TFWMZ8_2015-09

Tales From
Wilton Manors
Zine
8 (2015-09)

The Mind Is A Terribly Easy
Thing To Waste (Final Part 3)
– Short Story Series by
FishSpit The social worker
had interviewed Bess (and me
a little bit), and gone off to find
a spot in one of our
overcrowded psyche wards.
Too many lunatics! What
irked me was that no one ever
came in to give us a little peak
into how things stood. What
was still more irksome was
listening to a flock of doctors
and nurses out there that had
nothing to do but shoot their
gobs off about stupid shit and
fuck around. Waiting for the
burn victims to pour in I guess.
But when you are on a
bummer (and I was the only
one on a bummer now . . . Bess
was in Ativan bliss), and you
are just supposed to be with
your gal on a 4 th of July, it’d
been nice if a nurse would of
poked her mug in every hour
or so to tell us where we

stood . . . how things were
going. I decided to go out to
the giggling gaggle of nurses
and docs to ask about it all.
Jesus! What a stink eye I got!
You’d think I’d just asked
them for shot of morphine!
“Who the hell was I?” “Some
sort of trouble maker
certainly!” “An impertinent
bastard!” That’s what I saw in
their eyes. Then this
goddamned uppity broad
nurse says to me, in a stern
voice as if she were
addressing a hydro encephalic
hoodlum child, “Chuck is
trying to find your friend a
bed! He’s doing his best!
You’ll just have to be
patient!” Well, “fuck you too,
nurse snappy puss!” What I
should have said went unsaid,
and my belief that a person is
a person in a hospital and has
a right to ask a goddamned
question was shot down and
so I slunk back to my room . . .

chastised. Back to my little
chair in my little corner . . .
God what a drag! Hours later
(hooray hoop whoop!), a bed
was found. It was in the next
hospital over! Ha ha! 20 feet
away! Just a push shove and
Bess a bed was now in a
ward . . . and I finally got to go
home to my gal. But this was
just the beginning of my week
long adventure of Bess being
locked away. Bess has been in
the mental health system all
her life. Literally! At the age
of two she was in a car that got
creamed on the highway and
she suffered serious brain
damage. Nothing had been
right since. 40 years later!
Soft in the head! Her
apartment, since she was a
hoarder and never got rid of
anything, had decades of pill
bottles in it . . . filled, empty,
partially filled . . . old and new.
It was a regular pharmacy.
And I like pharmacies! I like

to do a little sampling of all the
goods. See where they’d take
me! I had no computer access
so most of the time I didn’t
know what the hell I was
taking. I’d just pop a few pills
from a bottle and see where I
went. I spent most of the week
in that apartment, with them
three cats, going up, down,
and sideways . . . sometimes
turning into a tongue chewing
babbling idiot . . . sometimes
bouncing zing zong about the
apartment. And the cats
watched in awe. What made it
all the more weird was that
Bess would call every day
because she still needed
something. Half a dozen
suitcases filled with her shit
and she still needed
something! The first night the
pillows and blankets weren’t
right there at the ward . . . so
the next day, after popping a
handful of her Adderall with a
mix of Pregabalin, I headed

down to the hospital to chat
with her and bring her a pillow
and blanket. I remember I was
dressed real suave that day,
and I think this nurse had her
eye on me. She was awful
kittenish. But . . . hell . . .
well . . . maybe it wasn’t an
amorous eye . . . maybe it was
a watchful one . . . as if, “Jesus,
this guy belongs in here too.”
I won’t go all soppy poofterish
on the beauty of how nice it is
to leave a place when the poor
other bastards can’t. But
that’s freedom! And I don’t
mind going to psyche wards if
can leave at will. I actually
enjoy it. I’d return to Bess’s
condo and my three pussy
cats, and I’d get more twisted
and the next day a call would
come from Bess. I was on pills
that I had no idea what they
were . . . by now I had a system
and a color code for what pills
took me up . . . which pills took
me down . . . and which pills

took me to the moon. I’d mix
the uppers and the downers to
hit “just right.” Simple, nonpill
poppers, think uppers
cancel downers and viceversa
. . . no . . . they work on
different plains, giving you an
even keel on a higher plain . . .
an even better “even” than
anything reality can supply . . .
and, of course, it has nothing
to do with a spiritual plain . . .
just a “high” higher plain. But
the calls kept coming. The
next day Bess needed
detergent because she was
allergic to that used at the
ward. Off I went with the new
detergent. The next day she
needed her lipstick case . . .
which when found had 57
lipstick tubes . . . a hoarders
lipstick treasure . . . some had
to date back 20 years. And the
pills were being a popped and
the calls kept coming! The
next one? Oh . . . they weren’t
giving her enough Suboxone

at the ward! Would I bring som
about it? Make sure none of the s
to her as we had a nice chat abo
still to suicidal to come home and
a few more days. Tim, Fi Fo Fum
food and pets . . . when they l
experimentations . . . in that we
with decades of stuff that Bess
was only one clear spot in the
available to sit in. Again, like in
to a tiny chair in the tiny corner
come to its end. Bopped up on b
ward when they’d discharged h
bottles of pills to add to her col
reader . . . two fuzz brains return
I left Bess to drool in her corner o
filled with different pills so I co
got home. But let’s not leave you
of such whackadoodle pillsoma
might beloved peruser . . . and yo
let’s look in to the future just a
and my vileness. It ended! Yes d
today I am clean and sober. Don
been made . . . and now I regular
psyche ward and do right by her
It’s just so damned hard to fin
hoarder’s treasures, so I can mak
pets.

e? And would I be extra sneaky
taff knew. Sure! I slipped them
ut how they’d decided she was
wouldn’t I care for the cats just
, and Rumsie got their tuna, cat
et me . . . and I continued my
ird apartment . . . overflowing
just wouldn’t get rid of. There
entire apartment . . . one chair
the urgent care, I was relegated
. Like all things, insanity must
op pills I picked up Bess at the
er. There she was with 7 more
lection. So ends my story dear
ing to a jungle of an apartment.
n her only chair . . . my pockets
uld keep experimenting when I
my sweet reader on such a note
nia. Judge me as a fiend you
ur judgments are justified. But
bit and see what became of me
ear reader . . . I found sanity . . .
’t touch the stuff! Amends have
ly take that nut case Bess to the
, Tim, Rumsie, and Fi Fo Fum.
d those cats in the stacks of a
e sure they get their Friskies and

Catholic School Boys In Trouble
(Part 7) – Short Story Series by
Brett Butler Pickles was head over
heels in love. He and Louis did
everything together. Louis even
taught Pickles how to play softball.
I was a total spaz in that
department and Jordan had
become my personal trainer. He
was going to make me a sportsman
before the summer was over. I
couldn’t fight my feelings for him.
Maybe it was because Pickles was
so in love and I wanted the same. I
e-mailed Luke, but he seems to be
MIA. So as Jordan taught me how
to hold a bat, my feelings were
going to burst. Even in sweats he
looks good. I could hear Pickles
warning me not to go for him and to
wait for school to start to see about
Luke. But it was the air, the birds,
and may I dare say, the smell of
Jordan’s sweat.. I even made
myself sick as I dropped the bat
and ran back to the bunk. I lay in
my bunk so confused and wanting
Pickles’ help, but I knew I needed
to trust my own feelings. Luke was
a god and Jordan was the devil. I
took a cold shower and walked into

the bunk in just my towel. Jordan
came in and grabbed me. We
started to kiss. I wanted to push
him away, but I couldn’t. We fell
on top of the bed, he took off his
shirt, and we kissed again. Then I
heard Pickles yell “Oh my god,”
with Louis standing next to him. I
pushed Jordan to the floor. I
pleaded, “it’s not what you think”,
as I adjusted my towel. “Really
poppy, it looked like you two were
going to do it”, Louis said as he
made hand gestures. Jordan stood
up. I could tell he was
embarrassed. “It was horse play.”
Pickles put his hands on his hips.
“Horse play with your tongue
down his throat?” “Yeah, I need a
shower”, Jordan said as he grabbed
his shirt and ran out of the bunk.
“Oh sweetie, I can’t leave you
alone for a minute”, Pickles said as
he walked over and sat next to me
on the bunk. “We’ve got a word for
boys like you were I come from.
It’s called puta,” Louis said and
left the room. I felt awful and
confused. Should I have my
summer of love with Jordan, or
fight these feelings and wait till I

see Luke Roberts when school
begins. Jordan came back to the
bunk in shorts, with no shirt on
and his black hair combed back.
Pickles was like a mother bird
protecting her eggs. “You need to
stop playing my friend,” Pickles
said fixing his hair. Jordan came
over to us. “Why don’t you let
Blair decide what he wants?” I
looked down at the floor. Jordan
bent down and looked into my
eyes. “Me and you, lunch alone,
and it’s a date”, he said and left
the bunk. “Oh god sweetie, you
can’t go on a date with him. He’s
trouble and you are so close to
getting Luke.” I stood up.
“Thanks for the advice, but I am
going on this date, and I ain’t no
puta.” I got dressed as Pickles fell
against the bunk beds in shock
from my decision. Louis entered
the bunk and ran over to Pickles
to help him up. “What did you
do, puta,” Louis said giving me
the evil eye. I got dressed and
walked outside. For the first time,
I was enjoying my summer at this
camp. Next time: Luke Roberts
shows up at the end of camp.

Father of The Year (Part 3) –
Short Story Series by Brett
Butler As I’ve mentioned
before, I have been single for a
very long time since my
partner is now gone. Now I
don’t live in a cave or anything
like that. I have gone out on
some coffee dates, even to
dinner, and on a very rare
occasion, and I mean rare, a
one-night stand. It’s hard to
date when you have a twelveyear-old
son. I would like to
find that Mr. Right again and
spend, I dare to say it, my
golden years with him as I
watch my son grow up and
start his life. I was invited to an
Art Show and I took my son,
because he has started to paint
and seeing other artist’s work
inspires him. As we toured the
show, I bumped into an old
friend that I had not seen in
years. I must say, I was
attracted to him. We had dated
before I met my partner. We

talked and laughed and I wanted
to ask him out. How strange
though, I felt like I was in high
school and I really don’t have any
game plan to snag him, and I was
also scared of being rejected.
Afterwards, my son grabbed me
and pulled me away from
everyone. He was upset. I asked
what was wrong and he told me I
should have asked that guy out on
a date. I told him that I was sure he
was not interested in me, but my
son told me I was blind and that
he was totally checking me out. I
told him he was wrong, so he
gave me this simple bit of
wisdom. “This is why you are
alone, because you don’t go out
on dates, Dad,” and he walked
away. Damn, that kid is smart.
This is yet another reason that I
won’t be Father of The Year.

Our Other Publications:
Welcome Tales From To The Wilton Doll
Manors House Zine (Free)
eBooks For Sale:
1. Valley of The Barbies
(An Original Screenplay)
by Brett Butler
2. The Adventures at
Toxic Beach (Attack of
the Killer Eddies) by
Brett Butler
3. The Rhythm of Youth
by Brett Butler
4. (Coming Soon)
Alternative Nation
by Brett Butler
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