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Tales From

Wilton Manors

Now in Full Size

Film Script / Photography by Brett Butler,

Short Stories by Fishspit


13 (2017-04-01)

"Dressing Up The Kitties" - Short Story by Joseph Wilson AKA


How and why did life get so complicated . . . so difficult? Mental

illness and booze have ravaged me since age 13. But I remember . . .

god I remember. Younger days . . . maybe it was age 4 or 5. I’d go to

see my cousin. She was the same age as me. She lived on a farm. I’d

go stay a while. And there were always plenty of cats on that farm.

Some were wild . . . they killed the rats. And a few were tame. The big

mama cat would have her litter . . . and when I came to the farm, Faye,

my cousin, would take me out to the smoke house where they’d be.

She’d gather up some kittens and tell me, “Fishspit! We’re gonna

play house!” Then we’d take ‘em to the back porch where Faye had a

lot of milk . . . and a bunch of the prettiest little dresses she’d made

herself. The mama cat didn’t mind. Sometimes she stayed in the

smokehouse and snoozed . . . other times she’d follow us to watch the

little game of playing house.

Faye would get them little kittens all drunk and sleepy on milk. They

then were putty in her hands. They’d get wobbly . . . they’d get sleepy.

Then she’d pull out her little dresses and bonnets and other

accouterments and start dressing them up.

And I was her husband of course. We’d have 7 kittens. They’d all be

girls. She insisted. Even the little boy kittens were girls . . . them little

boy kittens . . . sleepy on milk . . . dressed up in Faye’s little dresses.

Well! I had to provide for our children. So she’d send me out to my

uncle’s garden and have me pick grapes, and beans, and peaches, and

just about anything. I was a farmer you see. I was a good provider. We

ate the peaches and Faye read English lessons to her children. Her

mother was a school teacher . . . so she’d use her mother’s text books.

But since Faye couldn’t read, she’d just open a text book and make

things up. Things she’d heard. She’d tell the kittens about George

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Washington cutting down the cherry tree . . . “I cannot tell a lie!” she’d

quote! Then she’d accuse one of the kittens of lying and that kitten had

to go to bed. She’d made a little shoebox bed. The kitten sure didn’t

mind. Sleep was sure welcome to a little kitten buzzed on a belly of


Soon being a farmer wasn’t good enough for me! Faye wanted me to

be a bigger earner. So she insisted that I get a job at an office . . . an

insurance man or something. She’d tell me to go to work. I asked her

where my office was. “Behind that tree!” she’d exclaim. And I’d

tramp off to work. I’d get bored and lonely over there, listening to her

talk to our children. So, I’d come home from work and she’d ask me

where my paperwork was. “I didn’t get any,” I’d tell her. She told me

that that just wouldn’t do. So she left me to take care of our daughters

while she went inside. I played with the sleepy and precious kittens.

When she returned she’d brought some paper and a pen and a paper

bag. The paper bag was my suitcase. She put my pen in there and my

paper in there, and sent me off to work again. She said to be sure and

write a lot of reports. I didn’t know how to write . . . so I went behind

my tree and wrote fake cursive scribbles all over about 3 of the

pages . . . cursive scribbles that looked to me like the writing the older

kids like my sister did at school.

I’d come home from work (the tree you know) and Faye would

inspect my work.

She was pleased. So then I had to kiss each of our seven daughters.

Then I’d be told how bad the little grey kitten had been (whom she had

dressed up in the tiniest pink dresses) while I was at work. She insisted

I give her (though it was a him) a good talking to. Apparently the little

kitten hadn’t done her chores. What those chores were I wasn’t sure . . .

Faye hadn’t clued me in.

And I’d take the little grey kitten aside and give her (him) a

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“corrective interview’, as my cousin liked to call it. I don’t know

where she got the term . . . but now I wonder how many “corrective

interviews” she’d gotten from her mama. Faye could be a rascal. I’d

ask the little grey kitten why she’d been so naughty . . . and he’d

(she’d) say, “Mew, Mew, Mew.” And I’d hear my little cousin who

was listening in say, “That is NO excuse!”

Finally Faye would say that we needed a night at the movies. It was

only about noon, but to her it was time for us to get a babysitter. We’d

take the kittens back to their mama. She was the babysitter! Then Faye

and I would go to the movies. This was an afternoon of Buck Rogers,

Banana Splits, Batman, and whatever else was on the television.

Faye would make us sherbet cones and it was so wonderful. Oh how

I miss such times. Faye’s grown up now and married to a fellow that

sells farm insurance. I haven’t seen her in years. She has 3 children

who have left home. Everything goes away in the end. I wouldn’t

want to even see Faye now . . . I want to remember that little girl with

so much innocent beauty in her little soul. I sure wouldn’t want her to

see me. I didn’t turn out so good. Like John Prine sings, “Old man

sleeps with his conscious at night . . . young man sleeps with his

dreams . . . while the mentally ill sit perfectly still and live through

life’s in-betweens.”

God bless all the precious kittens in the world. I hope little girls are

still getting them sleepy drunk on milk and putting little pink dresses on


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"Mephistopheles and Lilith...“Not My Mephistopheles!”" - Short Story

by Joseph Wilson AKA Fishspit

I once lived with a black, snaggle-toothed, son of bitch named

Mephistopheles. He was a cat. He actually belonged to this chick

named Lilith. But to get him, I had to take her in too . . . so, I got that

cat and the woman that came with him.

She was a good woman. She did the best she could with me . . .

bailing me outta jail . . . cooking healthy meals . . . and listening to my

drunken reveries. She was a good woman, as far as women go.

But that cat! Now that was a cat! I was proud of my woman . . . but I

was goddamned proud of that snaggle-toothed, old, alley cat! When I

got up and drop-kicked that flea ridden cur out, I didn’t know where he

went. I figured he went and mooched some milk off the neighbor,

Jonesy . . . then went to town to give the gal cats a pinch or two.

But no! It started with Jonesy! He came on over . . . shaking Miss

Pearl (his white kitty) in my face! Miss Pearl was missing an ear. I

said, “That’s the damnedest thing Jonesy. Didn’t Miss Pearl have two

ears the last time I saw her.” “Goddamned right she had two ears!”

said Jonesy, “Your son-of-a-bitch cat come over and ate the damned

thing off!” I said, with absolute incredulity, “Mephistopheles?! Oh!

Jonesy! That’s Lilith’s cat. You’ll have to talk to her about that.” And I

slammed the door real fast before he could see Lilith. Our house was

very small. Lilith said, “Who was that?” “Darnedest thing Lilith,” I

told her, “Jonesy is accusing Mephistopheles of eating Miss Pearl’s

ear.” “Not my Mephistopheles!” answered Lilith. “That’s what I told

him Lilith. Your cat wouldn’t do that.” “How come Jonesy didn’t

come in and have coffee and cupcakes?” asked Lilith. “Ah, he was in a

hurry Lilith.”

But it only got worse. Pretty soon every neighbor within a ten block

radius came hunting us up. Little Cooch, Miss Montgomery’s cat, was

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missing an eye! Swore ol Mephistopheles ripped it out right in front of

her! And then he spit in the empty socket of poor Little Cooch! Just to

spite Miss Montgomery! Right in front of her! Poor, dear, kindly Miss

Montgomery! Jehosephat, Bill Bonebury’s mongrel cat, was missing a

leg. Here he came with Jehosephat! Swears to God that

Mephistopheles ripped off old Phat’s leg and then made poor

Jehosephat eat it! His own leg! And Mephistopheles insisted on doing

it all right there in front of Bill Bonebury! He’d seen it all! First rate

witness! Nothing to leave to conjecture! It was Mephistopheles! No

ands, buts, or ifs!

I slammed the door before Bill could see Lilith scoot by. “I’ll tell

Lilith!” I shouted out to old Bill, “It’s her cat!” Lilith questioned me.

“Oh, well, Bill Bonebury claims Mephistopheles ripped off

Jehosephat’s leg and made Jehosephat eat it on up.” “Not my

Mephistopheles!” said Lilith. But after seeing Porgy and Bess, Miss

Kramer, the crazy old Catholic’s two pusses; the one missing his nose,

the other spitting teeth, it got me to really thinking, “Holy Moses in the

split river!” I conjectured, “This Mephistopheles is really something!

My cat is terrorizing the entire town’s felines!” “Not my

Mephistopheles!” Barked out Lilith! All right Lilith, all right.

But then the cat was out of the bag! Lord have mercy on

Mephistopheles’s wicked soul. Lilith and I flew to Washington State to

see our parents. Her mama and my folks. We left Mephistopheles with

my Aunt and Uncle in Jefferson City Missouri. Aunt Mary had the

biggest cat on the planet! Jumbo Buffcakes was his name. He was

supposed to have whipped every cat in Jeff City, as well as all the cats

along the I-70 corridor.

Poor Mephistopheles! He was sure to meet his match. I said farewell

to the old scrapper with a tear in my eye. I figured we wouldn’t be

seeing each other again. Not on this side of the curtain.

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Lilith and I had us a fine time up there in Washington State. I

thought of Mephistopheles every once in a while . . . but it was just too

painful. I pushed it back to the back of my noodle. I didn’t say

anything to Lilith . . . about old Buffcakes and what he had probably

done to her Mephistopheles. I didn’t want to spoil her fun.

You won’t believe what we returned to! The absolute horror on my

Aunt’s face when she come to get us at the airport. She looked at

Lilith. “Your cat!” She burbled out. “Ah to hell with this godforsaken

planet!” I thought, “Poor Mephistopheles. He is of this world no


But no! Hell no! It wasn’t Mephistopheles that was pushing up

daisies. It happened this way! So ashamed of the ass whoopin’ Jumbo

Buffcakes got at the paws of Mephistopheles, he went downstairs, into

Aunt Mary’s basement, and he committed suicide! Hung himself on

the girder! A dangling cat!

My aunt was not a happy broad. “Not my Mephistopheles!” said

Lilith. “Yeah, your Mephistopheles,” I told her, in my head, “That

peckerwood is a monster! A serial killer!”

We got back to Festus, Kansas, with (my hero) Mestopheles in his

carrier. But . . . well . . . it was looking bad. The neighbors were all

gathering about in front of our little house. They started shouting

things. Their cats had finally started peaking their heads out from

under the beds. They finally were getting used to the calm again . . .

and here was Mephistopheles back in town. They’d heard me say that

they wouldn’t have to worry anymore about that black and fierce

feline . . . both in color and in color of his heart! I’d told them all!

Spread the word! About Jumbo Buffcakes! How Mephistopheles had

surely met his match! A goner for sure! No ands, buts, or ifs! No

more Mephistopheles!

But here he was! Back in town! Looking all around! You could see

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it in his eyes. Which cat was gonna be the first to get his tail served on

a platter? Lil opened his cat carrier. “Oh! Lilith . . . don’t do that!” I

thought. Out came that snaggle-toothed wonder! “Mew! Mew! Mew!”

Giving the neighbors a piece of his mind!

And there was my Lilith! Shouting at that mob . . . not making them

kittenish over her . . . that’s for sure . . . “Not my Mephistopheles!”

The first rock buzzed past her head and through our front window.

Lilith was a Wop! These town folk were getting a tongue lashing only

a Wop can give! I knew she could handle them . . . the pack of

cowards! For a bit . . . at least. Then I heard someone say that the

farmers were heading into town . . . on a convoy of tractors . . . with

guns and tar and that sort of thing. Mephistopheles was spitting! Lilith

was hollerin’! And I was packing! Just the essentials! The record

player and the records. Out the back!

I called Sargent Jeffo . . . my pal over at Fort Hayes. Told him the

situation . . . told him to get over pronto . . . but discreetly . . . and if he

could . . . to bring a few MPs . . . and a truncheon or two.

I got the records roped up and the player ready to go! I ran out . . .

rocks were sure coming at Lilith now . . . didn’t faze her! She was

hollering some mad dog insults at them yokels! Good thing them

crackers were so lousy at throwing rocks! Hadn’t been in too many

riots I suppose. Takes some practice. But they certainly seemed to be

getting that practice! Their aim was improving! It was time to get

Mephistopheles and Lilith inside! I hopped on the fire spitting

Mephistopheles, and tossed him in the carrier. He wasn’t finished

giving those hayseeds the “what-for” . . . his, “I don’t care what

happens to me! I’ll go down for my Lilith” routine. I was thinking in

my head, “What about me Mephistopheles?” as I got him and my

screaming Wop back inside and behind the door. Windows are much

easier to hit then yelling Wops . . . and them rubes were sure drilling

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our windows with bricks and bottles and brick brash. I pulled the

curtains. I could hear the tractors! I could smell the oil a bubblin’!

Sargent Jeffo arrived in just the nick of time, with a van full of MP

bruisers whom he immediately sicced on them townsfolks. Brutal!

Those fellas were! Man! They went right at them clodhoppers!

Boom! Shaka! Wham! Heads were being split open. Sargent Jeffo

was shoving us in the van! But I was having a look-see as he did.

Those bastards had wanted Mephistopheles’s snaggle-toothed head

delivered up on a platter! But it was these yahoos that were seeing

their teeth fly! Those truncheons were busy! Wham! Biff! Bang!

Pow! Wham! Those were some brutal sons of bitches! No quarter

given! No favor given! Equally pummeled! Man . . . woman . . . or

child! Smash! Wallop! Gaz-ing! Those bruisers knew what they were

doing! Absolute mayhem! Boom! Whisk! Smash! Tugalamboo!

Sweet Jenny Brown . . . just came to have a look around! As Jeffo

slammed the door . . . it was the last thing I saw . . . a seven foot tall

thug giving it to her in the puss! I saw her neck snap back! She sure

wasn’t going to be eating solids too soon!

And that was the last thing I saw.

Today? Well . . . I don’t know much. I know that there are still some

real hard feelings toward us and those fellows at Fort Hayes amongst

the good people of Festus, Kansas. I know that Lilith is still saying,

“Not my Mephistopheles!” . . . and I know that Mephistopheles is

buried with special honors at the Baptist church on Garfield Street in

Lincoln, NE.

Page 9

"Valley of The Barbies" by Brett Butler - eBook Excerpt Series (Part 1) Film

Script [I came up with the idea for this story, one day at the coffee house

(Java Boys) in Wilton Manors. I was watching and hearing young gay men talk

about their hookups and making fun of others that do not fit into their perfect

world. So, from this conversation, I made the guys I saw “The Barbies” and the

rest of us, who do not fit in, the “Donalds” of the world.]


overweight, with thinning hair and bad skin, walks out of the ocean with

seaweed stuck in his chest hair. DONALD (V.O.) I hate beautiful people.

Beautiful people go into the ocean and come out with water glistening on their

perfect bodies. EXT. BUS STOP - DAY Donald stands as a bus passes and his hat

flies off. Donald chases it. DONALD (V.O.) When beautiful people wear a hat,it

never falls off. EXT. FLOPPY COCK BAR - NIGHT The sign of the bar blinks with a

giant, neon penis that goes from erect to flaccid. Donald stands under the sign

as muscular, shirtless men walk by. DONALD (V.O.) I need to take one of the

beautiful people home with me now. INT. DONALD’S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - NIGHT

Donald sits on the side of the bed. Donald bends over and puts on his shorts.

JOHNNY (21), hairless, muscular, with a large, cross tatoo on his back, stands.

He pulls up his blue jeans and puts on his red, cut off tee-shirt that has

“HOT” printed on it. DONALD You can take a shower if you want. Donald points to

the bathroom. Johnny rolls his eyes, turns, looks into the mirror, and runs his

hands through his hair. JOHNNY My next trick is into sweat. Johnny lifts his

right arm and smells his underarm. DONALD There’s something for everyone.

Donald stands, opens his nightstand drawer, and takes out a hundred dollars.

Johnny turns. JOHNNY You know I charge extra for chubbers. Johnny rubs his hand

on Donald’s belly. Donald opens the drawer and takes out a fifty-dollar bill.

Johnny takes it, and sticks it into his pocket. JOHNNY (CONT’D) Come see me

perform tonight. Johnny grinds his hips. DONALD Why do you hustle if you’re

such a hot stripper? JOHNNY A boy has needs, fat boy. Donald looks at himself

in the mirror as Johnny exits. DONALD I would sell my soul to the devil to be

you for just one night. EXT. DIRTY PONY BAR - NIGHT SNODGRASS (24), short,

overweight, with asthma, wears a yellow, My Little Pony tee-shirt and blue

jeans with green shoes. He takes out an inhaler and takes three PUFFS.

SNODGRASS Where the hell were you? Donald enters the line to get into the bar

in brown pants and a white, button down shirt. DONALD Are you under the

impression thatjust because you have no life...? SNODGRASS Not Johnny again?

That bitch gave me genital herpes, and told everybody it was my fault. DONALD

I have needs, and you got herpes from that Bronie, Mason. Snodgrass takes

Donald’s hand and pulls him towards the entrance. DONALD (CONT’D) Isn’t this a

Brony bar? SNODGRASS It’s open to everyone. DONALD You know they are a cult.

INT. DIRTY PONY BAR - NIGHT Donald stands against the wall and Snodgrass stands

next to him. My Little Pony videos play on the TV screens. HECTOR (23), a Cuban

man, has short, black hair and a diamond earring in each ear. He has on long,

black, gym shorts and a black, low cut, tank top. He walks over to Donald.

HECTOR Bro, what did you do, eat your twin to get that fat? Donald’s face turns

red. SNODGRASS Get out of here, you Barbie. Only Bronies are allowed at this

bar. HECTOR Do you want to take this outside, little bro? CASIO (23) a tall,

muscular, Spanish man has no shirt on, which reveals a My Little Pony tattoo on

his chest. He wears leather pants and has a blond Mohawk. Casio walks over to

Hector and runs his hand down the front of Hector’s chest. CASIO Your kind is

Page 10

not welcome here. HECTOR What are you going to do about it, bro? Casio slides

his hand down and grabs Hector’s groin. Hector’s eyes water.CASIO I will rip

your baloney pony off of your body. Casio releases Hector’s groin. Hector turns

to Snodgrass. HECTOR I’ll get with you another time, little bro. Hector walks

away. Casio walks over to Donald. CASIO Do you want to ride the pony? Donald

reaches out to touch Casio’s chest, but pulls his hand back. DONALD No! I can’t

join a cult! Donald runs out of the bar. Snodgrass walks over to Casio.

SNODGRASS I will take a pony ride. EXT. WILTON DRIVE - NIGHT Donald runs into

the street and bumps into JAMMER (30), a muscular, hairy man, with a tattoo of

a bull on his right shoulder. He wears all black leather with a black whip.

Donald falls to the ground. Jammer’s black boot rests on Donald’s cheek. JAMMER

Lick my boot, slave. DONALD Excuse me? Jammer whips Donald’s ass. JAMMER

I said lick my boot, slave. DONALD This is not my scene, dude. Jammer presses

his boot down on Donald’s cheek and whips his ass again. DONALD (CONT’D)

OUCH!!! That hurts. JAMMER It’s supposed to hurt, porky. JESUS (29), a darkskinned,

muscular, Puerto Rican man, wears a blue suit. He has thick, black

hair and a hairy chest with a gold badge around his neck. Jesus walks over to

both men. He shows his badge to Jammer. JESUS Take it off the street, boys.

Jammer steps back. Donald stands up with his shirt covered in dirt. DONALD

Thank God you saved me from this crazy man. Jammer looks at Donald as he folds

up his whip. JAMMER Crazy? A lard ass like you should be thanking the gay gods,

a Barbie like me would take pity on you. Jesus steps in between the two men.

JESUS Move it along. DONALD I need a drink. Donald walks down Wilton Drive,

turns, takes a quick look at Jesus, and goes into another bar. INT. FLOPPY COCK

BAR - NIGHT Donald sits on a small barstool next to JUAN PABLO (39), a lean,

muscular, hairless, dark skinned Brazilian man. DONALD What does a guy have to

do to get a drink around here? JUAN PABLO Be a Barbie. Donald looks across the

bar and sees BLAZE (28), tall, lean, muscular, tan, with skinny jeans and a

black, Hugo Boss shirt unbuttoned down to his navel. He has thick, blond hair.

Johnny and Hector stand next to him. All the bartenders surround them. DONALD

What about us? JUAN PABLO We’re just Midges. You know, Barbie’s ugly friend.

Juan Pablo takes his tee-shirt off. DONALD I know they rule this town, and

every guy in this place wants to be them. JUAN PABLO Not me, papi, they are all

mean bitches. Donald gets off his bar stool. Juan Pablo turns to him. JUAN

PABLO (CONT’D) What are you doing? DONALD Don’t worry, you will see. Donald

squeezes his way through the crowd and walks across the bar to the Barbies.

DONALD (CONT’D) Excuse me! I want to get a drink. Blaze turns to Donald. BLAZE

You want a drink, sweetie? Let me buy it for you. Johnny laughs. DONALD No, I

can get it myself. BLAZE Sweetie, please let me. Donald turns red. SIMON (27),

tall, lean, black hair, wears white glasses with a tight, yellow shirt and

tight, white pants. SIMON Blaze, really, this again? Blaze looks at Simon. He

waves his hand in the air. BLAZE I want to have some fun tonight. SIMON

Whatever. BEAR (35), an overweight, hairy man with a long, thick beard wears

overalls and walks over to Donald. Bear scratches his ass. BEAR My Cubs and I

might want to join you. Blaze ignores Bear. Blaze strokes Donald’s cheeks and

turns to the bartender. BLAZE Jordan, Sex on the Beach. JORDAN (21), shirtless,

muscular, wears neon green, tight shorts. He nods his head, makes the drink,

and hands it to Donald. DONALD Aren’t you going to pay for it? BLAZE No,

sweetie. I never pay for drinks. DONALD Am I dreaming? Blaze takes Donald’s


[Ends with Page 10 of 104 of this eBook] More Next Time!

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Writer / Self-Publisher: Brett Butler

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