Comedy’s Mask and Cat Jaks (Redneck Fulfillment Series E)

Now, this whole leaving thing did have me a bit scared, to be honest, but having Hush with me changed many things. Hush was such an asshole that being steeped in his company had a real redneck mindfulness to it. The more I was with him, the better everything else would seem.  As we prepared to leave and get tickets, we stopped at a rundown eatery called, “The Worst Place You Will Ever Eat.”

I heard of people eating crab brains, something some weird Marylanders would do, but here the delicacy was cow brain. Now, I witnessed some awful shit in my life. But at that moment of seeing a plate of cow brain mush on two pieces of bread, something that looked more like a high school biology class than a delicacy, had me beyond nauseous. This triggered Hush’s “save the world” thing.

One of the many brain delicacies served at “The Worst Place You Will Ever Eat”

You really don’t want to know the thing, but it’s Hush’s “gift to the world.”

“Now, Frank, while you chow down your mad cow disease sandwich, I have a plan to get rich.”

“Hush, I am not eating that shit, and don’t tell me this is your cat thing again?”

“Yes, it’s about pussy fur?”

“Do you know how many there are in America?”

“I don’t know … maybe 10 million?”

“Nah, no way. Listen to this.  60 million. I cannot stand them.”

It was sad really, just the sight or even the sound of a cat, especially, would set Hush off. He hated cats, but no matter how many times I’d tell them that many people like cats, that his idea would cause him certain death, there was no getting through to him.

“There is one good thing about cats. Only one. One thing.”

“Oh, not that. That is gross.” I complained knowing too well what was coming.

“Their fur. Yes, Frank, we can make cat hats, gloves, jackets, and there are so many of the little pussies. We can just drive around and lure the buggers off the street.”

Excitedly, he went on, “Think of this, we can call the cat fur jackets “Cat Jaks,” and, wait, listen to this, we can call the gloves “fits just like a good pussy cat.” And the hats, “little pussy giving head heaven.”

I always thought that if Hush was a bit less of an asshole, he could actually be good at marketing.

But this idea was so horrible that my brain, unknown to me at the moment, decided that eating cow brain at the risk of mad cow disease was better than listening to Hush go on about cat fur mittens for preschoolers.

With cow brain dribbling from my lips, “Hush that is a horrible and offensive idea.”

“No. It’s great. We can tell the little kids that they can now take little puss with them wherever they go. We can name the product “Puss and Go,” wherever you go, pussy cat is there for you!”

The Puss and Go Cat Fur Series, as developed by Hush

“Just stop it, Hush, dammit or I am going to regret going along with you.”

I blubbered out, “Is this a product for kids, too?”

“Look,” he said smiling at me with these creepy eyes, you’re eating it?”

At that moment, I realized that Hush was smarter and more of an asshole than I thought. He wasn’t just an asshole, he was a Hall of Famer. He’d pull this shit whenever I was facing something unpleasant, like a brain sandwich.

I came conscious of having formaldehyde-style mad cow brains invading my mouth. I ran out of that place with Hush giggling after me like some horny schoolgirl.  I needed to dump what I had eaten in a hurry.

In the process of barfing, the only thing I could see in front of me was a stream of partially liquefied cow brain ejaculating from my mouth. The sad thing was that it did not really taste that bad. But that wouldn’t be the first time taste and common sense wrestled in my mind.

I guess I picked the same bush that little Miss Muffet was fond on shitting near. Now, Miss. Muffet is not a person but a timid little poodle that, come to think of it, looks like a brain sandwich, an off-white, dirtied by the thoughts of time.

Close-up of Miss. Muffet before the vomit-truck incident

It turns out that my cow-brain eruption engulfed poor little Muffet and the poor thing went scurrying out of the bush in mid-defecation across the “The Worst Place You Will Ever Eat” parking lot. To my horror and to that of her walker who was ironically named Mrs. Walker, the beer truck rumbled into the parking lot at that very moment.

Undoubtedly, the driver was not expecting a little brain-covered shitting poodle to fly across his path, nor Mrs. Walker, in nothing but a “princess” bathrobe, a broken leash, and a cigarette in in her other hand, waving at him as if she were an air traffic controller.

The spectacle of Mrs. Walker’s persona, a once cute child princess gone cigarette dog-vomit-shit walker startled the driver so much that instead of stopping, he gunned the truck.

Mrs. Walker, a regular at “The Worst Place You Will Ever Eat”

Let’s just say that poor little Miss. Muffet became a grey carpet.

Hush was laughing so hard that I don’t know if I was more scared of him or of Mrs. Walker’s anger, but a smooshed poodle seemed a perfect distraction. We ran into my old truck and took off toward the travel agent. At this point, any hesitation of leaving on my part was taken care of.

Hush later found out through Humperdick, via text, that Miss. Muffet survived the ordeal but had a broken hip. She said Mrs. Walker wants to sue me for vomiting on her dog. She didn’t seem to make the connection to the whole broken hip, truck thing, but that is okay.

“I ain’t paying shit. It’s good we are leaving.”

Hush was still laughing.

As I was driving and calming down, I felt bad for mom. It must be hard to be alone after living with someone, even a jackass, for over forty years. I thought, it’s tough to be a parent. All you get to do is screw up, but then again her screwing up felt better than dad’s kind. At least, she watched me screw up, not like my dad. He ran away. And I screwed up, too.

Here I was running away from a cigarette waving woman. Well, okay, maybe I was running away from myself, my present life in hopes of, well, I have no idea, but I was running away but toward something. I was scared, but I knew I could not turn around and go back.

I teared up thinking of mom being alone, of what a loser I was. Embarrassed that Hush may see my tears, my eyes glanced toward him.

I know he saw me.

His eyes caught mine, a tear rolling down my face, and he kind of nodded, as a shy kid does.

He wasn’t laughing anymore. It was true. As stupid and childish as he was, sometimes a guy that laughs a lot on the outside cries a lot on the inside. I guess it’s that Greek mask thing, comedy and tragedy. I think we understood each other. Being with Hush had its moments, and the world did seem much better with him in it so much so that sometimes I even do something disgusting.

To be continued in Series F


Please follow the story as I write it here. Please comment and give advice; I will write according to suggestions and comments. 

Dancing with Bullshit (Redneck Fulfillment Series D)

Hush was speaking to me in the Old Shack. Now, the Old Shack is a run-down strip club that we go to think. I know that sounds kind of crazy, but it’s not much of a strip club, come to think of it. They needed strippers so bad that they even hired Mikey, our town crossdresser, to play a woman.

Cross Dresser Fixes Bra
Mickey at the Old Shack as “Hot Lolly”

The internet, though I love it, really destroyed the local stripper economy and made our local lives a lot less stimulating. I started to think that maybe leaving was not so bad. After all, here I was tipping my last dollar to an old man playing a woman that appeared to be pregnant.

In fact, that was his theme, Hot Pregnant Lolli will Lick Your Day Away. That was so wrong in so many ways that I stripped my dollar from him, not knowing if I felt double-crossed or offended.

“Now I know you love Licking Lolli here, but are you listening to me?” Said Hush with peanuts spewing from his moth.

“I would if you didn’t look like a rabid squirrel.”

Ignoring me, Hush continued, “Seriously, I heard that crossdressers are not gay.”

“Oh, shit, Mickey is not gay. He was hitting on widow Humperdick every morning, remember?”

Hush looked up to the heavens and seemed to get some kind of message from God, though I doubt it. Then he spitted out what seemed to be wisdom, “Yes, yeah, you are right. Old dick humper would do her gardening every day … I forgot about that.”

russian woman on bench in bath-house
Mrs. Humperdick after giving her dress to Mickey at the garden

“Oh, would you stop with the fucking peanuts. They stink. You are spitting them everywhere.”

Hush stared at me as if processing some kind of math problem. I continued, “I think he was more interested in the flowery dress she was wearing though, so maybe he was not hitting on her.”

From my understanding, that is how the story went. Every day, Humperdick would wear these large dresses. Now, I am not against large women but to say Humperdick was large is like asking the President to tell the truth. She was so huge that she would wear one of the beepers, the ones they put on trucks and bulldozers, so that when she backed up, you knew what was coming. I think it was to discourage her goat from hitting her phat ass. He has an ass-hitting fetish of some kind, so he got the name, Ass Terminator.

Black goat isolated on white
Ass Terminator

Now, I am not kidding. She is a proud, large woman, and she is fine being a “fat dyke” as she put it. She sees her largeness as a statement, she says, a statement that women can be just as “big” as men. The beeper is a reminder of her power or, what is it? I think some shit about her empowerment over men. I think she is weird, but who am I to talk? I am sitting here watching a crossdressing dude get naked.

I continued, “He would go and fetch dresses from her, and she liked him. But I think she likes him because he is a dude that dresses like a lady. He likes her because he gets ladies clothes that fit him.”

“Yeah, and she has the little tea cup poodle, um, Puddles, remember, that she sticks between her tits when she goes around.” Hush said.

“She D-I-D once,” I said looking at him somber.

This time, Hush got my message. For someone that is about as smart as a goat mid-smacking someone’s ass, he had moments of quick wittedness.

“Oh, no. It died!”

“Yes,” I said as if I lost a good friend.

“How?” I loved that little guy!

“It suffocated. From what Mickey told me, and the old farmer confirmed it. She put the little guy between her tits and forgot about it. She had the “goat crisis” that day. I think her goat got out and was terrorizing the Benson kids. They were doing some water challenge at the pool in bikinis and that was too much for Ass Terminator.

“You mean those little bratty twin girls that always stick their tongues out?”

Cute fraternal Benson twins, upon seeing Hush

“Yeah, them. Well, they are sweet to me. That’s because you are gross, always throwing up peanuts and blowing your nose without tissue.”

We call this blowing your nose redneck style. While walking, you tilt your head forward and to the side, close one nostril with a finger, and blow out like hell. The boogers fly out.

I am beginning to think that redneck style is really environment friendly. If rednecks were smarter, we could make a fortune and save the environment at the same time. Instead of being the flyover people, people would want to be like us.

Now, as I understand it, the two little girls were walking by Hush. We had a tail wind or what we call and ass wind that day, so two huge gobs of snot smacked the ladies in their faces. From that day forward, Hush was the enemy. The flailing tongues were the serpent’s warning, “We are cute but stay away.”

“They were just boogers. I said I was sorry.”

“This is why you are single. Only you like your own boogers. It’s kind of smelling your fart when you think of it.”

I leaned forward and peered at Hush. “Remember these words of wisdom, whatever guys like to do, girls hate, whether it’s blowing noses, farting, or dating. Do what makes you miserable and they will be happy.”

“What about the dog?” Hush said, ignoring my statement.

“Well, it was running around trying to hit the girls in the ass. Humperdick had to call animal control. They took two hours getting there. The goat even got inside the Benson house.”

“Oh, cool, get those little brats!”

“Cut it out, Hush, they are just kids. They must have been scared. Goats can be quite intimidating. Anyway, the girls ran in and forgot to close the door all the way. The good news was that Ass Terminator lost interest in hitting asses and decided to lick the wedding cake that Mrs. and Mr. Benson were making for a wedding the next day.

And so the story goes, by day’s end, the police, animal control, Mickey, dressed as Licking Lolli, along with Humperdick converged on the scene.”

The police, confused, arrested Mickey because they thought he was the pervert chasing the kids in his Licking Lolli costume. Luckily, I was there the whole time and explained that if Mickey was a pervert, he was a really nice pervert. He wasn’t into young girls, only large women’s clothes. They realized that they could not arrest a goat with an ass-hitting fetish and left. But they did give Humperdick a citation. Humperdick and Ass Terminator were disturbing the peace.”

“What about Puddles, damnit?”

“I am getting to it. See that is why I will miss this place. It’s so, well, fucked up, and I like fucked up. Humperdick was so exhausted that she went home and fell asleep. Puddles died in what was a big puddle, a tsunami of mammoth breasts.”

Hush, looking like he was going to cry, “That is horrible.”

“Wait, it gets worse” or more interesting depending on how you look at it. “She forgot where she put the dog, so remember, she put out posters everywhere. See” I pointed to the wall next to where Mickey was twerking in a G-String.

“Yeah, I remember, we even did the search, all of us, for that dog.”

“Honestly, you got to lay off the peanuts, Hush. How can you forget? So after a week, she noticed that she did not smell very good, so she went to the ER.”

Now, poor Hush looked as if he was going to vomit and cry.

“Stop it! It was not the dog they found, right?”

“No, they found a pile of shit between her breasts. Apparently, the dog wiggled out at some point and ended up in Pennsylvania with a blind black dude that thinks he’s a white supremacist. You cannot blame the poor guy. He is around a bunch of assholes, I guess, they played a trick on him all these years. Come to think of it, that is worse that the ‘Puddles’ Story’ and the ‘Goat Crisis’ put together.”

“So the dog is living there now? You asshole,” Hush hits me. “Why doesn’t Humperdick get it back?”

“Well, it turns out that the dude had a real awakening. He was trained as a seeing-eye dog.”

“You mean the guy?” Said Hush stupidly.

“No, you idiot. The dog! I said, dog. It’s a long story, but he figured out that he is black and now is a much better person. Humperdick did not have the heart to take Puddles back. Humperdick is a good woman. She has a heart as big as her ass.”

Hush grew more excited and looked at me first perplexed and then as if I was the damn Easter bunny.

“There is a moral in this, don’t you see? He said. “You, Frank, have to escape the tits. You have to shit on them, and run away, free yourself from their warm, succulent but deadly caress.”

I could not figure out if Hush was serious or psychotic but thought that if he grew up with smart and rich parents, he could have been a college professor and not a shit scraper.

The next thing he said changed everything.

“I want to go with you. Let’s have this adventure together.”

I never thought of that. Why not look at this as an adventure with my best friend.

Suddenly, I did not feel sad. I could always come back here. What the fuck was I afraid of? I had my best friend, even if we run into a black white supremacist, white supremacists, a nasty goat, or a brother that I am afraid to meet.

I looked over at my best friend, put out my hand and said, “You have a deal. Let’s do this together.”

Toy poodle puppy lying on a white background
R.I.P to Puddles, though not really, but given the shit, puddles of sweat and everything he went through, I kinda wanted to dedicate this part to him.


To be continued in Series E

Please follow the story as I write it here. Please comment and give advice; I will write according to suggestions and comments. 

If you like disturbing intensity, you may like this

As a Buddast once said, the sign of a high intellect is the ability to observe without judgment. This book tests the reader. When I wrote it, I thought to myself, here is sincerity, naked sincerity. 

For those that may be interested, below are the links to my audiobook that have been just released by Findaway.

The book is disturbing, but many that have faced sexual abuse found the book to be helpful, though that was a surprise to me at first. Some past offenders have as well. It also can trigger some, so be careful. The book is on Smashwords and Amazon. The story traces the male main character’s psychological struggles as, after he sustains years of abuse, he realizes he’s struggling with taboo attractions. It’s not linear but a mosaic, or as Proetus Ashmole told me, a symphony of the dark truths that are seldom told. It also has had good reviews, though a few want to bring torches (but usually that means you are doing something right).

It is a kind of case study for those of you that are interested in psychology, true crime, and taboo sexuality. It also shows how men and boys are affected by abuse and how such creates a toxic masculinity in our culture. As disturbing as it is, this is not a book that advocates for abuse; rather, it shows what people go through as a result of trauma and abuse.

I am not big on promoting, as this is a place I post free material, but this project costs a good deal to make. Steve Carlson was an actor for over 30 years and did a great job with narration. You may even recall his voice from the many commercials he did!

Star, Hush, Starlett, and the Fifth Leg (Redneck Fulfillment Series C)

Now this whole incident had me really shook up as I headed toward my job on the farm. It did not help that the old Fartster, a pet name I called my truck, was fuming me to death in the cab, and I sure the hell did not feel like crawling on the ground and using muffler tape over the long-gone exhaust.

How could I just leave on some trip looking for my damn brother? Shit! This is all bullshit.

I guess it was fitting that I would be working in bullshit come to think of it. Maybe that summed up my life. Why do I care? I thought. I work on a shitty farm, have a shitty truck, and what girl is going to date me like this? I had to face it.  I pulled the truck to the side of the barn and peered at the fucked up guy in the rearview mirror. He peered back at me, and though it was my own reflection, I always felt a bit nervous looking at myself.

You sir, are a loser. Damn it! You hear me! The image shook as if heartbroken by my revelation. I felt bad saying it but was interrupted by Hush who was yelling at me from the barn.

“Hey Frank, come on. You got to help Star get lucky today. It’s his big day.”

Oh shit, I thought. Today was the day I had to help inseminate Starlett with Star’s sperm.

“Yeah, I am coming hold on.” I began walking toward Hush with a rather humiliating frown on my face. Who wants this damn job, I thought.

“What’s up with the drama Frank? Why so glum? You get to shoot a porno today,” said Hush taunting.

“Shut up Hush. I am not in the mood. I really have to talk to you today about what happened at the rectory.”

Hush laughed. He was never one to be serious unless he had a good business idea. “Nothing good happens to a hetero guy at the “rectum” or rectory as you call it. There is a reason they call it that. They don’t get any help with insemination down there.”

“Not today, Hush. Don’t be so fucking sacrilegious.”

Soon the familiar scent of hay, shit and piss filled my lungs, and for the first time, I thought how I would miss that smell if I were to leave.

Then I blurted out, “She wants me to leave, Hush. Can you believe it? My mom wants me to find brother?”

“Shit, really? How does the rectum fit into this?”

“Father Chirpkins told me, and now I have to speak with mother.”

“Chirpkins?” Hush laughed, “Birds in someone’s rectum pecking at shit is always uncomfortable.”

“Please stop it Hush!  This is serious.”

Hush forced a straight face. “Okay, sorry but are they serious? Your mom wants you to leave?”

“Yeah!” I said shaking my head much more than needed. “That’s what I am saying.”

We were interrupted by the neighing of an over-excited horse. There was Star in all his glory, jumping around and prancing. He was waiting to get out where Starlett was.

“Suddenly, Hush grew very serious and pointed at Star. “Hey, look Frank, now that is what I call the fifth leg, huh? He’s packing thirty inches and you get to give him a modified hand job.” Hush giggled uncontrollably.”

“Hush, damn it! This is not funny. I am dead serious. Of course it has a big dick. It’s a horse! And I don’t need this shit right now.”

Hush put up his hands like a traffic cop, “Frank! Frank! Please, okay, okay, I understand. We will settle all of this after we shoot our horsy porno okay? After work, we will get a drink. You don’t have to do anything, right? Don’t overreact. Let’s talk about it, but seriously if you don’t concentrate, we could get hurt with this two-thousand pound horse. It may bang us.” Hush looked at Frank with a serious look while thrusting his hips and neighing.

Despite my own mood, he made me lighten up. Yeah, I don’t have to do anything. I can think about it with my best friend. I grinned at him. “Now that’s why you are my best friend even if you are a pervert.”

Hush seemed to pay no attention continuing to prance around the barn thrusting his hips like an excited stallion.

Unknown to both of us, Hush’s thrusting motions and neighing seemed to turn on our Star here. The feisty stallion forgot all about Starlett and zeroed in on Hush, his new love. Soon Star began to follow behind Hush, prancing in a similar motion.

Now, I have never been all that religious, but maybe this was God’s way to screw over Hush for being so sacreligious. But I noticed and got the shit scared out of me. The look on my face was not missed by my perverted friend. Simultaneously, just as I let out an “Aw, oh my God Hush!” Hush yelled, “Oh, fuck!” And went to run.

Sadly for Hush, he managed to slip on some shit and fell down. Maybe this was his lucky day, more than one way. Because he was lying down, Star could only tower over him and could not get his hooves around Hush’s body. Star just stood over a fallen Hush, thrusting.

As for the “fifth leg,” let me not even go there. Let’s just say that the leg got some much-needed traction, and though Hush was saved from too much traction, being dry humped by a horse can be pretty humiliating.

Now, I managed to calm Star down in part because let’s say he was already spent. I guess I learned something new about male horses that I did not think about much before. They can be just as quick as guys can be.

I know it’s cruel, but I wish I was more quick-witted and recorded the whole thing with my phone. After the danger of it was over, the damn incident was hilarious. I am sure I could have made a fortune on YouTube before the Safety-Moderator-Family-No-Fun-At-All-People pulled it down.

Between getting covered in shit and horse seamen, Hush had to shower and get changed. Besides, now we would have to wait a while before Star was recharged.

The minute I saw Hush returning, I could not help it. I burst out laughing.

“Now, you see, all my problems with money could have been solved if I just remembered to record the Hush-Star incident …”

“Oh, shut up. I could have been killed!

I could only laugh. I guess, as my past friend told me, if it’s not cruel, it’s not funny. I just could not help but laugh at his expense.

Soon, he too, started to laugh. That is what I like about Hush. He can laugh at himself, even when being hosed by a stallion’s fifth leg.

After an hour, Star had no problem performing for Starlett, and she did not seem to mind either. I guess all males are the same way, whether we have fur, hooves, or giant fifth legs.

I think I learned something today while leaving the farm and preparing to meet Hush to discuss Mom. You got to find the humor in life, even at your expense.

Maybe I am a kind of loser. Maybe that is true, but I have a good friend that makes me laugh. I guess that’s more than what some people have, but I did have the video after all. The good farmer had a camera in the barn to record the whole insemination thing.

I kept that recording because I wouldn’t want the old farmer to see what happened. You never know how such a recording can come back to haunt you.

Besides, I have more serious things to think about.

To be continued in Series D

Please follow the story as I write it here. Please comment and give advice; I will write according to suggestions and comments. 

Father Chirpkins and Puppet Love (Redneck Fulfillment Series B)

Normally, I am not awoken by my mother pounding on my door, but she was sobbing,

“Please answer.”

“It’s not worth it …”

“Oh mom!” I yelled but with a son’s tenderness, “I fell asleep! What time is it?”

I opened the door to see my crying mother. This was uncomfortable for me. She was not the overly crying type. Usually, her over obsession toward things she loved would temper her sobbing.

“What is the matter with you?” I said.

“Dear, I want you to meet Father Chirpins. We talked, and you know he is a social worker . . .”

I interrupted, “Why? Is this … is this about what happened earlier?  I … Jesus mother, what do you think? I don’t want to see a shrink in priest’s cloths. That’s the worst kind.”

“He is knowledgeable and kind …”

“He tweets like a bird. Hence ‘father Chirpins.’ Besides I cannot keep from laughing at him. And what should we talk about?”

Mom stood with her mouth tight. Her eyes looked larger than usual through the panes of her glasses. For the first time, I could see that her eyes were scared and her mouth concerned. She always did that before confessing. Usually, she was not the one to be quite for long. This time, she stayed quite.

“What is it mother?”

“I want you to go. I spoke with him.” She was tearing up now.

I felt anger and embarrassment, “About me … masturbating?”

“Oh stop it, Frank Julius,” her mind in too much thought to finish my name.  She went on, “You know how I feel about THAT and our faith, but we can talk tomorrow.”

Before I could respond, she cut me off and waived me to dinner and then to bed in one cumbersome sentence, “You will have dinner and go to meet him at 8:00 am. I told him my feelings, my plan for you but felt it best coming from him. Yes …” looking at her hand as if it were her other son, “It’s better if he tells you.” And she walked away.

I laid on my bed and could not sleep much. I knew Mom was serious. I knew she meant business and something told me to play the good son. Okay, as embarrassing and humiliating as it is, I will go and see Big Bird Chirpins, I thought


Before I knew it my legs were walking towards the familiar childhood Church. Just behind the modest house of God hid the rectory, as if something secret, and I could not help feel, as blasphemous as it was, that I was going in to get some illegal or nasty porn while in mid-daylight. I looked around, as guilty as hell and told myself, Frank, just get through this and go to the farm.

There I sat at the rectory office table waiting for the familiar priest to come in. I stared at the shelf full of good books and the many, many Bibles of all ages. Just above the dark mahogany bookshelf, were the Lord’s Ten Commandments, all in a straight line, as if sin happened in an orderly fashion.

Just as I got to “Though Shall Not Commit Adultery,”something huge and wet started caressing my right ear and the side of my face.  I jump up and turned toward the mammoth-licking object only to find myself face to face with an enormous Great Dane.

Great Dane isolated on white
The guilty beast at hand

“Ah!!!” I yelled and this scared the normally mundane and gentle-spirited animal into combat mode.

The tongue retreated but the fangs rushed forward. The sweet whimpering of the loving beast became the growl of a ferocious loin.  I was a little girl again, if I were ever one. I cried a girly screech and bolted to the nearest door only to find that I shut myself in a small room, maybe the entrance to Hell, and locked the door. I was saved, but I heard the beast’s breathing on the other side.

“Oh, thank you Mother Mary Jesus!”

I then became aware that I wasn’t alone. I heard a commotion behind me, and the combination of that and the breathing at the door made me freeze and, I sniffed … shit my pants?  I stood still until whatever was behind me spoke.

“Dear son,” came chirping but godly voice behind me, almost intimate, “What scares you so about this place, this world?”

I fell on my knees, “Oh God, it licked me and scared the life out of me. It’s so huge, like the devil I swear.”

“What … licking … are you talking about, what Evil, son?”

I started to get my wits about me as I knelt on the floor. Still I was too afraid and shaken to look at the Godly entity. This God had a familiar chirping sound, and I thought, Hey, God, you sound just like Father Chirpins.

Then it came to me that it was Father Chirpins. I was not in heaven or Hell but rather in his bathroom, and I did not shit my pants; he took a crap on the toilet. I must have rushed into his toilet during mid-defecation.

I tried to gain my composure. “Oh, gosh Father I am sorry. I felt a bit of urgency coming on, and I rushed in, but your dog scared me.”

I turned around to face him but kept my eyes on the ground. I was as red as a Red Delicious apple.

Father put his hand on my shoulder and my eyes did not have to move up that much to see the half man, half bird examining me with a tilted head and with humor enough to put me at ease.

He looked at me with such interest that I started to fear I was a worm and he was making the decision whether or not to devour me.

If he did devour me, I would have accepted it at that moment.  Instead, I found myself sitting back in his office chair while my ear was being randomly French kissed by his girl dog “Lickins” as he called her.

Father reassured me that Lickins was harmless, that is if I let her lick my ear and didn’t “yell” at her. But the whole event was awkward. There was a sinless man, a good judge eyeing me and a large beast licking my ear. What could I do but tolerate all of it.


Funny Priest
Father Chirpkins

“My son,” said Father, “your mother was here yesterday and was quite distraught. We spent much time talking.”

Between the chirping at each “S” and “H” and the occasional and overpowering lapping sound in my right ear, I interpreted that mother was upset.

I rushed in, “Father, I am not into sex with cookie-loving puppet monsters or any child-loving puppets whatsoever. I … I…was looking at something else …”

There was that curious look again from Chirpins. He attentively eyed my soul as Lickins tried to wrestle it from me. I was starting to get this. It was a kind of enhanced interrogation that involved licking and chirping. I really wanted to run out of the place.

“Son, let’s not talk about less important sin. Puppet love does not even make the top 1000. We have to deal with the larger half, you see. Your mother … has a mission for you, and I want you, Frank, to take me very seriously. She has asked me to tell you to leave home.”

I jumped forward in shock, “Why?” I mean how will she live?”

“As she has for all these years. We will see to her. Her journey will concern us. She wants you to leave the nest.”

How would mother get on? What about my job? I didn’t make enough to support myself? I was angry.

I got up, pointing my finger at him. “Father, am I being turned out? Are you, a man of God throwing me away? Is she?”

Chirpins looked at me patiently. He was not the stern type. He continued to examine me. He pecked at my soul searching for vulnerability.

He then asked, “What you should want in this life is to furnish the next. There is no throwing away of a human soul.”

He  paused. I got the message and sat back down.

“Frank. Listen. I want you to listen to me. For one moment, I want you to want me to be your Father. No words, just listen.”

“Okay, Father. I will listen.”

“As is with God and with life, I cannot reveal all. Some I know and cannot tell and some things I don’t know. But your mother has given me a mission and God has given me the other end of that mission. You are to leave the house and go and find your brother. You noted this to your mother.”

I nodded with my hands in my face.

“She said that you would not seek your father, out of anger, but we will address that later. You are to seek the closest part of you.

For you, brother means your sibling; for me it means the bond of love between people. To you, father means Dad, and to me Dad means God. Things sway differently depending on how the light presents it.”

I protested, “But how …  the money?”

“Frank!” Said father loudly but with tenderness. “Remember? You are to listen. You lived your life your way, but are you happy?”

“Yeah! Very happy.”

Then something odd happened. The good Father looked at the sky, said a brief prayer, stared me down as if we were two cocks in a fight, and said,


“Father!” I said startled.

“Bullshit!” He said again trembling as if it was the first time he sinned in forty years. He continued,

“I am not as naïve as you think I am. I know what you did in that room, and it’s not about the sex act or the masturbation. Maybe you like cookie-loving puppet monsters? Maybe you like dogs licking your ears? “He smiles and pauses,” but you are lost and lost sheep can beckon to wolves.

You are a man. I know that. You think I have no sexuality? You think it’s easy for me to keep vows? Oh, how we ignore the crosses others carry! It is not, and sometimes I fail, but do you know why I am here? Is it the love of Jesus on the cross?”

I stay silent and peer at him thougtfully. Here he confesses, is nervous, and seems to be apologetic to God.

“No, I am here because I have a passion to help people, not the Church. The Church is the vehicle toward my selfish acts: to help people. But it’s a better kind of selfish. I am happy when you are happy. You are not.”

Still stunned, I ask, “What do you want me to do?”

“Your mother has been studious in her faith, and it’s not about her or anyone else being hypocritical. It’s about commitment. She is committed to God and to you. You see, you and God are on the same plain, at this moment. You give me the wrong answer now. It’s not what I want you to do.”

“But Father you just said …”

“I know what I said. Let me repeat this, “hypocritical.” I have given you the first direction, and it is up to you to complete it. You are expected to leave next week Friday. Go see to your mother, and I will be back to bid you farewell.”

To be continued in Series C

Please follow the story as I write it here. Please comment and give advice; I will write according to suggestions and comments. 

The Catholic Church’s Catastrophic Failure


The following contains disturbing language and events involving abuse and children. Discretion is advised.

It was early in my adolescence, I recall in the seventh grade, where the boys were ushered into the church, almost as if it were a secret, and something told me it was not going to be mass. At twelve, I was an experienced alter boy and would shortly have 8 funerals and 1 wedding under my belt. I, along with my brother, was a lead alter boy for Sunday service. I recall this moment to be different. A senior priest appeared with hopes of initiating us into adulthood.

He said that whenever we pleasure ourselves we are not only committing murder but each sperm lost is a loss of a human being. He said, “You are no better than Hitler.” The point was not in celebrating the creation of life through a responsible act of sex; rather, it was to discourage pubescent boys in learning about their bodies and drown them with shame and humiliation. All sex became deviant sex.

Yes, every boy there was abused. We were abused because even if the Church did not believe in science or evolution, a basic understanding of reproduction and health would have informed the priest that the vast majority of sperm die in the testes. It would seem that these young boys were damned if they did it and damned if they did not. I lived decades of humiliation and shame.

Then early in high school, Father took us 15-year-old boys to a classroom, opened a closet, and began to pass around fetuses in a jar. The one that found itself on my desk was of a 6-month old. I was born at 6 months. The point of this exercise was to discourage us from having sex and to reinforce that abortion was wrong. I was more petrified that I would drop the glass jar and shatter what, if any dignity, a dead baby or human fetus had left.

That is abuse.

I was told by a Sister Hope that I would grow up to be hopeless, and I was told by another caring nun that “You just don’t care” because I could not do my math work properly. I was abused for 17 years, molested by a boy on a school bus for 20 minutes, grouped by a female nurse when being prepped for surgery, and dealt weekly with IED style rages from my late father, one that confessed to molesting young girls. My mom told me all the details when I was around 9-years old.

Sister, that is why “I don’t care.”

I quit school at 17, in part, because Father said, “I bet that you cannot do the math.” I took that bet, and I quit school. I wrote him later and said, “Father you should have said, ‘I bet you CAN do it.” I was labeled as “special” in school, a code word for retarded all my life. In truth, I strongly believe I had selective mutism.

I almost went into the priesthood because in my twenties, I never kissed a girl, never dated, never was hugged by a girlfriend, and had the sexual maturity of a troubled twelve-year-old. The Church seems a safe haven for one that did not want be asked, “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” “Are you gay?” “Are you a pedophile?” Instead people would see me as a man of God. All questions would stop. Just like my dreams stopped. I would, for the first time in my life, be treated with respect. I would seem an asexual, holy being.

When I was twenty-three, I almost took out a 15-year-old girl on a date with the encouragement of my own mother and the girl’s aunt. The night before the date, the aunt called me and said, “It’s not you, it is her. I have to call this off.” She may have saved two people that night.

We were going to go to Church for our first date.

I decided not to become a priest.

There is more abuse, but my story is nothing compared to what so many kids went through at the hands of yet another institution that ignored or maybe even encouraged sex abuse. Similar to sexual assault in the military, the breaking of trust between those one would lay down their life for, one that represents that hand of God for many Catholics, comes with severe and life-long consequences for the survivors.

At its most ugly, it can sever one’s relationship with God or spirituality. When someone says “Father” to me, I think of a sexual predator. Yet, using such words as monster, predator, and pedophile (often misused), distracts us all from the institutions in sports, in faith, and in film among many others that perpetuate abuse, often putting fire with gasoline. We call out the few, the worst acts, but fail to see so many.

Few can take away one’s sexual desire or attraction, and the Catholic Church must understand that it has severely failed in its complete misunderstanding and misdirection when it comes to human sexuality. I, for one, could never relate to Jesus because Jesus did not seem to have a sexuality. Most guys I know do, and it complicates their lives. If one buries it, it manifests, just like my nightmares, nightmares that are all too real for so many survivors.

The Catholic Church has become a fallen institution because it allowed sins worse than original sin to be committed on its most vulnerable parishioners, and when such an institution is supposed to uphold the teachings of Christ, the intensity of that broken trust can manifest itself ten fold.

For me, I could no longer believe a Church because it’s made of people that morally justify. I found freedom in being free of dogma and of a power structure the favors powerful men that, too often, brush off their own sins in favor of dominating others. Now, I prefer to see God through nature, where life simply exists without need of judgment.