"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.

"FAUX-VILLE U.S.A."

BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST


CHAPTER SEVEN



  You could smell the cow and chicken manure from the dairy farm down the street the day that Dora - short for Pandora - was "spotted" coming out of the woods (and not alone) by the Nabe's own little "snake-in-the-grass"  Mrs Masterhorn, as she sat drinking 101 proof out of her fake, trademark coffee mug.   Mrs M had been coiled up in her window all morning like a timber rattler waiting to strike and inflict some poison and some pain on someone... anyone.  Even her pretty, off-white curtains with embroidered garlands of yellow roses couldn't hide the evil pit-viper look on her face... she had new, dirty fodder for gossip and she was now in telephone-line-ecstasy again after a too long and very uneventful week in the Nabe,  also known as "Faux-ville U.S.A."
    Don't feel too sorry for Dora though,  she was a born again (several rebirths) serpent from the garden who had more dirt to hide than the hundreds of spirits that hid in the original Pandora's box.

"What are best friends for...?"

    Mrs Masterhorn was swigging her brandy out of her coffee cup in her snake pit and waving happily to her "dear friend" Pandora who was now walking up the street on her way home from a "nature hike" in the woods (while brushing grass and leaves off of her clothes).  Of course Dora had no idea that Mrs M, (Ida) was trashing her to death on the horn with head-gossip and fellow snake-in-the-grass Darian as she blew kisses to her thru her rose coloured, tobacco stained window.  Ida put the red-hot receiver down to run to her door and yell...  "Coffee in twenty minutes Dora doll,  I made some toll house cookies for us".
    Pandora barely heard Ida as she was frantic to get back home.  She had forgotten to take her "scrips" before her walk on the wild side, so she would have to double-up on her Oxycontin and Percocet before entering the "snake pit" across the street for "coffee talk".
    It was twenty minutes later but babbling Ida Masterhorn did not hear the knocking on her door as she sat, still coiled like a cobra spewing venom about poor Pandora.  "Six down, four more to go" she hissed as she started to dial another "snakes" number.  Dora walked away thinking that Ida had forgotten about their coffee clutch and was out.  She barely had the key in her own door when she heard her shocking pink, rotary princess phone ringing off the hook...  it was Darian up the block (just off the horn with Ida)...  Dora would need a few, deep brain numbing snorts of Stadol (permanent hay fever Pandora insisted) to handle this call.
  It seems that Darian was on a vicious roll, like a tumbleweed in a hurricane.  The poor thing was back on a starvation diet and her steady side kick was away with his wife so she was a dangerous, frustrated little pudge of patty pan squash ready to lash out at anything that moved.  Of course, downing black beauties with drambuie didn't help at all.
     Soon Ida and Dora had two or three working calls (call waiting) going at once, as they waved to each other from their window burrows, saluting each other with coffee cups filled with liquor. The vicious gossip was burning the telephone lines so bad that it scorched the feet and feathers of several Crows and Blue Jays that were perched on them.
     The ladies were in such a verbal frenzy that they soon had no idea which one they were talking too and nasty rumours crossed the lines.   Ida was soon gossiping to Dora about Dora...  and vice versa,  but since it was all nameless chatter ("she" and "her"), they never knew that they were trashing each other to filth.  Wild tales and vicious rumors about wife swapping, cheating, booze binging, candy trading, gambling addicts, character defaming, kleptomaniacs and "tutoring" under age proteges flew around like a bat out of hell...  It didn't really matter though,  each one had a long rap sheet on the other that would make Xaviera Hollander look like a cloistered Nun.  
      It was so much for Ida and Pandora that they had to go outside and sun themselves on giant rocks to digest that banquet of gossip, like a couple of diamond back rattlesnakes that had each just swallowed a dumpster full of garbage.
     They were still good to go though, because after all,  that's what best friends are for...  in a town called Faux-ville U.S.A.










 
: 

"MASCULINE -FEATURES- AND OTHER CREATURES"

BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST


CHAPTER SIX


  Oh the Nabe was filled with a colorful cast of characters... all in phobic denial of course... from dipsomaniacs and kleptomaniacs to pyromaniacs, paraphiliacs and frustrated tricotillomaniacs, but... the most confusing and bizarre creatures were those obsessed with hyper masculine-dysmorphia.


"A Happy Trio of Tales below"



 The Farthfews were a slightly prejudiced, slightly acid-tongued family from merry olde England who still referred to the states as "the colonies".  Young son Steven was certainly a dashing edition to the Nabe, although a little peculiar at times.  He would isolate often and seem to stay in his room for days at a time.  The Farthfews insisted that their boy was just the strong, silent type and that was that... for the time being that is.
  It was also around this time that a new kind of cat burglar starting fleecing the villagers of the Nabe... but not cash, coins or frozen foods, the stolen goods of choice were items of clothes from their laundry lines left out all night. Time went by as these nightly  "raids" occurred but no one could figure out who was lifting all of these "personals" off the laundry "racks".  The items stolen however were very specific and all the same types of wear.
  It was on a scorching hot day in July that Mrs Farthfew could not stand the noise blasting from her sons room anymore.  She had come home from work early so Steven thought that he was in the house alone as usual.  Mrs Farthfew busted into the boys room to find him wearing a selection of the Nabes stolen laundry.  He was dancing around the room drinking Sherry from a cocktail glass, smoking his Mothers Eve light 100's in a bra, panties, girdle, sheer stockings and a pair of Mrs Farthfew's pumps.  The cat burglar of the laundry lines had been exposed... but his parents insisted that it was just a phase, that would vanish once his masculine features would develop... they never did.  A boy with such nocturnal travestic fetish adventures doesn't go too far without them... at least not far enough to carry off that stolen wardrobe.

 
    Poor DD Quinto, seventeen years old and he still hadn't started puberty let alone reach it.  From a distance he almost looked waifish with wispy, thin blond hair, large sunken, brown eyes and a very slight frame, nothing like the other stag-like, darker, Sicilian men in the family. Up close he sounded like Pippi longstocking on heavy doses of estrogen. Of course his rough-n-tumble, aggressive and coarse parents were devastated at this development... or lack of development.  Older brother Vinny was a 6'2" strapping athletic buck by the time he was seventeen so pallid under formed DD was an embarrassment to the family.  He forced himself onto the school athletic life but he still looked like a queer duck in a pond of regal swans.  Papa Quinto took matters into his own hands, force feeding the little pigeon huge amounts of pills, capsules, tablets and powders to "enhance" masculine features"... but it didn't really work, not even ingesting 35 to 40 of these various meds everyday.  He ended up looking like a ghost of a prepubescent boy and the square peg never really fit into the round hole.  Momma Quinto was the first in the Nabe to criticize the "weaker" boys in the area, despite her own elfish, "weakling" .  Funny though, like Mother like son and he turned to be just as bad a mouthy, ugly bully as his family, although he still looked like an ambiguous newt.  See how far a "boy" can go with imaginary masculine features...  and no mirror in the house.


    Karen Snidley, who just dwelled up the block was a girl with too many masculine features.  She was also an aggressive, frustrated bully who looked like a cross between  "Little Lotta" from comic books and a cyclops with a dutch boy hair cut. "Baby K" would later grow up (and all -around) to look like a "roided-out" version of character actress Lucille Benson.  She was a merciless bully and the first to harass anyone who wasn't as much of a man as she was... and that wasn't easy to live up to.  Her mother was also a vicious gossip who never worked a day in her life, she just sat around smoking he man Marlboro's all day in between High Balls and Rheingold, trashing everyone in and out of sight.  Of course she'd kill if anyone gossiped about her "daughter" Karen and Heaven only knows the things people could say.
    "Little" Karen was an evil mythomaniac suffering from an intense case of pseudo logical fantastica. She was also a closet exhibitionist... with the body of a hippo and six half deflated truck tires as a stomach.  She was "caught in the act" in the woods, behind the carport, in many dark basements, in the back room of the Seven-Eleven that she worked in and various other shady corners with a varied collection of victims from the Nabe.
  The end came when the police chief caught "Baby-K" with his own daughter Josephina doing the do in the back of an empty squad car.
  See how far a girl can go with masculine features?

"THE CLOSETED KLEPTO OF THE NABE"...

BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST

CHAPTER FIVE


  Kit and Darian the premiere wife swapping alcoholic duo of the dirty, little Nabe were beside themselves.  Something or someone was stealing bags and bags of frozen food from their basement freezer.  At first they blamed their two effete, overweight sons Michael and Devin, but realized that it wasn't them after even more large amounts of food was missing when the two rotund sons were both away for several weeks.  Ice cream, frozen waffles, hamburger patty's and even cool whip vanished into thin air during the work week when no one was at home.  Could it be an animal?  A skunk or a raccoon?  Well it turned out to be a rat,  a seventeen year old,  5'7" rat that walked on two legs...  and an out of control, trisexual Kleptomaniac who was recklessly driving both ways on the dirty back road of life, in between robbing half of the unsuspecting inhabitants of the Nabe blind.
  Timmy Obsina had a serious problem keeping his hands out of the cookie jar, every ones cookie jar.  The family had moved to the rural Nabe from a dumpy, urban pot hole just outside of New York City.  Street smart and cunning he started a "cash and carry routine" fleecing all of the vulnerable homes in the area.  He didn't care if it was a close "friend" or some poor saps last dollar.  He lifted anything not nailed to the floor.  He was also a promiscuous, alley cat who tried his "you show me yours and Ill show you mine" other routine whenever the chance or opportunity arose...  but that is another sordid story to be told soon.
  No one in the Nabe could figure out who the ghost was that was lifting everything from their homes from cash and jewelry to frozen food, liquor and pornography.  Timmy had a successful career until he tripped himself up on a stormy, winter day after making several fatal mistakes.  He had gone to another neighborhood boy named  Danny Quinto to see the valuable coin collection that Danny had boasted to him about.  Timmy must have been plotting his heist as the two boys smoked weed and drank Mad-dog with straws out of bottles, in between some heated gossip (but in a very, very masculine way of course) about who they thought was a f-g or a d--e or a w---e.  They then took their party into the spare room (but in a very, very masculine way of course, again).
   Well it was just two days later that the Quintos took a day trip to see some relatives, only to return late at night to a dark house with an unlocked back door and a missing coin collection.  Danny accused Timmy right away who cried faux tears while denying it (with his well rehearsed wounded puppy dog face) and ran sobbing to several of his "dead end kid" pals (who he had also robbed) who had his back, against poor Danny.
 The Klepto wasn't thinking very wisely the next day when he hitch hiked (big bag of coins in tow) to a Collection shop in the town nearby.  Little did the Klepto know that it was the same shop where the Quintos had always purchased all of their priceless coin collection.  Like a true sociopath Timmy still denied any connection to the Nabes Klepto cat burglar with all of the proof right there in front of his two faces... strangely and by coincidence (Im sure) the cat burglar of the Nabe vanished right there and then.  He was not punished at all, it was just swept under the filthy rug with all of the other alcoholic, cheating, lying, perscription drug addicted, tri-sexual dust mites and the Nabe returned to its "normal" existance within days. 

"IT'S A WONDERFUL DAY IN DA NABE-ER-HOOD"...

BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST

CHAPTER FOUR

... "It's a wonderful day in the neighborhood, a typical day they're all up to no good" ...

   Mrs Zedrik is waiting for a delivery, standing nervously in the window of her upper-class home.  You see "Zeddy" is waiting for a very special drop off to be stuffed into a double brown bag with the local newspaper rubber banded around it.  It must be placed inside the mailbox out of sight, as shes been "on the wagon", by order of her two-timing, cheating husband.  Her delivery is a half gallon of Sauterne wine that she will spend the rest of her vacuous, privileged afternoon sipping out of an empty can of fresca with a straw, while watching the neighbors fourteen year old son mowing their lawn in nothing but cut off shorts.  Unfortunately for Mrs Zedrik the weed-brain-dead boy is more interested in the village pump Hale Colon, who is now five months with an illegitimate bump by a much married wife beater and alcoholic who lives in a rented shack (with his third wife and new toddler) by the now defunct railroad tracks a few miles, but many worlds away.

Mrs Meistertelefon...  Professional "Party-line"-"operator"...

 Then there is the much avoided and loathed uber-gossiper Mrs. Masterhorn who spends the whole day chain smoking filter less pall malls at her kitchen table, in full view of the "nabe", drinking her fake cup of coffee which is really filled with brandy.  She then makes her venomous calls on her famous wall telephone while her son is twenty miles away at the local park in another town  looking for new temporary "friends" (after being arrested for being too "buddy-buddy" in the local latrenes and truck stops of another town nearby).

   Meanwhile,  back in the money side of the nabe...

    Mrs Von Laus is squealing with delight.  She just "discovered" (while going through her executive husbands secret attache case looking for signs that her hubby has been bad) a chunky, expensive bracelet clustered with diamonds... and just one week from her birthday by coincidence.   Well Dolly's birthday came and she was not delighted to be given a new, matching bathrobe and towel set sans the diamond trinket.  Dolly then took a day trip into her hubby's office to find his sexy Mamie Van Doren look a like secretary flashing the bauble around, while draped across his desk and him like spanish moss on an old, gnarled oak tree.  A confrontation ensued with Dolly taking her cheating dog home by the ear... and right to their local Church where he placed a new one hundred dollar bill in the collection plate and was told by the pastor (who did a lot of free charity work in "boys town") that "Everything was forgiven and the cheating, lying born again and again hypocrite was alright with the Man upstairs again"...  for now.

Yes... Its a wonderful day in the nabe-er-hood.

More Fairy--Tales from "The Nabe" to come

Copright @ 2016 by Fritz Von Ludwigslust.  

All Rights Reserved.

   

"THE COLON SISTERS DID "IT" RIGHT"...

BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST


CHAPTER THREE


 This stories title comes from a billboard that was hanging on the side of a dirty (change that to filthy) back road just outside of "The Nabe".

The Colon sisters were a ghastly trio consisting of "Liane", "Hale" and "Sammy" who "did" everything and everyone in the tri state area.
All three were alcoholic, prescription drug addicted, convicted adulteresses with Hale being the deadliest no-good doer of the three little cowbirds.
  The poor gals,  all a little drab and frumpy couldn't really get their own men (not the ones they wanted) so they made careers out of taking everyone else's husbands, fiances and boyfriends.  They say that birds of a feather flock together and Hale sure was a real bird... a brown headed cowbird to be exact.  An evil, cunning brood parasite that victimized all of the unsuspecting females and their nests within eye and earshot.  Hale was a beer guzzling, pill popping bar-fly that went from nest to nest, leaving ruins in her "adultress-wake".
    Lil-sis Sammy was no better... a self prescription writing, promiscuous smudge that ended up in jail three months into a gestation period...  Illegitimate baby's father unknown, but Sammy was sure that it just had to be one of the five specific donors that she could remember.
  The girls went on to be very (in)famous each in their own special way and all tried their best winging it (always drunk or high or both) in many diverse careers at Dairy Queen, the Seven-Eleven and K-Mart.
 The trio were even going to start a musical group at one time...  wouldn't the name "The Fab Fornicators" have been a great one for them?  I'd love to hear them do a remake of Bonnie Tyler's "The World is Full of Married Men".
   Of course like every other fake in a small town, the girls Mother (a dry drunk alcoholic) always claimed that her daughters were just to easily lead astray by bad influences.  What she really meant was that they were always UNDER the influences...  of liquor, weed, coke, pain killers and whater else In the way of legit drugs that Hale could "borrow" from her job at a nursing home.
   True to (the Nabe) life the girls were also rabid gossips.  I find it very telling and a little funny how a trio like these three feral, eternally in-heat, alley cats were the first to gossip about and put down others in the same position as them.  ...Well maybe not as many compromising positions as them. (said best when exaggerated with a fey upper crust accent).
  They were nothing but three low-life "Korvas", (and Im being generous here) but this is what a town of hypocrites like "the Nabe" produces.
   Time went by as each career-ho dug a deeper hole (leaving many destroyed marriages and wrecked homes behind) to live in,  with Hale leading the often shocking, nauseating spectacle.  She was soon in trouble again and of course it was with somebody elses man.  A real male cowbird, which typically spends its bon vivant bumming sprees eating, sleeping, sh*****g and f*****g, in between hanging out on fenceposts after wandering amongst the livestock in the pasture of life picking at the manure looking for undigested seeds and other free food.
   She got knocked up by this one,  a real winner...  a wife beating, alcoholic, adulterer who would often do lines of coke and smoke weed two feet from his sons crib.  A true gem of a guy from a nouveau-riche white trash clan, that had the dirty cash to "buy" him out of his frequent "legal skirmishes".  He was nothing but a bull-shitting, blow hard who would leave his previous or current children in a run down shanty with no heat or hot water while he was out at a dive-bar or rendez-vous-ing with his current little canary.
The only problem was,  that this skinny, sack of bones in elephant hide was already the new father of a toddler by his third victim... I mean wife.  Hale didnt care though,  the little cowbird was so happy to be finally having a baby with the dog that she had cheated with throughout his three previous marriages.   None of this shameful, sinful behavior was ever a problem because his "mommy" would just pay off the corrupt monsignor again and again and get an annullment on each disaster.  After all what would the folk of the "nabe" think of a divorce?
  Several years later and the product of this illegal union (yet another sprout of the cowbirds fornication and illegitimacy) has now become a nineteen year old "father"... sans a marriage license... to a roly poly, heavy drinking sixteen year old smudge ( best get a DNA paternity test... just sayin).  This all comes after Hales formerly illegitmate son was busted for selling smoke and powder to minors out of the back door of the familys rented shack, while Momma Hale sat drunk in her easy chair knocking down one of her many, multiple prescriptions with a can of brew.  They all live together now, happily... that is in between Hales frequent calls to the police for domestic "issues".

And so another fairy tale must come to a close.   The End...   for now.

"THE (BAD) APPLE DOESNT FALL FAR FROM THE (BAD) TREE... DARIAN'S "BOYS"

BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST


CHAPTER TWO


     Nigel and Devin were the names of the two sons born to vicious little town gossip Darian...  and just like Momma (a rumour spreading myna bird), her boys turned out no different.   They learned all the tricks of the trade on creating and spreading false and slanderous rumours about anyone within eye shot, even including their closest "friends".  The boys however could not stand each other.  Both were overweight, effete and passive-agressive and were prone to brawls right outside on their front porch, in the streets and under the shady, norway maples around their house.  Hissy fit fests occurred with kicking each others feet and scratching and slapping each other. The height of these tiffs was the masculine feat of spitting on one another as they called each other names.  These mini cat fights continued into later years as well.
  True to life...  the life of a typical two-faced, hypocritical gossip, these perpetrators of defaming people were actually almost always guilty of the same acts and behavior that they put the unfortunate victims of their evil mouths on trial for.
  Darian was no exception to the rule and her oldest son was her most vile counterpart.  Unbelievably no one seemed to catch on to this wicked family's "party-line" of horrid defamation.  Together they hurt many innocent people.  The Duo had a knack for finding "soft targets" and innocent empaths to victimize.  They kept vomitting cocktails of vicious rumours onto anyone who would listen, with no reprocussions -at least not yet- not until Karma would kick in one day.
  Eventually the oldest son went "into" the service where he made a successful career of "dropping the soap" on ships from Australia to South America and all ""around the world"...  literally.  He earned the nick name of "Tugboat".  He soon married a gullible young woman who knew nothing of his "other side".  The marriage which surprisingly produced two children was on the rocks from day one and ended after bitter years of counseling and court. The marriage had been a sham and a cover-up for Mommas boy.  It became apparent that Darian's boy was spending way too much time at night at all of the most popular truck stops in eastern Pennsylvania, going by the name "Wayne".  The news got to Momma D (via gossip?) and she disinherited her former gossip partner.  Her other son inherited everything after the big D dropped dead in her favorite easy chair with the phone to her ear, a whiskey sour in one hand and a butt in the other.
   Years later after his mother passed on and having not spoken to his brother for almost a decade, Devin was conned by a fifteen years younger "free spirit" named Sierra from a trailer park in Ohio who quickly liquidated (and pocketed) all of his cash flow and assets.
   Darians disgraced oldest boy now travels the country from job to job site and spends all of his free time "inspecting" the local truck stops.  "Need a lube job?"  "Fill your tank buddy?"  "Need your brakes aligned, tires rotated, dip stick checked pal?"  His former wife and children have not seen or spoken to him in over ten years. Yes, Karma can be a bitch.

To be continued...

"KIT AND DARIAN"

BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST


CHAPTER ONE


   Kit and Darian were a real deadly duo, real pieces of work so to speak.  Both were closeted raging alcoholics  (with a twenty four-seven cocktail hour week), tobacco fiends and secret wife swappers, that could have put "Plato's Retreat" to shame and out of business in their day.   They had a true mutualistic symbiotic relationship, like a nocturnal 100 proof nectar sucking moth and a night blooming Moon-vine ( with Darian being the obvious partner who was pollinated... and pollinated and pollinated).
  Ill never forget the time I was on my way to school and saw Darian at her mailbox, with a giant glass of tomato juice and a celery sick in it.  I could hear the conversation between her and Mrs Snide (who's husband was a loose cannon, who would get out the rifle and run around the nabe with it cocked and ready to fire after too much brew and booze every Sunday on schedule) as I passed by.
  "Damn Harriet, I really need this after last night",  "I don't even remember how I got home or  how I got into bed and "they say" the best thing for a hang-over is a strong Bloody-Mary", she belched, as she flicked her half smoked chesterfield butt to the ground.

"THEY SAY" ...

 "They say".  That was one of Darians favorite intro's to gossip about someone and Darian was a much loathed gossip, with the nasty habit of starting and spreading vicious rumors about everyone and anyone around her, (in between her alcoholic, prescription drug and tobacco induced wife swapping routine).  It got so bad (when this promiscuous parrot's true nature of babbling filth was revealed),  that the women of the V.F.W. would no longer speak to her when she and Kit would go to play bingo while cruising for new couples to play with (and I don't mean bingo).  No one would touch Darian's (spiked) Betty Crocker jello fruit mold  that she brought to the V.F.W. either.  They tried to freeze her out, but nothing would work on this nasty, battery-acid mouthed, homely mynah bird.

"AN ALIEN YOUTH'S INTRODUCTION" ...

 BY: FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST


  On the surface it was a typical little sleepy, charming neighborhood of 1950's style cape cod houses, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, in a formerly semi-rural area in the outer tri-state area of New York City.  Still surrounded by several working farms at the time with little in the way of entertainment filled with frustration, lost hopes and dreams and illusions of sexual fantasies unfulfilled,  the stage was set for an out of control cast of characters... from alcoholic adulterers,  perscription drug addicted house wives and closet case husbands to tree-smoking out of control tri-sexual "kids" from the neighborhood.  All glazed and laced with hypocritical two faced vicious town gossips and holier than thou behind closed door liquor guzzling, tobacco chain smoking, spouse abusing, cheaters and liars.
   It was a tiny island (built on decades and decades of cow manure and rotting corn husks) of misplaced souls dwelling in pretty, petite homes with little manicured shrub borders, white picket fences and well kept gardens.  It was all just a self made mask that tried to hide the outrageous, sinful, scandalous and quite often illegal "going ons" and "swept under the rug" antics of...  "The Neighborhood".

"THE NABE"

BY:  FRITZ VON LUDWIGSLUST


  This will be my third "blog-book", an ongoing diary of the true memories of an alien youth's exsistance in a small town in America.  An outsider not wanting "in" to the outrageous and often sickening hypocrisy of the inhabitants of the little "oasis" he had the misfortune of growing up in.  A place where every dirty truth was denied and well hidden under a veil of blatant falseness.  Topographically it was a dirty spot on the map of life featuring an over-abundance of "anonymous dirty-back-roads", "two-way streets", "shady lanes" and plenty of "dead-ends".