– flash fiction by Catfish McDaris

Blue Frankenstein

Jesus Smoofy was born a twelve pound baby, on Route 66, almost killing his mother. His parents were proud of him, except for his size. He gobbled baby food like a starving goat. His mother tried to burp him, but he cut loose with some strong stinky loud farts. His father, Jesus Senior was a large construction worker, he laid bricks and could build just about anything. When his mom gave the baby to him, he patted him on the back and the stench damn near choked the old man. His dad started calling him, Fart Baby. Sometimes appropriate nicknames stick for life. They would go grocery shopping and if anyone bothered them or was rude, they’d aim Fart Baby’s little lethal ass at them and he’d fire away like a cannon. Jesus Junior curled eyebrows, made strong men want to puke, made women scream, and made people scatter. His parents took Fart Baby to the doctor, he said he’ll probably grow out of it. That never happened, he just got worse.

Elvis’ Dried Tears

Smoofy’s teachers refused to call him his nickname and weren’t too happy about calling him Jesus, so they settled on Smoofy. He ate lots of frijoles, corn and tortillas, which multiplied his ass power greatly. He could fart on demand and learned many tricks with his potent ass. Ventriloquism was a specialty, he could make a fart come from his teacher at the blackboard which would crack up entire his class. He made cops fart, the priest in church, nuns, and his mom, anybody he took a dislike to. He learned to use the silent but deadly method. Smoofy could squeak like a dying mouse or rabbit, he could make bird calls, sound like a howling coyote. He filled balloons with fart gas sold them to his friends as stink bombs to go. Every day he learned new tricks and he became quite versatile. The only thing he lacked was girlfriends, but once he mastered his butt that changed.

Electric Squirrel Sharpener

Smoofy had lots of pals. They all worked on the brick jobs with Jesus’ father as laborers and hod carriers. Reefer was his best pal, he smoked lots of weed. Fucking Aye got his name from not talking much other than saying, fucking aye a lot. Right On was a young soul brother that was popsicle cool. Smoofy was soon given a brick trowel and he was slapping bricks and stone into mortar. He liked working in the open air, so he could practice farting without too much complaint. Jesus Sr. hired three masons from Mexico and at lunch, they’d build a little fire and warm beans and chorizo. Smoofy loved to eat with them, but he’d cut loose with some ungodly farts. The three Chavez brothers told him he should become an exterminator with his ass. They planted the seed of an idea.

Dog Shit In A Bong

Reefer used to complain about washing his car all the time, one day he drove up in a patch work velour car. It was an old Plymouth all greens, blues, reds, oranges, and purples with rust peeking through. It looked like someone had puked on it after a Hawaiian luau. He’d gone to a second hand store and bought up lots of old fake velvet shirts and dresses and glued them all over his car. We were all waiting for the first rain and hail storm to see how his idea panned out. Right On did a funky chicken alligator dance on the hood, Fucking Aye just grinned and said fucking aye. Smoofy laughed through tears until his old man said work time hombres. Fucking Aye mixed a new batch of mortar after Right On did the walk like an Egyptian while cleaning a wheelbarrow.

Buffalo Jones Marijuana

Smoofy and his buddies started scoring Acapulco Gold at a snooker hall near Albuquerque. It was forty dollars per kilo and came up from Mexico in railroad box cars. Smoofy had always used his brain for business. He bought two pinball machines, set them up in his parent’s garage and charged all the kids a nickel a game. He bought three electric lawnmowers with long extension cords from Montgomery Ward’s and started a lawn service business. Smoofy bought some pigs and raised them for pork, feeding them for free from expired store produce. He used the pig shit for fertilizer for his fourteen foot tall marijuana plants in Tucumcari. Reefer and him harvested the weed and loaded it in the Reefer Mobile and found a place to dry it. One night Smoofy’s parents weren’t home, he had a small party. The cops broke down the front door, but only found some beer, Reefer and Right On had swallowed the joint they had rolled. The cops tore up the house looking for their stash. They took Smoofy to jail, he stunk up their car and jail so bad, they regretted that decision. Jesus Sr. got him out of the pokey, he told the Chief of Police to stay the fuck away from his son. Reefer came over a few days later and they moved twenty kilos of Mexican gold tops and five gunny sacks of home grown from Smoofy’s cottonwood tree house.

Chopsticks and Hand Grenades

Smoofy got one letter from Vietnam from Right On. It said, he’d made corporal and he’d tell all his men to get down and they’d all stand up and start dancing and get wasted. A month later Right On’s mom told him, he’d been killed. Fucking Aye and Reefer went to Mexico. Smoofy got arrested for marijuana and was given a choice of jail or the army, he chose being a soldier for Uncle Sam for three years. That prison up in Santa Fe didn’t like white boys, even if they knew a bit of Spanish. They closed the book on Vietnam and Smoofy ended up in Germany, mostly at the same base as Elvis Presley. Lots of good beer, wine, hash, and ladies, when he wasn’t blasting his eardrums shooting howitzer cannons in the cold war games, school was in session. Later in life, Smoofy would realize getting an honorable discharge from the army was one of his greatest and most important achievements, even if it was signed by Richard M. Nixon.