the incredibly hard task of counting calories and moisturizing herself to death,  to OD's bible classes after after a wild night of alcohol, coke and very married partners.  She was nothing but a living, breathing lie in perpetual, arrogant denial.
    Not one to do anything the hard way, ever resourceful "D" took the easy route in life...  Plastic surgery (a real  deep and spiritual, procedure of the highest christian values),  gorged herself on speed and "snow" as "diet pills" and uplifting "supplements" to lose some of her massiveness ( that she acquired after gorging on junk food all night, every night... post her daily weed wacking routine). She also feigned temporary amnesia claiming only about 30% of her true "intake" when facing Uncle Sam's collectors.
    Of course,  everything she did was legit... swear on the holy bible!   It was "different".  It's always different with "faux-folk", especially the born again ones

    Last seen the big "D" was tipping the scales (or breaking them) at a very bitter 200 plus pounds and was still an out of control train wreck, acting out full tilt and ruining any lives she could along the tracks of her destructive path...  

 but... despite all of this... "OD" still has "high" hopes of following her life long dream of working in the ministry.




The saga of another Faux-ville sociopath  continues...


Move over Hale!  Move over Darian!


No hard feelings Mz Laus...  Really
    

"THE BIG "C" AND THE OLDE BARN ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE POWER LINES"...

BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST

CHAPTER 12

    Faux-ville infamous, career adulteress Hale Colon... also known as the big "C" by most (especially those whose marriages and lives Hale ruined and there are many), was spinning with delight as she had found a new way to go to town...  in reality a new, secret place to meet other people's boyfriends, husbands, lovers and fiancees.  It was a large, old and unused barn (or so the big "C" thought it was), that stood hidden for decades in an old, overgrown meadow several miles deep inside the forest on the other side of the power lines...  but that old barn was far from abandoned.  It had once been part of a huge farm, but no one had actually lived there in many, many years and the rumors flew like ghosts in the night that it was haunted.  Hale threw all caution to the wind, plotting and planning her clandestine, illicit "trysts" soon to take place there...  but Hale and her much-married "lover" of the moment would not be alone in the hay.

   It must have been like a scene from the 1940s classic film "The Red House", when shameless Hale ran out into the night to meet one of her many (married) lovers in the old barn beyond the forest.  It must have been just like the young boy from that film running through the wicked, windy night deep in the dark forest to a secret red house...  only with a deceptive "adulterating" twist.  Hale made sure that her career (multi)wife-beating-hubby was passed out before she dashed out the door and down a dusty, weedy path to the entrance of the engulfing forest.  Hale would cut across the open power lines and a small swamp to get to her destination, where Larkin Edwards would be waiting.   The forest was pitch black inside and she felt a pang of relief once she stepped out the darkness of the woods into the moonlight of the open area of the power lines.  She was running faster and faster when poor old ho Hale almost had a heart attack when a trio of bog suckers flushed up from a small patch of cattails in the swamp. She almost keeled over from the explosive, whistling sound of the birds as the helicoptered up and away.  Her heart was racing... (from the bog suckers scare or the four daily prescriptions that she just chased down with a swig of mad-dog?) as she continued on her virgin voyage.  This would be the big C's first "meeting" at the clandestine barn...  and little did she know it would also be her last. 

    She was near the end of her cheating journey and would have to cross a wooded swamp... or traverse a mile or more to get around it.  It had just rained however and the water level was high between the muck and mire.  Hale would have to try and use the random clumps of tussock sedges as stepping stones to get to the other side and her waiting paramour.  Well, old Hale was not a swift balancing act (especially high on scrips and on high heels) and she proceeded to fall large derriere first into the stinky sludge.  Hale was whimpering when she finally reached the other side of the swamp, pulling burs from her clothes and stumbled upon the barn area to find her loverboy "napping"  (passed out).

     Her shady, cheating paramour Larkin had already arrived at the barn before Hale and had waited nervously for her arrival... He had felt that something was amiss the minute he stepped out of the dark into the open area of the old farm.  It was an eerie scenario... a strange, luminous blanket of fog hung over the old meadow and he could see moon beams through the old weathered planks of the barn.  He thought he had heard leaves and such rustling under someones foot steps over the loud, chorus of nocturnal insects, whip-poor-wills and the bizarre croaking of a distant night heron as he passed out.  

    Larkin fell asleep sitting on the clumps of long grass propped up against an old pollard apple tree stump.  Hale found him in the moonlight and exhausted from her nature hike collapsed down beside him, swamp mud, debris and all.  

   They woke up to what looked like a giant, living scarecrow standing over them with a long rifle in its hand.  The full moon was behind the aberration, so they could not see its face.

   The "ghost" pointed the end of the barrel at them and hissed. "You two tryin to find my still!", "Chicken thieves!"

   The cheating couple jumped up and raced towards the woods and the swamp with the "scarecrow" following them closely, cocking his rifle, cursing at them with a brimstone and treacle cantor.  

   The not so happy couple ended up going home covered with mud, weeds and fear.  Needless to say neither told a soul about the scarecrow and the old barn on the other side of the power lines.  

Faux-ville update (coffee clutch edition)...

   Oh Hale, poor old Hale, (almost 60 looking 80 now... on a very good day that is) gave up nature trails, animal  husbandry, the farming life (especially barns, after that traumatic scenario and the "ghost") and all chances of becoming a camp-fire-girl...  in lieu of an old forgotten habit.  Hale was now craving dark chocolate again,  however she'll have to travel to the big city to find that particular variety...   Hopefully the "chocolate" she finds and indulges in will be aged at least 17 years or older this time around...  Not the underaged, I mean underripe chocolate she was sampling before. 

 No hard feelings Hale... Really!

"WIDOW ONA COCKSEDGE"

BY:  FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST

CHAPTER TEN


BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST

CHAPTER NINE


    Poor Ona Cocksedge, widowed at only twenty nine years old and thus thrown into (and wrapped up like a now unwelcome ladybug, a victim to be eaten alive in) the local shady-ladies, spider's party-line web of vicious lies and scandalous rumours.
    Widow Ona Cocksedge was still a very hot looking number (ala timeless, screen legend Mamie Van Doren) much to the dismay of the females of the "Nabe",  but to the horn-dog delight of almost all of the (very rare to actually find) truly straight males in the area.
    The rumours started even before Ona moved into the old, lodge hut on the edge of the Nabe.  The town mynah birds flocked around Ona's new abode to see what the movers brought.    The unwelcoming "welcoming committee" spent those days and nights walking their unfortunate dogs, cats and even poultry and livestock up and down the street again and again, spying on the Nabe's new inhabitant.  Darian even pretended to be looking for a non existent lost cat so she could look into the lodge.  She told one mover that the missing cat was an orange tabby and then told another mover that it was a Siamese pussy.  It must have been that fourth or fifth screwdriver (with a Rheingold chaser) that Darian was sucking out of a large coffee mug... sans any sugar, cream or java.



A TEASER TALE...   TO BE CONTINUED!
 
 

 
    

"ANNA FETTWEISS... THREE POSSUMS WITH ONE SKUNK IN A HUBCAP FILLED WITH SUET... AND FAUX-VILLE'S EVIL COFFEE CLUTCH"...

BY:  FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST

CHAPTER 11



Faux-ville...  3:00 am on a Monday night and
town head-adulteress Darian woke up to find herself passed out in the back of a Mercury Chevy with one of her closest "girlfriends" husbands (hubby Kit was passed out at home).  It took all of her strength to push Larkin Edwards off her, crawl out of the back seat of the car and race home across the overgrown field that separated their two neighborhoods,  before Kit could wake up to get another brew and butt and find her missing.  Darian was sweating and stumbling as she attempted to run a straight line across the field and down the small road.  She was not doing well after having six Bloody Marys and a 16 ounce can of Rheingold,  topped off with the home made Betty Crocker cream cheese dip and chips that she brought for this midnight "picnic".  Darian suddenly felt nauseous as she fell to her knees on the front lawn of Anna Fettweiss's home.  All Darian remembers is waking up one hour later in a nasty puddle of 101 proof vomit, face to face(s) with three Opossums and one striped Skunk staring at her from what looked like an old hubcap filled with garbage scraps.  Just another night in Faux-ville...


   Poor Anna Fettweiss...  a kindly, quiet, mature woman who had the misfortune of living within vicious gossip distance and constant microscopic vision of the deadly coffee clutch crew, which was queened by town hypocrite, adulteress and alcoholic Darian.  It seems that the coven of "mynah birds" had a garbage can full of new fodder on Madame Fettweiss to dump onto their already manure laden table where they met to dish the dirt and filth while drinking cups of "coffee" (really filled with everything from Night-train and Thunderbird to cooking Sherry and high alcohol level vinegar).

     Its true what they say...  that it those "victimizing" bullies who trash and bad mouth innocent victims of immoral and unacceptable behavior that are almost always the true perpetrators of the evil gossip that they spew.  Faux-ville acid mouthed Darian was no exception to the rule... That is in between her noon time alcohol binging, next door neighbor husband coveting, telephone gossip raging routine.
 It was not long before Darian, Mrs Masterhorn and the rest of the "mynahs" from the deadly nabe coffee clutch were attempting to freeze out poor Anna and bad mouth her to anyone who would listen.  It didn't work on Miss Fettweiss though,  as she had always lived a solitary existence at 113 Birchwood lane for the last thirty years and was unfazed by anything the "mynah birds" attempted to do against her.   Anna's appearance did not help her cause much though.  She only emerged from her cottage very late at night like a ghost, covered in layers and layers of old clothes, with a large hat and veil covering her face like a bee keeper.

    Frau Fettweiss had lived a hermits life on Birchwood lane, always keeping to herself and her nocturnal "pets".  You see Anna did not feed the birds in her yard as some folks would,  Anna preferred to feed the local furry critters that invaded rural Faux-ville after sundown instead... when Darian and her crew were already passed out from imbibing cocktails and all "gossiped" out.  This only fueled more gossip and rumours about her odd eccentricities.

   Faux-ville was wedged between many farms with large corn fields, hedgerows and miles of deep surrounding forests. There were plenty of raccoons, foxes, porcupines, muskrats, rabbits and two of Anna's favorites... Possums and skunks.  Anna took an old hubcap from her garage, turned it upside down and filled it with kitchen scraps like old dough nuts, bacon drippings, potato peels and chunks of beef suet under one of the two huge Norwegian maple trees in her front yard... much to the dismay of the other neighbors in the area.  Each night was a circus of possums, raccoons, skunks and other would be fur collars and muffs racing in and out to feast on the chow in the old hubcap.

    Was it this new "hobby" of Miss Fettweiss's that started the gossip mill churning and deep trouble for her...?  Or was it (also) possibly her new, secretive and handsome "boarder", a twenty something year old stranger from out of town?

  (Especially when it came to the attention of Faux-ville adultress, alcoholic, prescription drug addict and local resident Queen Cuculus Canorus... Hale Colon)
 

"NIGEL MCGILLIHAM'S HOME BAKED GOODS"...

BY:  FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST

CHAPTER TEN



    I could here two voices coming from our kitchen as I entered the front door on my way home from school.  It was my older brother and one of his cronies that I could not stand,  a real bull-shitter and blow hard... and a real vicious gossip, very effete in that way especially for someone who was so "masculine".  I had actually seen him on several occasions back in the woods comparing "egos"  with other overly-masculine roosters before, but of course... it was different.  Sure it was, its always "different" for hypocrites.  Only other poor, unfortunate victims of his taunts and rumours were f--s and d---s.  One day this unscrupulous jaybird would get married only to "serial-cheat" on his wife (even with his close "friend" Stevie's fiancee days before they wed), until she threw him out, and he finally "came out"... well half way out.  I would discover later on that this two faced, dirt bag was actually the creator and instigator of the most hurtful and damaging rumours that clouded the sky over Faux-ville (including several about me), which he would "mention in passing" to the worst of the bunch...  Darian,  Hale,  Ida and Mrs Masterhorn,  fully knowing that he just sold another cover story to the national enquirer.  He was nothing but a flounder faced louse, a real, nasty bottom feeder.

Back to our scandal...
    I could smell something burning in our stove and could see what looked like four leaf clovers spread out on cookie sheets in our oven, as its door was slightly open.  The shamrocks turned out to be wild strawberry leaves that they had picked up in the grassy knolls of the power lines, not to far from the secret vicinity of a small patch of low quality cannabis that McGilly had been cultivating and hiding way up in the far hills, deep within the vast forest in a small, sunny clearing.
   "Strawberry leaves?" I half laughed.  McGilly then opened his huge maw and shot back how strawberry leaves heightened the effects of his home grown "smoke" when it was cut into it.  I roared laughing to which they gave me a shove and told me to get lost.  I walked out of the kitchen singing "Strawberry Weeds Forever", thinking what a pair of dip shits that they both really were...  just another typical day, in the Nabe that is.

   McGilly turned out to be no Betty Crocker and his home baked goods business never took off.  He didn't collect the "big bucks" he claimed he would and his baked harvest ended up getting smoked alone by him behind the VFW.
   This alcoholic, obese, old bastard (who in his successful career as a vile gossip, spread damaging, untrue rumours about so many, including myself...  but I'm not holding a grudge), now lives in the back of a dilapidated gas station off Route 66 way out West,  wedged between several very "active" truck stops where there seem to be only lonely men ...  a good place for him.

No hard feelings...  Really.






 

    

"THE DARK TRIAD" "RATTICE FOULCOWSKI"...

BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST

CHAPTER NINE


  There's one in every classroom.  That typical bitchy, mouthy behemoth that terrorizes those unfortunate victims around her, always wanting to take any attention away from her ugly self.  That mannish, aggressive type that was filled with phobic self-loathing.  The Nabe's Rattice Foulcowski was certainly no exception to the rule.  Looking like a cross between an Iguanodon and one of the cone head people from Saturday Night Live, (and featuring the facial profile of Grandpa from "The Munsters"),  Rattice was a catfish mouthed, moving mound of adipose tissue and cellulite.
    Her career as a bitter, hypocritical bully and fervent gossip would also carry on into her adult life later, cushioned by alcoholic, crooked, wealthy parents who always "bought" their offspring out of trouble.
     Rattice was truly an enigma to me in every way.  How anyone so homely and bovine (and I'm being kind here as I love cows), could have the audacity and balls to put out like she was one of the gorgeous "mean girls" was mind boggling.  She would harass anyone that got in her large path, never realizing that she looked like a land bound, jelly fish.  She had a huge masculine forehead and high hairline with the weakest, thinnest, mousy brown hair Ive ever seen on a girl...  it almost looked like an old stringy toupee that someone sat on.  Yet this was the witch who ridiculed, mocked and intimidated everyone around her puffy, pasty self.   Rattice went on to build a huge following of those who detested her...  beyond belief (except she would never believe that herself).  A blatant hypocrite who trashed everyone around her for their behavior or habits,  I saw Rattice committing some of the most wrong and scandalous offences in the Nabe including smoking herb and doing lines of snow with her dead beat, wife beating, professional adulterer brother, in the vicinity of an occupied baby crib on more than several occasions.
    The epitome of hypocrisy came when her old lady actually made a "donation" to the church, well really to their Mon$ignor to acquire an annulment to Ratty's decade long marriage that produced several other cone heads.  Anyone knows that an annulment can only apply to a marriage that has not been consummated, but you know... $.
    It seems that Rattice had been cheating on her spouse and had been seeing an ex from high school, a fat slob with equal daily issues with alcohol and other "substances", carrying on an adulterous affair.   Her first victim, oh I mean husband was driven out of town soon after.
    Rattice can still be found in the Nabe smoking herb in her backyard, and enjoying other illegal "substances" on the weekends.  Also still a rampant gossip and viral hypocrite Rattice proves once and for all that money in the church plate washes everyone clean in the Nabe...   and the days appropriate sermon is  "Money talks, ....... Walks".
   I was sickened, almost to the point of vomiting all of these years later to find her profile on face book, featuring a picture of her ugly shadow (and even uglier aura) posing in front of believe it or not... a church.  

"MISS HALE'S HOME PHARMACY... AND OTHER TALES OF SELF EMPLOYMENT IN THE NABE"

BY :  FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST

CHAPTER EIGHT



    Infamous Faux-ville tart Hale's other phone line (the red-hot extension) is ringing, but that C.O.D. call/delivery will have to wait.
 Small town, career adulteress (and now candy stand girl added to her resume) Hale is too busy trashing her current (wife beating-alcoholic) husbands ex-victims...  I mean ex wives...  on her ever handy wall phone, that she hangs from like a human vine of toxic Poison Ivy for hours at a time.  Unfortunately, the gal that Hale is verbally vomiting on (Trudy), has no clue how friendly her husband is with good-ole Hale when shes out doing her aerobics class every Tuesday and Thursday night.
    A large, glass container on the counter is filled with what looks like "Good-n-Plenty", but this candy didn't come from any corner store,  it was "borrowed" from the nursing  home where Hales works.
     You see, Hale has become a very successful part time, self employed entrepreneur.  It all started when lil sis Sammy got busted for writing her own "scrips".  Hale started to "borrow" meds from the facility she worked in...  pain killers, uppers, downers and everything addictive in between to help her little sibling.  Ever resourceful Hale found it necessary to buy enormous glass canisters to store her harvest, so she purchased several dozen from a wholesale candy/confectionery supplier.  It soon looked like a 1950s candy store in her pantry and the smart tart branched out and started supplying all the locals with meds for every possible need...   but always in exchange that is, for many "things" besides just the typical payments in cold, hard cash... but that is for a future story.
 The Nabes new pharmacist is in... get your prescriptions out!  Home delivery available, or easy call-in ordering on Hales special color coded "Chem-menu".  Have a good day.

    There were many other self employed "entrepreneurs" in the Nabe as well,  including a few like...

    Violetta Falschmuschi:

    Who looked like a blow up doll from an adult shop on 42nd street.  She supplied 30 minute fantasies and words of carnal encouragement to the unwitting in Faux-ville.  Violetta started this home "love line" for the lost and lonely... cash only, to be sent to a P.O. Box on the other side of the tracks of town.

     Nigel McGilliham:

     Who started his own herb garden in an undisclosed, remote area of the power lines several miles outside of the Nabe.  No delivery available, but happy to do pick-ups by the third power line pole behind the V.F.W.  Gil often cut his herbs with whatever feral weeds were around...  wild strawberry leaves were his claim to fame, he insisted that they intensified his home grown herbal "experience".  Mrs Krauter could never figure out how and why all of a sudden she was going through two boxes of plastic glad sandwich bags in one week.