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It could have been a setup for a joke, “A Pollack, a Mexican, and a Frenchie walk into a bar…” but we didn’t walk into a bar.  What we walked into was far, far worse.

           “2 for $1 Big Macs?  Ho-ho-holy crow!  Let’s see how much today’s little venture raked in!”  Bean, my rather vast and jolly Mexican friend, said as he dug through the rusted-red pot stuffed with cash.

           Gene, the diminutive Frenchie, adjusted his green elf hat and made a gesture knocking lint off the fluffy white trim fuzzing around his sleeves.  I’m not sure what made us think that spray painting a plastic Halloween jack o lantern candy holder a rusty red colour would help us pass it off as a Christmas collection pot. Maybe it was a stroke of genius on our end or just a lack of willpower to remove the Halloween decorations.  Either way, that thing was filled to the brim with green American money and the occasional Canadian Looney.  Damn Canadians. 

           “$37.50,” Bean said.

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           A child tugged on Bean’s svelte Santa suit and the child’s mother, or maybe it was just a random stranger, grabbed the boy away before Bean could get out a “Ho”.

           “Santa!”  the child cried.

           Bean turned to wave at the child as the woman pulled the kid towards the door.  “Ho ho ho!”

           “Mommy!  Santa!”  the kid yelled and made his little feet run in place and then in the air while the mother picked him up.

           I wasn’t sure what the mother said, but it sounded like, “That’s not Santa, hunnie, that’s a Mexican.”

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           “Ho-ho-ho-ly hell?  Did she just say I couldn’t be Santa because I’m Mexican?”  Bean took the red and white Santa hat off and wiped the sweat coming off his brow.

           “Don’t listen to her,” I said.  “She’s a nut.  A fruitcake.  The kid probably wasn’t even hers.  We’ll call the cops later.  Big reward.  I can see it now.  Saint Nick saves child from evil woman!” 

           “Jolly Saint Nick already did that when he filed for divorce, white boy,” Bean said, and it was true. 

           “I mean, really, Santa has to be a Mexican—who else would work one day a year and take the rest off?”

           Before Bean could make a comment, a voice from our hips cried out, “Lil’ help here, guys.”

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           I turned away from Bean to see Gene trying to wrangle in a tray stacked with Big Macs.  Apparently, he ordered enough that when stacked end to end, they would be taller than he is.  That number, as I counted in my head, was 24.

           “32 Big Macs coming your way!  Take this so I can grab the other tray!”

           I meant 32, not 24.  24 would obviously be a ridiculous number to stack Big Macs up to see if they are taller than Gene.  Bean took the tray as I got some ketchup.  I liked working the pumps and often pretended that the ketchup I pumped out was blood and the cups were a menstrual cup.

           “Take this, toxic shock syndrome!” I shouted a bit too loud between the last pump.  A woman put her hands on a little girl’s ears and turned her head away from me.  “Hey, you will thank me later when Dracula starts asking the bartender for a glass of hot water!”  The response didn’t make sense to the woman, but Gene caught it.

           “We’ll make some tea later; I need to get something in me before we bang those whores tonight.”  Gene said, and the woman alternated her hands from the child’s ears to the child’s eyes.

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           “Oh, like the kid never saw an elf talk about fucking whores before,” Gene said and timed a wave at the kid between the mom’s windshield wiperesque hand protection. Gene blew a kiss to the kid and the mother put her daughter’s face into her bosom then proceeded to walk to her table with a small cup of ketchup and the kid’s head shoved firmly into her chest, each ear covered by a breast.   

           “And they say we’re the weird ones?” Bean said as he directed us to the table he secured with our food.  The Big Macs were piled to one side of the booth and whatever Gene bought for himself was on the other.  A smell of cheesy funk hung in the air.

           Bean’s Santa beard was covered in special sauce.  His eyes were a bit glazed over from the cholesterol doing its job to clog up his mind.  I could barely lift my hand to the next box containing a Big Mac.  The cheese on the box started to harden at room temperature and whatever temperature Bean’s front teeth were.  Some of it actually got warm enough from the chewing motions he made to start oozing down, but then solidified part way.  Always part way.

           “So, you ordered a bunch of fried cocks?”  Bean said looking at Gene.

           “You wish!  These aren’t fried cocks; these delicious things are the McBratwurst!”  Gene held one up to the light.  It looked like a shriveled Mexican cock.

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           “It looks like a shriveled Mexican cock” Bean said, and I had my suspicions verified.  “There’s no way this can beat my Chorizo!”.

           “You never tried this McBrat then!  Come on, Santa Clause!”  Without any prompting from me, Gene leaped up on the table and dangled the McBrat in front of Bean’s face.  The cheese at the end (the hell?  Why would that come with cheese?) dripped off and started to fall to the table until Santa Bean caught it with his tongue.  A splotch landed on his tongue ring; the effect made me recall the time a hummingbird ran into dog shit thrown from the rooftop. 

           “Eat it Santa!  Eat it!  Put it in your mouth!  Take it!” Gene, still in his elf costume, started to shout.  I became aware that we should start cutting back on spiking his sports drink when Gene’s hand grabbed the back of Bean’s head.  The black brillo hair tangled up in the fuzz of Gene’s elf costume. 

           I heard, “Mommy, why is the elf playing Dambles with Santa?”  I could only assume “Dambles” was a code word the mother taught her kid when the kid walked in on her performing a similar act sans the cheese.  I thought I heard more, but terror was blocking all auditory stimulation. 

           I’m not sure when I got up from our table and started to stutter towards a few booths past ours.  I think I was trying to make it to the ball pit.  I thought if I could just cover myself in the orange and yellow balls that this would all be over.  Then I made the mistake of looking over towards Bean and Gene.  Gene had both hands firmly around Bean’s head, and the sausage was nowhere to be seen.  He let go suddenly and Bean came away with part of the fake beard still attached to where the sausage was just moments ago.  His face—covered in grease and cheese—had a vague smile plastered on like he remembered a fond holiday long dormant.  The clicking of his tongue ring against his teeth set me on edge, but it was the way Gene, still dressed as an elf, let out a bestial cry of victory—both little arms waving in the air while yelling for “Santa” to “suck it” that haunts me even today.

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           It was at this moment that I buried my head between the woman’s breasts.  Her mole came at my eye and drew tears.  The last thing I could hear was Bean’s “Ho ho ho!  The reindeer will be flying high tonight!”

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1 Comment

1 Comment

  1. Jennifer Weigel

    December 18, 2020 at 9:03 am

    I’m glad to see the trio back for more holiday escapades after Halloween and hope this series continues.

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Original Creations

Ppppfffftttt, an RPG story by Jennifer Weigel

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Poised Potion Poison Potential, an RPG story by Jennifer Weigel

(There – I finally said it! Second time’s the charm. Can we move along now?)

Pop Pop Fizz Fizz, boy what a relief it is...  Skylanders style
Pop Pop Fizz Fizz, boy what a relief it is… Skylanders style

So I think Barbarella is losing it.  Like she’s been sneaking healing potions.  We never did manage to get to an alchemist before she downed one of those unmarked flasks we got off the goblins when we took their lair.  Yeah, we all know they’re healing potions but I can’t help but think the goblins weren’t getting their goods legit.  I mean, they are goblins, ‘nuff said.  And I’ve heard some of the black market varieties have other weird properties too, so I fear maybe she’s gotten a bad one or something.

Anyway, she’s been acting strange, spending a lot of time by herself.  And not working out, like usual, but rather rifling through the treasure trove.  Not that she’s at all sneaky about it.  I mean c’mon, it is Barbarella after all.  She’s kind of the polar opposite of discreet.  She’s always been more of a don’t-tread-on-me and mess-with-my-buddies-mess-with-my-war-axe kind of a girl.

It’s making Squidge suspicious.  Yeah I know, Squidge is a bit edgy anyway, but they’re acting even more so now.  They seem to have an even tighter grip on whatever things they’ve stashed away all up in that cloak of holding or whatever it is that they never take off and that makes it hard to remember much of anything about them.  Hell, I don’t even know what gender they are, not that it matters anyway. I don’t concern myself with what Squidge is or isn’t up to so I don’t really care; generally the best is to assume the worst and move on.  Nosing around in Squidge’s business is like begging for a stab wound to the back in your sleep, if you know what I mean.  But they’ve been acting even more paranoid than normal, so I think they’ve noticed that something is off too.

You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve even had to down a healing potion; I tend to stay in the far back and let the other two hack n slash, it’s safer that way.  And health elixirs aren’t my cup-of-probiotic-smoothie-protein-tea (it’s all too snake oil salesman fad craze diet antioxidant stuff for me).  I’m more of a freewhellin fireball flingin kind of spell-slinger.  The healing arts magics are a bit too… mushy gushy lovey dovey for me.

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We aren’t a goody-two-shoes fixer-upper team, more of a nice-fill-in-the-blank-I-think-I’ll-take-it kind of ensemble.  You know the type.  #thuglifeforever.  But times like this do make me wish we had a paladin or a cleric or even a druid to tag along.  Where do you find the moral high grounders when you need them anyway?  Sure, I guess I could go to a church or something, but some of the lesser evil critters I’ve wagered pacts and bargains with may not take too kindly to that.  And the nature nice guys are all save-the-treants which generally doesn’t mesh with the whole fireball jive.

I guess Squidge could ask someone, but they only really talk to The Guild and just in that you-don’t-stab-my-back-I-don’t-stab-yours kind of sense, so we don’t have anyone to consult with on these kinds of things.  It’s certainly not worth seeking out a 100 gp pearl for a wizened old wizard to snort for further clarity, even if the relative scarcity and exchange rate has made them significantly smaller and easier to haul around at this juncture, assuming you can find them at all.  I swear, if the alchemists didn’t need to get high to get anything done it’d be a whole lot easier for everyone.  And don’t even get me started on the Oracle, that nympho dominatrix bitch.  Suffice to say I will NOT be going back there anytime soon, for ANY reason.

So here we are.  Maybe whatever it is’ll pass on its own.  But I noticed a couple more of those goblin healing potions have gone missing.  We all know they don’t work if you aren’t hurt.  And I swear I saw Barbarella take her own axe to the shin before she downed one when she thought I wasn’t looking during my nightly séance with the campfire flames.  My cohorts don’t realize I can actually do more than it seems from my ritual state.  The demonspawn that grant me my powers aren’t always all-engrossing, especially if I’m channeling things I’ve done a bajillion times already and not trying to harness something new.  Frankly sometimes it’s best to tune the spirits out since they pontificate at length for no reason, but I suppose I’m not one to talk.

Conversing with Fire Demons, RPG story art by Jennifer Weigel
Conversing with Fire Demons, RPG story art by Jennifer Weigel

I keep coming back to this thought though.  Why would Barbarella hurt herself just to chug a stupid goblin potion anyway?  Usually those dares go the other way.  Goblin potions taste like bad grog two days following a dwarven ale upchuck hangover, and that’s if you’re lucky.  Often they’re worse.  And they’re not even that good as far as healing elixirs, mending maybe a minor flesh wound at best.  They’re crappy, no getting around it, and a last resort at best.  Why would she deliberately go out of her way to drink that shit?

You know, there’s a whole stash of the things left, and I am a bit down on health myself.  Maybe I should try one to see what the allure is.  Perhaps the camaraderie and shared experience could help me get Barbarella to sober up and leave the toxic sludge alone.  Or at the very least, maybe I’ll understand what she sees in them.  Perhaps they’re new and improved, but I seriously doubt it seeing as how they’re still just ill-obtained swag we got off some low-level goblins.  You know, no one ever really gives goblins anything worth having unless they’re trying to exploit them in some way, and even then it’s really not worth it, seeing as how the goblins don’t have anything anybody wants to barter…

I swear those potions were in this satchel here; we had like over 100 of the things.  Oh, here’s one, way down in the bottom of the bag having fallen under some of the other crap we looted that wasn’t worth much of anything.  Wow I really had to dig deep to fish that out, and it’s only been about a week since the goblins’ lair…  In the light looks like the same ol’ ordinary purple black pink tinged sludge we normally find, a tad more sparkle factor but not enough to care.  Now why are Barbarella and Squidge both looking at me like I’m holding the golden goose egg of everlasting mana and fingering their weapons?

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If you enjoyed this RPG story by Jennifer Weigel, perhaps you will want to see some art from previous campaigns or read the Twilight saga, both on Haunted MTL here.

Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.

Check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s writing here at Jennifer Weigel Words.

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Original Series

Nightmarish Nature: Vampires Among Us

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This is the kickoff to a new series exploring nature that is kind of horrifying, at least in ways. Our first subject is Vampires Among Us. There are lots of animals named for vampires, sometimes due to folklore and sometimes for their appearance (like the Vampire Squid), but most of these animals don’t have blood sucking tendencies.

Bats & Birds

There are legit vampire leaf-nosed bats in Central and South America that drink blood. They feed on mammals and are often shown to feed on livestock. They’d be kinda cute if they weren’t so creepy. There are also vampiric birds: some finches in the Galapagos have developed the taste for blood of other birds, mainly seabirds that flock to the islands to raise their young.

Vampire Bats
Vampire Bats

Leeches & Lampreys & More

And then you get into leeches and lampreys and other denizens of the water that are known to attach themselves to larger creatures and drink their blood. Leeches were even believed to have medicinal value (and still are in certain circumstances). And there are also numerous plants that are known to be parasitic and feed on other plants, wrapping their roots or vines around others to steal nutrients.

Lamprey Teeth
Lamprey Teeth

Spiders

Now I’m going to drift off into the realm where this becomes truly horrific. Spiders. Now, spiders aren’t vampires per se, seeing as how they actually kill their prey – they don’t just feed off of it while it remains living and wanders about its business. But because of their structure, they cannot eat solid foods, so they have to inject their prey with enzymes to liquefy it so they can slurp it out like a protein shake. That’s sort of vampirism on steroids if you ask me, just the kind that no one is coming back from.

Spider Eating
Spider Eating

Bloodsucking Bugs

But let’s get back on topic. Now let’s consider mites and ticks and fleas and mosquitoes and the like. Some drink blood for their survival; others do so as part of their reproductive cycle (like mosquitoes which otherwise eat fruit and nectar but need the extra protein from blood to grow their eggs).

Ticks need to feed on blood once at every stage of their life cycle and can pick up diseases along the way (like Lyme Disease) but don’t always do so. Different ticks are more likely to come in contact with different things and often humans are not their preferred meal but they are opportunistic and will feed on whatever is available when necessary. Symptoms of illness from tick bites may take years to develop and can have really weird side effects (like the allergy associated with Lone Star Ticks which makes a person unable to consume mammalian flesh).

Spider
Spider

Anyway, here are some brief glimpses of vampirism in nature. Thank you for joining us for Nightmarish Nature and may you avoid getting bitten by any true vampires among us… And I still think spiders take first place in the creepy eating category here, even if they aren’t technically vampiric.

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Original Creations

Buried Treasure by “Dread Pirate” Jennifer Weigel

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This story came to me in a sort of roundabout way from a rather unusual source. So I thought I’d share it with you, dear readership, and see if you can make heads or tails of it. – Jennifer Weigel

Spanish Moss on Live Oak limbs, marker drawing by Jennifer Weigel
Spanish Moss on Live Oak limbs, marker drawing by Jennifer Weigel

Dread Pirate Rum Tum Tugger could tell this was the right spot.

The site, beneath the sweeping limbs of the Live Oak, Spanish Moss swaying gently in the breeze, was a perfect match to the crude map he had bought off that soothsayer Deuteronomy.

The earth moved easily, as if it had been excavated previously. He dug in with greater fervor with each swipe. The sandy soil gave way to reveal something hard. He scooped and smoothed the remaining detritus from the surface as he uncovered a box.

The carton was simple.

No markings; no ornamentation; no writing. Just a plain cardboard crate, brittle from having been buried for so long but still sturdy. He hoisted it from its burrow.

“Ha HO!” he shouted to the passing breeze, rousing a small cloud of birds that erupted from a nearby thicket. They captured his attention for a moment, but he quickly refocused and returned to his task.

The box was locked but no difference.

Any self-respecting ruffian like himself could pick a lock in seconds. And he did so with panache, as was his way. He pried the lid open and licked his lips.

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Inside was the legendary Kernel of Eternal Life, a small sparrow’s heart, still beating.

Promotional Poster for Dread Pirate Queen Miss Kitty performance art by Jennifer Weigel
Promotional Poster for Dread Pirate Queen Miss Kitty performance art by Jennifer Weigel

Artwork description: Myself as Dread Pirate Queen Miss Kitty wearing black bell sleeve shirt and black vinyl skirt with strapping leather belt over leopard print shirt and tights, with strapping leather boots, pirate head wrap and leopard cat ears.

Image text reads: Purr! Avast ye mateys, Dread Pirate Queen Miss Kitty invites ye to check out her booty stash and dig ye up a dungbie prize. Seek ye some buried treasure! Just grab ye a plastic litter scoop and dig… dig… dig… to ye heart’s content.


I created this image for a promotional poster for a performance piece in a charity art show in which I, as Dread Pirate Queen Miss Kitty, hawked a carnival sideshow style sidewalk installation. For a mere $5 donation to the animal shelter the show supported, gallery goers could dig around in a kiddie pool full of litter to find a prize: a cheap plastic trinket from the dollar store. I had some takers, including one kid who seemed to really enjoy the digging and whose parents were all in, saying “You know, you can totally do that at home too.”

Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.

For more cat antics, we invite you to read C-2747’s logbook here on Haunted MTL. Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or on her writing, fine art, and conceptual projects websites.

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