THE FORWARD: About Bartholomew’s Author—We first met Paul, when we found out he married our mom, and then had us. Shortly thereafter, we discovered he was terrible at taking selfies (We offer this photograph as exhibit A. We won’t offer an exhibit B, we’re not that evil) as the selfies make his nose look as big as it really is.
What’s odd, is how it continuously shows up red in photos. Did he once sniff up a retina?
He likes to say that this short story (yeah right) is an amazing new work of fiction from one of America’s best UNKNOWN BLOGGER’S. This novella will likely keep it that way.
We bet you didn’t know that our dad has wrote fabulous works of fiction (true story) for some of the best publishers in the business. He has been doing so for years—and look where it has gotten him. Now you know why we made that bet—he intends to leave us destitute.
He has also wrote some really wonderful articles for the best magazines in the country—but to no avail (now that’s fictitious!). Yet, he continues to labor in the shadow of names like Steinbeck, Hemingway, Austin, and Twain—deservedly so!
We invite you to read (his latest masterpiece Ha, ha, ha,ha!), “About Bartholomew” (a paltry 1437 words) at your own risk.
But, only if you have no choice, someone has a gun at your back, or if you’ve recently lost your mind…in which case you may have already read it!—because it was all made possible thanks to WordPress—so please blame…them.
“I dedicate this story to my wife and children, who will not make a dime off of it—including the millions of dollars that I myself hope to make from it. Because, they laughed all the way through it.”—Paul
CHAPTER ONE: Don’t Go Towards The Light!
It was a dark and stormy night. Isn’t it always? Not that he would have noticed, as it was warm and cozy inside. Somehow, he felt closer to her now. Her heart was pounding, like hundreds of warehouse pumps in an echo chamber.
How could he not feel closer to her?
Suddenly, up from down under (no, not Australia), a light entered into the small room. It grew brighter, and brighter, and brighter still, until finally… you know how it sounds when a choir of angels begin ahhhing, and then a heavenly light descends down upon you? It was like that.
(A feeling this writer knows all too well. You’ve never experienced that kind of feeling? Well invest in a Styrofoam halo after a night of heavy drinking. What a wild sensation that is, let me tell ya!)
As Bartholomew’s eyes gradually began to adjust to the light, he was able to just make out some shadowy figures staring back at him.
Through his (Ray-Ban) sunglasses (purchased online from a “Babies Are Us”), he could see that the figures were all wearing masks. Panicky, he thought to himself, “Who are these masked figures? What do they want of me? “How did they get access to my womb? Uh…room?” And that’s when it hit him…
“Hey, I’m naked here!”
CHAPTER TWO: When Sally Slept With Tom, Dick And Harry… And Bartholomew!
For Sally, there was only one man for her, Harry. Even after a shave and a haircut, he’d still be Harry—but he was her man, and so was Tom the Uber driver, Dick the hunky pool boy, and… then there was Bartholomew.
(Oh sure, there were others. But this is a novella, not a five thousand page novel, so get over it. You’re never going to find out who the rest of them were—not without a court order, anyway.)
Sally thought to herself, “It’s only Bartholomew and Harry for me. They’ll always be the only two men in my life.”
And then she was hit with an epiphany,
“What if Brad Pitt should leave Angelina and show a decided interest in moi?”
“Well, Brad will be the only man in my life then.” She smiled to herself, happy in her dream, “Otherwise, it’ll just be Bartholomew… and Tom, and Dick, and Harry. Okay… and Brad too, who I’ll never forget, should he change his mind and fall for me—BIG TIME!”
She was satisfied, that at least she would have outs in case it didn’t work out with, Brad.
Harry had come into her life like some kind of pile driver during chapter two. Although, 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, but he was her baby! What else was she supposed to do… put him up for adoption?
That might have meant an extra chapter for the writer of this—soon to be—masterpiece.
Meanwhile, Harry was wrestling with a whole different issue. That of… Bartholomew. “It’s not possible!” he thought. “She wasn’t pregnant, and we never even had sex!” Harry exclaimed, to no one in particular, just those of you reading this. “It has to be an immaculate conception! Only possible explanation.” he concluded.
CHAPTER THREE: Act Two!
And Bartholomew did. In shock from being evicted from his tiny apartment, and by total strangers who were not midwives—or from the Department of Health—he had been scarred by the experience. (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 left him with a terrible diaper rash, so he was quite irritated.
He swore revenge on the two people responsible for his eviction—especially since they gave him no written notice. He’d unleash an act of revenge, so diabolical, that even other parents of the world would suffer. He plotted to do the unthinkable.
“I will take to asking my parents the question of…WHY… at every chance I get.” (Told you it was diabolical.)
CHAPTER FOUR: A Colorful Narrative… In Black And White
The wind was howling the way coyote’s howl at the moon, “Ahwooo…wooo…wooo…wooo!” Trees bending to its every whim “You bend that way branch on the left and you bend the other way branch on the right.” (the wind talking—and a bottle of twelve-year old scotch), as the force of the swift gale caused night owls to fly backwards.
People are not used to flying backwards. Say nothing of flying at all—especially while not in an airplane. Meanwhile, the other night owls (real ones), were getting quite a hoot out of watching people frantically flapping their arms about in an effort to stay afloat in the gusty winds.
Of course, none of this descriptive narrative has anything at all to do with our story. But it had to go someplace—as every story has them. So I thought it better to put the colorful narrative all in one chapter.
CHAPTER FIVE: All The Dramatic Moments You Missed While Reading The Colorful Narrative In Chapter Four
There was the exciting plane crash into the Vatican. You’ll have to take my word for it, it was action packed!
The Pope has to pull out his pearl handle gun from his shoulder holster—which the papacy is allowed to use in extreme emergencies—and then shoot it out with a bunch of clowns from a traveling Circus.
Then there was that thrilling fight to the death atop Mt. Everest with a Sherpa—who was not actually a Sherpa at all, but a llama assassin… in disguise!
And the “Great Flood of Jello” which wiggled its way down the buttes of the Mojave Desert at midday, wiping out some odious traveling nomads searching for the birth place of Bartholomew.
Which, as it turns out, wasn’t very important after all.
And finally the enchanting conclusion. Where, in the “Magical Town of Bakersfield” Bartholomew suddenly breaks into song, with the entire town, who sing the title tune with him—which, by the way, none of them bothered to rehearse—revealing who it was that slept with his mother. And it isn’t who you thought it was, either. It was…
THE END—and rightly so—because how can you top a twist ending like that?
BACK FLAP—Paul is a best selling author who is also a (delusional) successful writer of children’s books which include, “The Marshmallow Man Is A Hard-Hearted Fellow” and “Grow-Up You Cry-Baby And Learn To Use 2-Many Hyphens Because 3 Too Many Hyphens Makes No Sense At All!”