TFWMZ9_2015-10

talesfromwiltonmanors

TFWMZ9_2015-10

Tales From

Wilton Manors

Zine

9 (2015-10)


LET ME BORROW YOUR

BRAT! (Short Story - by

F i s h w o g g l e )

I want to borrow a kid. Hell

yes I do! I never had me one of

my own . . . thank god. But I

wanna borrow a little

bastard . . . a little shit-ass . . .

but a cute one. Why? Because

when I was passing the park

there were about 7 of the

cutest little mamas (and about

4 ugly ones) pushing their

goddamned snotnosed cretins

on the swings . . . or . . . well . . .

you know . . . tossing the ball

with the little shits. But to hell

with the kids . . . I wanna gab

with them cute little mamas.

To the toss-pot with their

husbands! Them sons-ofbitches

chose to join the rat

race . . . that’s their “get-go.”

Me? I don’t do nothing’!

Fuck work! I’d rather walk

around and look at the broads.

So . . . hell yeah! While them

scratch toadies are at work . . .


I wouldn’t mind playin’

around with their little wives a

bit. A hup-two twiddlebee

visit to their humble homes.

Some

cucumber

sandwiches . . . a chat on

Obama or two . . . a bit of

footsy under the table . . . a

peck or two on the back of the

neck . . . scratching the kitty

bellies and a little chuck nuck

to the muzzle of the brat who

is just about ready for a napsy

wapsy. A little cooing like a

turtledove to put the

peckerwood with the

sandman . . . and then a little of

the old in-‘an-out with the

little mama-san. I’ll drink

from the coffee mugs and take

their broads in the master

bedroom! Oh certainly I

would! No scruples at all!

Not an iota of remorse! Hell

yes! To hell with them! They

chose the 9to5er . . . which in

this computer Babylon soon


ecame the 7ti7er. That’s

their get-up. The

scrumbillial . . . and shake the

chickens! They chose their

bed . . . and I’ll lie in it! But I

need me a brat! You can’t just

walk up to the gals on a

playground empty-handed!

Hell no! You’d look like a

creep. No creepiness in me!

Hell no! A regular saintly lad

I am! I don’t wanna look like

a lecher! No! So I’ll need a

kiddo . . . and one of you

broads surely have one to loan

me. I’m speaking to you

women that are raising a kiddo

on your solo . . . all by your

ono. The fellow (bastard!)

took to the air . . . flight . . . far

away . . . no child support . . .

so you slave . . . just getting by.

Well, I’ll look after your little

scrumption for ya. No fee at

all! No! Daycare? Don’t you

worry about it! I’ll look after

your little sweetie for free. I’ll

look after your boy. I think


it should be a boy. I think he

ought to have longish hair. I

somehow feel that chicks

think a little fella with long

hair is cute. Probably reminds

them of how their husbands

use to look when they still had

a head full. Now he’s losing it

in clumpfulls . . . bad genes,

stress, and too much

caffeine . . . then red bulls and

stress kills off the little hair

follicles like they were

Cambodians at a Khmer

Rouge convention. When

them chickos see a cute little

woopzer with a little head full

of hair . . . well . . . the broads

get kittenish. Their hubby’s

hair is gone . . . or going fast!

Shit! Mine ain’t! I got a

goddamned sloppy muss

mess of hair! A regular hippy!

Ha ha! Yeah baby . . . . your

fella’s hair is getting gone!

All them bad genes, mega

doodle stress, and keeping

that nose up the boss’s fat ass!


Kills off the old scruff scraff.

Well . . . I got me plenty sister!

Ha ha . . . gobs of it! But

hell . . . you broads that are

reading . . . where was I? Got

all bamboozled there . . .

almost lost you my sweet little

reader. I was talking about?

Oh yeah! A little cute fella

with some long hair. I went

out with this gal named Jessie.

And it weren’t ‘till she had me

under her thumb until she

sprung it on me that she had a

kid. Miles was his name. And

as much as I hate kids . . . he

turned out to be a little cutey.

And that little motherfucker

had him a mess load of hair.

Me, a regular hippy-hater,

thought he was cute. I told

him though, “Boy . . . if you’d

grown up with a father like

mine, you wouldn’t have no

goddamned girly girl locks.

Hell no! Boy! My dad wanted

a clean cut American boy!

And he made sure I was that!”


But Miles was a long haired

little faggot. And shit! Din’t

the gals just coo like

turtledoves when I took Miles

to the park! Hell yes they did!

I learned fast! Sure I had

Jessie waiting for me back at

the pad . . . waiting for me to

come home with her little

treasure. But fuck that! Jessie

could only give me one

woman’s attention. I wanted a

selection! Like they had down

there with all those cute little

mothers at the park. Miles

wanted to go home. But screw

the little cretin! He just made

it possible for 15, cute as hell,

vixens to take notice of me . . .

you can wait you little fairy!

Ah . . . but Jessie kicked me to

the curb. Why? You wonder

dear reader! Well me too!

Why would that little

chickadee kick me out?! Me!

Such a gentleman! Me! Just a

gentle, good-hearted, saintly

sort of soul! Well she did.


And I had to leave that woman’

drunks layin’ there on. The inju

lost Mile’s little charming ways

little wipplepoof to drag along d

there . . . to get in like flint with

You got one you’ll loan me rea

beautiful gams . . . them sweet

little gratuity for your brat! Tel

nest egg. I can afford a little so

me here at Wiseblood and tell m

take ‘im . . . or her! I ain’t no s

snickerdoodle will go up to the

corner . . . I mean when the gal

crib . . . I’ll call you . . . tell you

on. Is it a deal?


s bed where I’d spent all them

stice! With her gone, I also

. Shit! Now I need a new

own to the park down

the stay at home mamas.

der? I’m desperate! All those

kissers. I’ll even give you a

l me how much. I got a little

mething. You broads write

e the rent on your kid. I’ll

exist! I and your little

park. I’ll leave him on the

lets me come on into her

which corner to pick him up


Catholic School Boys In

Trouble (Part 8) by Brett

Butler - The summer flew by

and I would soon be back for

my senior year of school. This

may sound strange, but

Pickles and me vowed that we

would rule the school. That

would be hard to do since

Pickles was so depressed over

having to leave Louie at

summer camp, and me, well

my summer did not end on a

good note. It was the last week

at summer camp and Jordan

and me were continuing our

make out sessions. We were

not boyfriends, because I was

still confused about my

feelings for Luke Roberts.

Pickles was still not talking to

me because of my make out

sessions with Jordan and

Louie would call me Puta

every time he saw me. During

the last week of camp, we

were told that we would play

against the Soldiers for Christ


Christian Boy’s Camp across

the lake. “God, what kind of

kid would go there”, Pickles

said talking to Louie as I

pretended not to listen. “I

know a Puta wouldn’t go

there”, Louie said looking at

me. I ran out of the bunk and

bumped into Jordan. “Are you

ready for the big game”, he

asked. Jordan had been

training me on how to play

softball. I was getting good at

it. “Yup I am ready to whip

those soldiers’ butts”, Jordan

said as he laughed. We looked

at each other and started to

kiss. God, I have to admit, I

was falling for him. I could

hear Louie yelling in the bunk.

“The Puta is at it again.” I also

have to admit, it was fun being

a bad boy, but I missed

Pickles. The big day had

arrived. The bus carrying the

Soldiers for Christ Christian

Boy’s Camp pulled in.

Pickles, Louie, and me


watched as these big muscular

boys marched off the bus. I

thought I was hallucinating,

when one of them was Luke

Roberts. I ran over to him.

“Luke, I missed you.” Luke

smiled, took my arm, and

dragged me behind the

building. “Not here, they

don’t know about me here”,

Luke explained. As I talked to

Luke, Louie had followed and

was watching me. Luke kissed

my cheek, I almost fainted,

and then I heard “Puta.” Louie

told Pickles and I begged them

both not to tell Jordan. I wish I

could tell you that we beat

those boys, but they killed us

in the game. At the barbecue,

Luke was talking to me and

that’s were it all went wrong.

Jordan came over and put his

arms around me. “What’s

this”, Luke asked. “He’s my

boyfriend”, Jordan proudly

said. I jumped away. “I never

said we were an item.” I could


see the pain in Jordan’s face

when I said that, and that’s

when I realized that I wanted

to be with Jordan. “You were

playing me all summer”, Luke

said. “No, no I was confused”,

I tried to explain to them both.

Louie came over. “He’s a big

Puta, all over Jordan every

night and then kissing you

behind the building.” Pickles

ran over and pushed Louie out

of the way. Jordan and Luke

just shook their head and they

both walked away from me.

Pickles put his arm around

me. “I am sorry honey.” So I

am back at school now. Jordan

and Luke will not answer my

calls, emails or texts. I don’t

know how things could get

any worse. “PUTA”,

someone yelled out. I turned

to see Louie in our school

uniform. Pickles ran over to

him and hugged him. I fell

back against the lockers and

rolled my eyes. I was sure this


was going to be the worst

year of my life.

Happy

Halloween!!!


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

Buy from:

Buy from:

talesfromwiltonmanors.weebly.com/

talesfromwiltonmanors.weebly.com/

store/c22/ebooks.html


Writer/Self-Publisher:

Brett Butler

Editor/Webmaster:

Eric Schleicher

Visit our Website:

for Color/Print Version of

our Zines plus Extras:

talesfromwiltonmanors.weebly.com

Contact us by e-Mail:

talesfromwiltonmanors@yahoo.com

Like Us on Facebook:

facebook.com/TalesFromWiltonManors

Contributors:

Anonymous, Fishwoggle,

Brett Butler

Poems, Poems, Short

Short Stories, Stories, Art,

Art, Comics,

Photography,

Feedback are

welcomed.

Submissions:

talesfromwiltonmanor

s.weebly.com/

submissions

More magazines by this user
Similar magazines