Buster and The Baby Angel
Chapter One
No, Fuckhead.
Chapter Two
Buster Fuckhead had spent most of his entire natural life trying to make people laugh. Not because he believed in bringing joy or happiness to others. It was just that he loved to see the deformed faces of laughing people . The wide open mouth - the stretched skin of the face -the tilted back head- the flared nostrils and those crazy Shar-Pei wrinkles. The shaking torso and the absurd sounds like jack and jane asses in heat! Laughter for Buster revealed the true foolishness of the human animal and the revelation of ridiculousness was what he thrived on. Call him sarcastic , call him cynical he would have confessed in a heartbeat and gloried in that blatant admission of guilt. That is until the day he met the Baby Angel.
Chapter Three
The Baby Angel seemed ageless and moved as if gravity had little hold on her. How this ancient comedian's and such a being 's paths crossed will probably never be explained.But alot of life's crisses and crosses will always remain obscured in mystery . This star crossed and crissed couple found themselves on a roadside contemplating a flattened bike tire in the propitious presence of a dirty old minivan with room enough for a disabled bike , a vision of sweetness and a cruddy old clown . The van belonged to the abandoned past of a cast away comic. The bike to the girl . The stop was occasioned by a rare moment of clarity and an even more unusual occurrence of kindness (or was it lust) in the mind of the usually distracted Buster.And so our story begins with a devilish chauffeur, a two wheeled(one flat) companion and a rescued angel aboard a shaky ,aged ,creaking craft.
Chapter Four
Dear reader, no doubt you have wondered what kind of parents would bestow upon a helpless child such a derisive appellation as Buster Fuckhead. Well I'm glad you asked or at least I' m glad I asked you to ask. You see this was no helpless child even from the start.Even as a fetus the kicking and odd tickling sensations his mother experienced throughout this excruciating pregnancy caused mother and dad to refer to this torturous in utero life form as " a real buster!". Night and day the cursed bearer of this far from blessed event would be twisting up her face in all manner of grotesque expressions. Emitting bedeviling braying sounds La Senora Fuckhead(her Mexican heritage) cooljerked and salsa-ed her way to Buster's birthday. Perhaps his male gender was one of the few tender mercies life bestows; for one could only imagine the fate of a girl child dubbed Buster.The sirname Fuckhead has a somewhat more complicated etymology. Its original form from the Anglo-Saxon was Fuerken hede. A geneological search conducted by a Fuckhead Mormon ancestor-yes, the Fuckhead family tree was overgrown with branches from most of this world's religions and some seemingly otherworldly Weltanschaaungs- uncovered a brutal Anglo-Saxon warlord named Schicken Fuerkenhede. The name was given to him according to legend at the Battle of Bievertalle where it was reported that Schicken savagely pierced(that's the verb ,fuerken,) the skulls(hede) of his dying victims with a corkscrew- like lance of his own sadistic fashioning. The tales that were told of the horrifying countenances forever fixed on the physiognomy of these unfortunates terrified young and old alike .Schicken the Skull-Piercer became one of the most feared warriors and later, dreaded rulers of the land.He was known particularly for the insane tortures he devised for the court jesters who failed to amuse him.
Chapter Five
Perhaps there will be occasion for more passages to the past or even forays into the future but for now let us return to the sun-bleached Mercury Villager that for a change was actually moving under its own steam( Sometimes it takes a village to push the Villager). Our trio was on their way to the Vicious Cycle, the town's cheapest bike repair shop, Buster nervously chattering about the usual nothings-his were rarely sweet and never whispered- the bike , Paz en la tierra y buen voluntad a todos was her full name,lay nursing her punctured rear and the baby Angel in what resembled her characteristic lotus position was the picture of serenity as she seemed to stroke the wounded Paz.Upon arriving at the rundown shop, gentleman that he was suddenly trying to be, Buster carried the bike into the store. Seconds later he appeared to beg for money to pay for the repair. He took the lovely lady's saddlebag from the van and awaited the repair in the shop.While rummaging for the wallet - a striking genuine white and black dappled Jersey cowhide repository for cash, cards and all manner of memorabilia- Buster came across what appeared to be a diary. After checking to see if he was being watched over by his angelic passenger, the always curious comic read the following randomly selected passage:
"Will I ever feel at home here? I know others try and I try hard too but too often strange is all I feel...." The nosey clown - his was bright red but from gin- chose another page: "I am working on perkiness and it is harder than you would think. I say to myself OK now get out a bed and think perky but it is so cold on these desert mornings and it is soooo toasty under the nice warm covers that all my perky intentions just, well, unperk!" From the poignant to the peculiar,our usually calloused card found himself slightly charmed by the seraphic script in the dime store diary of the child-like cherub at meditative rest in his filthy van.
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