Budgie’s Journal #31- Writing Prompt 42 Response

Budgie Bigelow's Blog

This is in response to a writing prompt posted by A L HinderMann . You can find it here:

Writing Prompt 42


“You saved my life,” he said, dusting off his khaki-coored jumpsuit. He sounded like he was from Russia or one of those countries that used to associate with them. “That street sweeper would’ve killed me.”

“No… problem,” I panted. I was too out of shape to be jumping in front of street sweepers and pushing old men out of the way.

“I must repay you,” the man said. “I’m a zoo keeper of sorts, you see. I can give you one of my charges. Any one of them.”

“I can’t,” I replied. I didn’t know what would happen if I brought home a snake or something and it ate my dog.

“I must repay you,” the man repeated, sounding more desperate. “You need to understand. I’m honor-bound…

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Tag Team

ZipZop and Beanbag had been wrestling together on the GZW circuit for some time now. True, there was no bead on Vince McMahon coming to their door to sign them to a six-figure contract, but they did it because they loved to entertain. They knew, as midget wrestlers, they were a niche performance, a novelty act to bring some comic relief between bouts. Sometimes they’d team up against a full-sized wrestler and climb him like a tree. Sometimes they’d fight the women and try to pull their shirts off. Sometimes they’d even fight each other and show some real skill. It was degrading, but they loved it.

Being the only little people in the stable made them outcasts. Sure, the other wrestlers were friendly, but they always seemed patronizing. And nobody likes to be pitied. So ZipZop and Beanbag, having never met prior to GZW, became fast friends. They did everything together; ate together, fought together, shared shitty hotel rooms together, and yes, on occasion, even fucked together.

This particular dry Albuquerque night found the pair in another seedy motel room with only a queen bed, dresser, and two Mexican hookers they picked up after the show. Esmeralda had long, curly hair, stretch marks on her thighs, and sandwich-tits. Selena, the shorter one, had straight hair, track-marks, was pencil-thin and flat-chested. She looked like she’d been on the Jenny Craig all-meth diet.

ZipZop and Beanbag stood across the room dressing while the girls, still completely naked, leaned over the dresser, speaking Spanish with their heads together.

ZipZop zipped his fly and ran a hand over his greasy, bald head. “Well, that was fun,” he said.

“Sure was,” said Beanbag, who had a dust mop of blonde curls and a handsome face. He might have even done well with the ladies were he not four-foot-six.

“Sorry about the crossed daggers, by the way,” ZipZop said.

“Not a problem,” said Beanbag as he pulled his boxers to his waist. “Just, you know, don’t bring it up.”

“Sorry,” said ZipZop. “Just, you know, sorry.”

“Every fucking time,” said Beanbag. “What part of ‘don’t talk about it’ do you not understand? It’s like the rule and shit.”

“Sorry,” said ZipZop. “For mentioning it I mean. Not for… never mind.”

Beanbag sighed, shook his head and began pulling on his socks.

The girls continued their conversation, casting sideways glances to the pair.

“I wonder what they’re talking about,” said ZipZop. “Doesn’t sound good.”

“You know, I picked up some Spanish doing the luchador circuit with Half Nelson back in the day,” said Beanbag.

“So what are they saying?”

Beanbag’s eyebrows tensed in concentration while he listened for a beat, sounding out the words silently with his mouth. After a moment of rushed Spanish Beanbag’s eyes widened and his face slacked.

“What is it?” asked ZipZop.

“Grim up,” said Beanbag. “This is about to get dangerous.”


“They mean to rob us,” said Beanbag.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I mean, you did use our stature to negotiate a discount before,” said ZipZop.

Beanbag shrugged. “Seemed fair at the time.”

Esmeralda said something to Selena and they both started to laugh.

“What was that?” asked ZipZop.

“Something about digging…” said Beanbag. “Something like ‘We won’t even have to dig that deep.’”

“Oh man,” said ZipZop. “That’s just fuckin’ ignorant.”

“I know, right!”

“Fuckin’ cunts.”

The whores leaned in closer and started speaking softly. ZipZop and Beanbag just watched, still only half-dressed.

“Well, ZipZop,” said Beanbag, “I think we’re going to have to whoop these bitches’ ass.”

“Looks that way, Beanbag,” said ZipZop.

The girls kept talking, taking sneaky glances, perhaps aware they were in for a fight.

“In case the worst should happen,” said ZipZop, “I always wondered; why ‘Beanbag?’”

Beanbag smiled. “My trainer thought it would be funny for some reason,” he said. “Like a nut sac. You?”

ZipZop kept his eyes on the girls. “I always liked Bill Cosby.” Beanbag chuckled.

The girls were done talking. They stood from the dresser and started to walk toward the wrestlers, Selena with, god knows where she hid it, a switchblade.

“Well, this is it,” said ZipZop.


“Which one you want?”

“Hey!” said Beanbag, slapping ZipZop in the arm with the back of his hand. “Déjà vu!”

ZipZop laughed, looking at the floor and shaking his head. He sighed. “I love you, man.”

Beanbag smiled. “You fuckin’ queer.”

Selena came at Beanbag, threatening him with the switchblade. But Beanbag was too fast for that. He sprung forward and managed to wrap his arms around her waist, locking his fingers together. With a practiced skill, Beanbag spun behind her. He leaned back, using gravity against her, and executed a perfect suplex, slamming her head into the floor. Hopefully, if he was lucky, he’d have broken the bitch’s neck.

ZipZop squared his feet and hit Esmeralda in the gut with a quick haymaker. As she doubled over he took a few steps back, got a running start, and scissor-kicked her in the face. She fell backwards, the small of her back hitting the bed frame on her way down.

Beanbag jumped onto the corner of the mattress, letting the creaking springs propel him into the air, aiming to hit Selena with a hard elbow-drop. But she acted fast, rolling out of the way just in time for Beanbag to land face-first on the ground.

ZipZop saw this and ran forward to throw Selena into a sleeper hold but felt a cheap hotel towel around his neck. Esmeralda had gotten up to choke ZipZop out while he was distracted. She was on her knees, holding the towel tightly around his throat. ZipZop swung wildly in her direction, but it was hard to connect at such an angle, especially with such short arms.

Darkness started to creep into the edges of ZipZop’s vision as he watched, over the corner of the bed, Beanbag struggle on the floor, pinned down underneath Selena’s naked thighs. He was hitting every bit of her he could reach, but his moves lacked their normal fluidity. He was desperate.

ZipZop thought he might pass-out as Selena leaned over and picked up the switchblade. ZipZop tried to scream but couldn’t get the air to his mouth. He let out a long, loud grunt as Selena plunged the knife over and over into Beanbag’s chest and sides as he tried to roll away.

ZipZop lost all control of his thoughts. His head went forward and then whipped back fast at Esmeralda’s face. It connected and ZipZop felt the towel slack as Esmeralda fell backward.

Sprinting forward, ZipZop leapt into the air, brought his hands together above his head and crashed his fists hard onto the bridge of Selena’s nose. He felt it crack. Selena fell off Beanbag with her hands over her broken nose, blood streaming down her face.

“Beanbag!” he croaked through his shredded throat as he went to his knees at his best friend’s side.

Beanbag tried to answer but no words came out. Only something between a cough and a hiccup as blood poured down his cheek to the floor. His breath stopped.

ZipZop got up and started towards Selena. Fuck this bitch. He was going to beat her to death if he could.

Selena had a look of terror on her bloody face. ZipZop ran at her as she thrust her hands over his face to try to hold him at bay, screaming in Spanish. ZipZop swung like crazy, unable to see anything past her fingers, arms aching worse than any other fight he’d ever been in. He connected again and again with Selena’s arms, but couldn’t get any closer.

ZipZop felt the knife scrape against a rib as it entered through his back. In all his rage and grief he had completely forgot about Esmeralda. But he didn’t care. He pushed with all his effort against Selena’s arms, still trying to get at her. He tried to pump his legs and step forward but could only feel himself falling forward, never hitting the ground.



Special thanks to Twitter buddies @BudgieBigelow, @ClownOrb and @lowericon for providing the prompts that inspired this story.

Don’t Stop Believing



There once was a boy
not much older than you
who stopped believing in Santa,
the elves, and Rudolf, too.

“No!” yelled his father,
“you can’t be so dumb!
You’ll be thinking different
when Christmastime comes.”

But the boy still persisted,
not shutting his face,
that reindeer can’t pull him
and keep up the pace.

“His fat ass won’t fit
in our chimney,” he said.
“He’ll damage our roof
and fall through it instead.”

“He’ll raid the fridge
as he wanders our home.
He’ll eat every sweet snack
and strip every bone.”

“It’s all such bullshit,
this fat fuck in his sleigh.
I refuse to believe
in something so gay.”

“You’ll be sorry,”
said Mommy that Christmas Eve,
“you said bad things about Santa
and made Daddy leave.”

And so the boy slept,
not regretting his words,
and instead of sugar plums dancing
this boy dreamt of turds.

When he awoke Christmas morn
he was so shocked to see
what Santa had left him.
“Is this all for me?”

There were mountains of presents
from ceiling to floor,
all with bright paper
and ribbons galore.

The boy squealed with joy
and tore open a box
hoping for toys
with no undies or socks.

He opened them all
and studied in shock.
There wasn’t one present,
not on undie or sock.

They were all full of coal,
found the boy with appall,
and some even held
what was in Rudolf’s stall.

Not knowing yet
what had really been done,
the boy ran for his mommy
who still hadn’t come.

But as he entered her room
he saw Mommy was dead.
She had coal shoved up her ass
and was missing her head.

The boy looked at her body,
and off to her side
was a brightly wrapped box.
Mommy’s head was inside.

The boy learned his lesson,
and cried himself sick.
If you love your Mommy
don’t fuck with Saint Nick.

The Krampus Rids Again



It was nearly Christmas

And Santa was pissed.

The kids were all naughty

On his big Christmas list.


Billy was smoking

And torturing cats.

Susie snuck into coatrooms

To poop in the hats.


Jenny swore at her teachers

And cheated on tests.

Jimmy was fighting

And resisted arrest.


This one kid named Phil

Had really vexed Cringle,

When he pulled down his pants

To show off his bells and his jingle.


Then there was Timmy,

Who did unspeakable stuff.

It seemed that for Timmy

Coal would not be enough.


So he checked it again,

And then checked it thrice,

But this year it seemed

Almost no one was nice.


The toy shop would close,

That much was clear,

For no children were worthy

Of presents this year.


There’d be massive elf lay-offs

When production was halted.

They’d all go on welfare

And drink liquor most malted.


There wasn’t one kid

Who had failed to offend.

So Santa decided

To call an old friend.


His name was the Krampus,

And he was a heel.

To punish the naughty

Was the Krampus’s deal.


He had horns on his head,

A long tail that dangled,

The legs of a goat,

And black fur thick and tangled.


With a handful full of birch

He beat kids to submission.

With the basket on his back

Dragged the worst into rendition.


He once rode with Santa,

Shot-gun on his sleigh,

To take care of the wicked

Each Christmas day.


Yes, it was drastic,

A real dick move,

But this year he felt

Santa had much to prove.


But the Krampus resisted

This job he had quit,

For he’d long since retired.

“I’m too old for this shit!”


So Santa pleaded and begged,

Then he begged and he pleaded,

That the Krampus was exactly

What this Christmastime needed.


“These kids are so naughty,

They’re snotty and rude.

They act like such hellions

With language so crude.


“These kids need a beating,

But that’s not my way.

That’s why I need you

To ride in my sleigh.”


So the Krampus agreed

To bring forth his wrath.

This year this Christmas

Would be a bloodbath.


He beat Billy’s ass raw

With welts that were bleeding.

Susie begged him for mercy,

The Krampus never conceding.


He left foul Jenny crying,

Curled in a fetal position.

And tough, fighting Jimmy

Was taken out of commission.


They visited Phil,

Who pulled down his britches.

When the Krampus was done

He needed twelve stitches.


And then there was Timmy,

Whose acts we won’t mention.

The solution to which

Was beyond all contention.


He went straight in the basket

And dragged to a cell

In the Krampus’s lair

Where he put Timmy through hell.


House after house,

Not an ass left unbruised.

The kids all learned their lesson,

All concussed and contused.


When his bloodlust was sated

And his wicked deeds done,

It was time to leave Santa

As Christmas morning had come.


“Well, Santa,” said Krampus,

“This has been quite insightful.

I forgot beating children

Could be so delightful.”


“You’re a real sick fuck,”

Santa said with a shiver,

“But I really can’t argue

With the results you deliver.”


So he shook Santa’s hand

And then took his leave,

With a promise he’d see him

Next Christmas Eve.


So to those who act naughty,

Remember with fear,

The Krampus is coming

To your house next year.

52 Week Short Story Challenge – Week 1 – No Such Thing As A Free Meal Short Story by Natalie


By Natalie. Reposted with the authors permission. Visit her website here: http://nataliejsbooks.com/52-week-short-story-challenge-1/

No Such Thing As a Free Meal

The inspector rubbed her forehead as she sat in her car in the parking lot of The Pho House. It was only the third restaurant she’d been to that afternoon but she was already exhausted. She opened her glove compartment and grabbed the Excedrin out of it with her eyes closed, then chased two of the tablets with a mouthful of warm water from the bottle that had been sitting in her passenger seat all day. Nothing about it was pleasant, but that was par for the course for her day.

She was screwing the cap back onto the water when her phone started ringing. Grimacing, she picked it up without checking to see who it was. There were only a few people who actually called her and she couldn’t ignore…

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#52Weeks #ShortStory #AmWriting Challenge: Week 2 #WritingPrompt!



I was thinking that it’s better to give everyone the prompt and let them decide which genre to write in. So again, I’m leaving the genre open! Sourced from http://www.fmylife.com/ from a supposedly actual encounter with this person’s therapist, I knew this would make an excellent writing prompt. Let the humor flow in your fiction, have fun and write on! 🙂

From http://www.fmylife.com/ From http://www.fmylife.com/

Here’s some great advice from pro-author @NatRusso on Twitter on background story, what to keep and what to toss.

This story is due on Saturday October 15th, so get busy! But have tons of fun writing it too 😉


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