THE FORWARD: About Bartholomew’s Author—We met Paul after we became cognizant of the fact that he was our dad. It wasn’t long before we also discovered he couldn’t take a selfie. We offer this photo as exhibit A. But, not to worry, there won’t be an exibit B—we’re not that evil.
What’s really odd, however, is how his nose always shows up red in every photo? We can’t help but wonder if it didn’t possibly sniff up a retina at some point in life?
Our dad is very fond of saying that “About Bartholomew” is an amazing new work of fiction from one of America’s best unknown bloggers. We’re sure the novella version of the novel (yet to be written) will likely keep it that way.
Bet you ( and we ourselves) never knew that our dad has written other fabulous works of fiction for some of the best publishers in the business. If only they knew.
This may help to explain why he now writes for WordPress as he continues to labor in the shadow of such names as Steinbeck, Austin, and Hemingway. That would be Joan Steinbeck, John Austin, and Ernestine Hemingway—their blogs are so much better.
So it is with his offspring’s love that we invite you to read his latest masterpiece (Ha, ha, ha,ha!) “About Bartholomew” doing so at your own risk. The story has been wittled down to a paltry 1437 words, all thanks to some merciful editors.
Keep in mind this was all made possible thanks to WordPress—so blame them.
“I dedicate this story to my wife and children who will not make one penny off of it—while I stand to make millions. That’s only because they laughed all the way through it.” I’ll show them—Paul
CHAPTER ONE: Don’t Go Towards The Light
It was a dark and stormy night outside? Not that he would have noticed, as it was warm and cozy inside. He felt closer to her somehow, what with her heart pounding like a hundred warehouse pumps in an echo chamber.
“If only I had a pair of earplugs.” he thought himself.
Suddenly, up from down under (no not Australia), he caught sight of a light entering into his tiny room. This ray of light began to grow brighter and brighter and he thought he heard a choir of angels singing—and badly at that.
Bartholomew’s eyes began to widen, he was barely able to make out some shadowy figures staring back at him—one of whom appeared to be holding some forceps.
Through his (Ray-Ban) sunglasses—purchased online from a “Babies Are Us—he could see the figures were all wearing masks. Panicky, his little mind raced with questions “Who are these masked figures? What do they want of me? “How did they get access to my womb? Uh…room?” That’s when it hit him…
CHAPTER TWO: When Sally Slept With Tom, Dick And Harry… And Bartholomew!
There was only one man for Sally, that was Harry. Even after a shave and a haircut he was still, Harry. But, he was her man, along with Tom the Uber driver, Dick the hunky pool boy, and then…Bartholomew.
Oh sure, there were other men in her life, but this is only a novella not a five thousand page novel—as originally intended. So, you’ll probably never find out who the rest of those men were—not without a court order.
Sally thought to herself, “It’s only Bartholomew for me, and Harry makes two. They’ll always be the only two men in my life.”
And then she was hit with an epiphany,
“What if Chris Hemsworth suddenly were available?
“Then Chris will be the only man in my life.” She smiled to herself, happy in her dream,
Otherwise, it was going to be Bartholomew… and Tom, and Dick, and Harry. Okay… and Chris who she’d never forget—should he change his mind and fall for her.
She was satisfied she’d at least have some outs in case it didn’t work out with, Chris.
Harry, on the other hand, came into her life a millstone—earlier in chapter two. Athough, Bartholomew—the younger of the two—won her over without ever saying a word.
They shared a bed together, and yes, she put up with his babbling and goo gooing and ga gaing all the time, after all, he was her baby.
What else could she do… put him up for adoption? Not hardly—that would have meant an extra chapter for this writer!
Meanwhile, Harry was wrestling with a whole different issue. Bartholomew.
“It’s not possible!” he thought. “She couldn’t have been pregnant, we never had sex!” Harry exclaimed, to those of you reading this masterpiece.
He concluded that it had to have been an immaculate conception—wrongly.
CHAPTER THREE: Act Two
And Bartholomew did. In shock from being evicted from his tiny apartment by total strangers who were not midwives—or the Department of Health—Bartholomew was terrified—poor tyke.
“It was probably the forceps.” he thought to himself. “After all, who uses forceps anymore?” His thoughts were very evolved for a two-year old.
Anyway, the last two years had left him with an awful diaper rash.
He swore revenge on the two people responsible for the eviction—especially since they gave him no notice. He’d unleash an act of revenge so diabolical, that other parents of the world would suffer too.
So he plotted the unthinkable.
“I will take to asking my parents ‘WHY?’ at every chance I get.” Told you it was diabolical.
CHAPTER FOUR: A Colorful Narrative… In Black an White
The wind was howling—the way coyote’s howl at the moon,
“Ahwooo…wooo…wooo…wooo!” Trees bending with each howl.
“You, tree on the left, bend that way. You, tree on the right, bend the other way.” said the wind—and a bottle of twelve-year old scotch.
A swift gale caused the night owls—folks out bar hopping—to fly backwards. The actual night owls were getting a hoot out of watching the drunks frantically flapping their arms about in an effort to stand up straight.
Of course, none of this descriptive narrative has anything at all to do with our story, but it had to go somewhere. So, why not in chapter four, right?
CHAPTER FIVE: All The Dramatic Moments You Missed While Reading The Colorful Narrative In Chapter Four
There was an exciting plane crash into Vatican City. Take my word for it, it was action packed!
Then the Pope pulled out a pearl handle gun from his shoulder holster—the papacy allows its use in extreme emergencies—and he shot it out with a bunch of clowns from a traveling Circus.
There was a thrilling fight to the death atop Mt. Everest with a Sherpa who was dressed as a llama—involving two characters who had nothing to do with the story.
A “Great Flood of Jello” wiggled its way down the buttes of the Mojave Desert at midday wiping out some odious traveling nomads who were searching for the mysterious birth place of Bartholomew.
Also there was the enchanting conclusion, where Bartholomew broke into song and dance with the entire town of Bakersfield, California joining him in singing of the title tune of the book—which none of them bothered to rehearse—where it was finally revealed who it was that actually slept with Sally—Bartholomews mother.
It’s not what you think—it’s what you imagine.
A masqurade party gone wrong where everyone arrived in their pajamas—all two of them!
BACK FLAP—Paul is the best selling (delusional) author of two children’s books, “The Marshmallow Man Is Smore A Fluffy Fellow” and the now classic, “Learn To Write With Two Hyphens As Two More Hyphens Would Be Too Many!”