What’s the Buzz

The day had turned out to be really nice. It was late March, or early April, I don’t remember. Who cares about calendars when the sun warms your belly so pleasantly?

I stretched and yawned. I happily glided between wakefulness and slumber. Maja’s winglets shone and lured me. And I could swear they were buzzing with a rendition of ‘Sweet Painted Lady’. I was lulled and aroused… It was getting hot, so I took cover under the leaves.

I don’t know how long I was drowsing, but I woke up because of human yells. I sighed. There’s nothing they enjoy better than making noise and mess. And they call us a plague, don’t they?

The yelling got closer and louder. The ground quaked, the bush shook. Drunk guffaws and ribaldry ripped this calm day in two like a butcher’s knife, beat the bejesus out of it. Someone brayed, ‘Jujube! Regale the King with sweet savories!’ The crowd ululated and rushed to the bush. Holy Royal Hexapods! What were they going to do?!

It smelled of trouble, and I decided it was high time to bug out of this unfortunate plant. I made to leap off and… nothing happened. Reprobate Polyphagas! What the hell? I had a shot at jumping a few times in a row but it was in vain. The sun which had caressed me so pleasantly had also played a low-down trick on me. My back leg had tightly glued to a drop of melted resin. I made the only decision I could. I huddled under a leaf, sat tight and didn’t move. All I could do was to wait out this mayhem.

I have indistinct memories of what happened next. There was a snapping of the bush then someone bending a bagel shape out of twigs. I was like a poppy seed on its surface. There were cries of ‘Must die!’ and ‘Hosanna!’ A cacophony of voices, laughing and crying… the thick smell of blood. The smell drove me crazy. I was twitching like an epileptic and trying to escape this crowned trap. We’re not freaking grigs. We don’t enjoy the stench of flesh. I can’t bear this smell. I just can’t. Desperately, I sank my jaws into my stifled joint…

It grew dark. I hobbled slowly. At least I’d escaped with my life and other limbs intact. After all, it was only a leg. I had another five. And wings! That poor guy now dangling from a cross was definitely having a much worse day than I. Damn. I have wings! Why not just go? I took to the air and laid a course for Horeb. Everybody knows that the best nymphet stews are there, and I really need some rest now.


© All rights reserved 2017

Scatology 101: Lachanophobia’s Disposal Unit (A Study in Brown)

We need to get one thing straight. Thomas Crapper did not invent the toilet.

I shit you not. The toilet was invented by a Doctor Bartholomew Lachanophobia of Barthe. Its original purpose? The dispatchment of unwanted greens at dinner time. (Not the brown stuff.) You see, the good doctor was a learned man, but he was also a devoutly religious man, and he possessed a rather unfortunate and irrational fear of broccoli as a result. He believed it to be the devil’s tree.

Dear reader, I should probably put this into some kind of context for you.

To Lachanophobia, ordinary trees were a symbol of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil from the Book of Genesis. His mother had told him this bedtime story since he was a child. You probably know it yourself. The devil appears as a wibbly wobbly snake in the mystic Garden of Eden. He smooth talks Eve for kicks. It works. She ends up eating the fruit of the forbidden tree.

Now, one could be tempted to write her off as a complete idiot, but think back to the last time you chatted with a snake. What’s that? Never happened? Then I rest my case. How anyone could be expected to react to that kind of bizarro situation is beyond me. Still, there’s an element to all of this that’s cool. Eve may well have been the world’s first Parselmouth!

Anyway, talky devil snake convinces nude chick with no belly button to do a bad thing. She then charms a nude guy with no belly button into doing the same bad thing. Let’s call him Adam. When it looks like Adam’s going to get into trouble with God over doing this bad thing, he tries to pass the buck. ‘The woman made me do it! She be cray cray!’ Eve, realising she’s also going to get into trouble, passes the buck. ‘The Devil made me do it! He be snay snay!’ And when it looks like the snake’s gonna get it in the neck, he passes the buck. ‘Dude, I’m just a snake. I can’t actually talk.’

So, basically, God gets jack of all this and kicks them out of the garden. And he maintains the rage against mankind and snakes from that point on. Poor God. He’s just a single parent. What else can you do when your children do nothing but disrespect you and your capricious, nonsensical rules? And now, he’s always having to send Father’s Day cards to himself.

Anyway, you can imagine why Lachanophobia would not’ve been overly fond of trees after hearing this crap again and again and again during his formative years. However, breathing oxygen is better than choking on carbon dioxide, so he suffered trees to live in order that he might too. Still, this didn’t change the fact that he simply wouldn’t tolerate broccoli. To him broccolis were blasphemous, miniature bootlegs of the Eden tree. He was convinced that they were the devil’s final ‘bite me’ to God.

Lachanophobia believed that by eating these tiny demon trees he’d get possessed and buy lots of stuff off of the Home Shopping Channel or something evil like that. Television didn’t exist yet but Lachanophobia was such a visionary that he could tell crazy stuff like that was going to happen long before it actually did. And anyway, this story has no logic. So, whatevs.

Over his lifetime, Lachanophobia devised many different yet highly ineffective methods for getting rid of broccoli. As modern science now well knows – and as Lachanophobia couldn’t have hoped to have known back then – broccoli is indestructible. You can chuck it in the bin, give it to the family dog, stomp on it, run a tank over it, even nuke the bastard, but all to no avail. The very fires of Mordor will not cause it to so much as blanch. Broccoli represents evolution at its trolling best.

Now, knowing that his only hope was to get all broccolis as far away from his tremulous person as possible, this was the point at which Lachanophobia finally invented the toilet. And then he invented experimental flying monkeys. He couldn’t touch the broccolis himself. No freaking way. That’s what the monkeys were for. So, following the evening’s repast, he’d have his experimental flying monkeys remove the demon trees so that they could be flushed to lands beyond the world’s rim via this device. Logical, yes? Well. Logical until you bring experimental flying monkeys into the equation.

Unfortunately, what experimental flying monkeys see, experimental flying monkeys do, and upon observing their master laying ‘chocolate logs’ (or ‘offloading cargo’ if you want to be less crass about it) after one fateful dinner, they decided to do the same, but in the toilet instead of Lachanophobia’s customary wicker basket. When the Doctor saw that the broccolis had not been disposed of, and that the toilet and its immediate surrounds were awash with experimental flying monkey doodah, he flew into a rage. He slipped on said monkey doodah and flew out the window, plummeting to his untimely and inconvenient death. Upon seeing this, the experimental flying monkeys did likewise (even though they could fly), and were soon joined with their master in said death because… well, why the hell not? (I’m just making this shit up anyway.)

It was left to the butler then, a young Thomas Crapper (whose very existence had inexplicably been overlooked until now) to clean up the mess. As compensation to himself for having to deal with this supremely unseemly (and wildly unlikely) scenario of ick, he took out a patent for Lachanophobia’s toilet in 1852 and thusly reaped the financial rewards for the remainder of his life. And why not? Hell, I would’ve done the same.

So there you have it. That’s the real story. Not in the least bit apocryphal. Or should I say ‘asspocryphal’? Ha ha ha! Yeah. Anyway. Crapper stole Lachanophobia’s invention. That’s my point. Oh, and broccoli lives on. Godammit. Sigh. It does leave me considering one sad truth in all of this. It’s always the monkeys that suffer.


© All rights reserved 2016

Moses and the Open Eyed Sneeze (Postscript)

1 Another year, another wrinkle in the face of Father Time. Moses certainly feels like that mythical figure, sans the wings, scythe and hourglass of course. 2 He sits on the porch in a rocking chair, smoking his pipe and keeping a watchful gaze over the two children playing in the sandbox nearby. 3 Gershom and Eliezer are still quite young. They’re the apples of their mother’s eye, and admittedly their father’s too. The fruit of their collective loins you could say.

4 Look at the cheeky scamps. They play so well together!

5 Moses allows himself an indulgent smile… and then sees the unthinkable.

6 Eliezer’s holding an object over a bucket in which the bubbling water is turning red. Gershom is parting that same water with another object. 7 His looks strangely like a… a phallus?! What the hell?! If that’s the very dildo that Moses tried to present Zipporah with some years ago 8 then the object in Eliezer’s hand must be the artificial va… 9 Oh my God! It’s Zipporah’s gift to Moses!

10 “Hey, you filthy ruffians! You’re not allowed to rummage through our… adult stuff! Children don’t play with parents’ toys! Gershom! Eliezer! Are you listening, Eliezer?”

11 The cute little boy Eliezer, the angel with gold ringlets, slowly turns to Moses. He smiles a disarming smile and, loudly and quite clearly, says one four-letter word. 12 Moses’s jaw goes slack.

13 Yeah, I guess he’s right. That is what you’d call it… Still, little boys shouldn’t use such profanity!

14 Moses is so shocked that his eyes remain fixed open. AH-CHOO!


© All rights reserved 2016

Moses and the Open Eyed Sneeze (Chapter Four)

1 Craning carefully, Moses peeps into the kitchen.

2 Zipporah is fluttering about the cookstove, crooning something or other. Thank God she seems to have mellowed. 3 For now. 4 Oh, maybe she has even tried his gift? Her complexion does appear rosier than usual. 5 Moses heaves a sigh of relief. The last thing he wants is to bring another storm crashing down around his ears.

6 Zipporah should realise, after all, that he gave her that dildo not because he’s a sick old pervert, but because he cares for her. 7 He doesn’t want her to have to settle with his limp old todger, not when her sexual appetite is just hitting its prime.

8 Hey… what is she singing?! It has the lilt of a bygone era, and the words are simple and scabrous. Is it a folk song?

9 “…a young lover came to a woman while her husband went for a beer…”

10 Say what? Cold sweat breaks out over Moses’s body. He knows this song.

11 “…the lover kissed and fondled the woman while her husband went for a beer…”

12 What the hell? I’m not going to take this crap! I’ll help her to recall the end of this song!

13 Moses takes a deep breath and, stepping out from behind the door, lets fly.

14 “…but the husband didn’t go for a beer, the husband stood behind a door and listened…”

15 Zipporah jolts as if poked by an electric shepherd’s crook.

16 “Oh! Honey? Sorry… I didn’t notice you. How long have you been standing there?”

17 “…and the husband killed both of them with an axe, and after this went for a beer.”

18 Moses lets that last line dangle in the awkward silence between them. Just for a moment. He then harrumphs.

19 “I only just got here, sweeten. What are you doing?”

20 “I’m cooking something special for our dinner tonight. Would you like to help me?”

21 And, just like that, Zipporah turns back to the cookstove, a smile replacing the shocked look from seconds before. 22 Moses’s brow bunches into a frown. What is she up to? Before he can ask, 23 she faces him again with something in her hands. It’s a brown paper package about the size of a flashlight. 24 Moses searches her face for a clue. The smile is still there but with… hey, is that a hint of defiance?

25 Trepidatious, Moses opens the package. It turns out to be…

26 “What the… cunt?!”


© All rights reserved 2016

Moses and the Open Eyed Sneeze (Chapter Three)

1 “Is this is your doing, Ze’ev? Don’t lie to me. I know your modus operandi!”

2 Zipporah throws a walnut on the table and slams it with the dildo. Bang! 3 The walnut spins out of control and takes off like a shot. It smacks against the wall beside poor Ze’ev. 4 He shrinks, taking a step back. Why is he always having to deal with this crazy family?

5 Not so long ago the weak-willed Moses was here paying for his weird order (muttering something about how a burning bush compelled him to do it), and now that same order is being brandished by his furious wifey. 6 Ze’ev is beginning to wish he’d never made the cursed thing.

7 “You love making pestles, don’t you? Be so kind as to make a mortar as well!”

8 Ze’ev doesn’t quite know how to react. What does she mean by this cryptic remark? 9 Is he ever safe with this mad woman around? It’s doubtful. 10 He nervously rubs one elbow, gesturing at the offending dildo with his free hand. His mouth is moving but no sound will come.

11 “Well, should I refresh your memory, or can you do it without me lifting my hem?”

12 Zipporah stands there, her arms akimbo, waiting for him to say or do something. Then it dawns on him. 13 She wants him to make a… 14 Oh. 15 My. 16 God. 17 When Zipporah sees the shocked look on Ze’ev’s face, she turns and leaves the workshop. She’s quite satisfied with the response.

18 I think that went very well.


© All rights reserved 2016