Category Archives: Sitcom

Freedom Lane: P***y Phlegm

Da’Quarius walked home from Paulie’s Pizza on a Saturday afternoon. He took a longer way, avoiding what looked like a rear-ending on his normal route home. He passed a house with the garage door open despite the cold and listened to the loud rock music coming from within. He stopped and looked inside, and saw the band playing. There were three of them; one on guitar, one on bass, and one on the drums.

The lead guitarist, a teenager with blonde hair and a leather jacket started screeching into the microphone as the band played hard and fast. Da’Quarius couldn’t understand a word that was coming out of his mouth. “Gotdamn,” he said. “Mo’ fucker can’t even screech!”

The band finished their song, and the singer noticed Da’Quarius watching. “Hey, kid,” he said. “Like what you hear?”

“You’re alright, I guess,” Da’Quarius said. “Yo’ singin’ is weak as fuck, doe.”

“Dude!” the singer yelled. “You’re welcome to give it a try if you think you can do it better.”

Da’Quarius shrugged. “OK,” he said. “What do you call yourselves anyway?”

The singer cracked his neck and smiled. “We’re Pussy Phlegm.”


Freedom Lane

Created, written, & directed by Budgerigar Orville Bigelow

Co-created by executive producer BluntSharpness

Season 14, Episode 3: Pussy Phlegm


“How could you say something like that?!” Rose questioned, scolding Helen, her wife and life partner.

“What?” Helen asked. “It’s just the dog. He doesn’t know any English.”

Dutchie, Da’Quarius’ Pitbull terrier sat, staring at Helen with his tail wagging.

“I don’t care if you said it to the dog,” Rose said. “Why would you call him a… that word?”

“Look,” Helen shrugged. “I have a really, really good reason for saying what I said. It’s really, really funny.”

“I don’t see anything funny about using that word, even to taunt a dog. Rose crossed her arms. “What if our son heard you say something like that?”

“They call each other that all the time!” Helen snapped. “Have you heard the music that kid listens to? It’s every other word, for God’s sake. Maybe we should look into him playing that ghetto shit in my house and how it drilled that word into my head to begin with. Have you thought of that?”

Rose sighed. “I don’t want to hear anything like that in this home again,” she said. “Not even to the dog. OK?”

“OK,” Helen groaned. “I won’t make any racial slurs to the dog if it’s such a big deal to you.”

“Thank you,” Rose smiled. She left through the kitchen.

Helen looked at Dutchie, who was still watching her with a happy look on his face. “I can’t believe you got me in trouble,” she said. “You little moulie.”

“Helen!” Rose exclaimed from the kitchen.

“What?” Helen asked. “I didn’t say the other word!”


Da’Quarius handed the microphone back to Gregg, the lead guitarist and leader of the band called ‘Pussy Phlegm’. “Dat’s how you scream,” he said.

“Oh my God,” Steve, the portly drummer said. “He’s amazing.”

“He’s just a kid!” Gregg yelled.

“But he can wail,” Tom, the lanky, long-haired bass player said. “No offense, Gregg, but you were only filling in until we found a decent singer, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Gregg pouted. “This kid…”

“Wait a second,” Da’Quarius said. “I don’t wanna join yo’ band. I was just walkin’ home.”

“You gotta,” Steve urged, coming from behind the drums. “We’re opening for Shih-Tzu Dynasty in a few days at Froggy’s House, and we need a singer.”

“Da’ fuck is Froggy’s House?” Da’Quarius asked.

“It’s the best spot for rock music in downtown New Haven,” Steve nodded. “Your singing was great, and those lyrics were awesome!”

“I just screamed a bunch of garbage,” Da’Quarius said. “You can’t tell me dats all der is to rock music.”

“It is in this sub-genre,” Steve shrugged.

“I don’t even like dis kinda music!” Da’Quarius said. “I gotta go home anyway.”

“It’s a paid gig,” Tom said. “We split the money four ways.”

“You get paid to do dis?!” Da’Quarius asked, a smile in his voice. “An’ here I thought you were playin’ in yo’ moms garage.”

“We are,” Gregg said. “Look, I’m not a huge fan of change, but the guys are right. We need a singer, and you got the talent. So, if you want to practice with us and come to the gig, you’re more than welcome.”

Da’Quarius thought for a moment. “Sure,” he said. “I guess I can do one gig as long as I can bring my homie Tony to the show. He’ll have a blast.”

“Do we have to pay him?” Gregg asked.

“Shit no, ain’t gotta pay his ass,” Da’Quarius said. “Dis mo’ fucker somehow lives without da’ need fo’ shit like dat. It’s pretty amazin’.”

“Then he can come along,” Gregg said. “Welcome to the band, kid.”

“Shit,” Da’Quarius said. “If I’m gonna be in dis Pussy Phlegm band, y’all mo’ fuckers can call me ‘Snot Rocket’.”


“I can’t believe you keep making those slurs at the dog,” Rose said.

“Why is this an issue?” Helen asked. “The dog is brown.”

“That’s not the point!” Rose snapped. “The point is, those words are hurtful, especially to Da’Quarius.”

“But the dog won’t tell Da’Quarius that I called him a -”

“I don’t want to hear you say it again,” Rose interrupted.

“What are you gonna do?” Helen shrugged. “I’m an old lady, and we say mildly racist things sometimes. Political correctness has ruined our society.”

“I think you need a lesson in political correctness,” Rose said. “I’m going to find a group for us to attend. I’m sure it won’t hurt.”

“No!” Helen shouted. “Don’t make me sit with a bunch of pinko hippy jerk-offs who talk about how words hurt and other ridiculous notions!”

Rose went to the dining room table and opened her laptop, ignoring Helen. “I’m sure I can find something on Facebook,” she said. “I wish Da’Quarius was here to help me.”

“Where is that kid,” Helen asked. “Shouldn’t he have been home by now? I’m getting awfully worried. Maybe he’s hurt or worse…”

“Don’t try to distract me,” Rose said. “I’m sure whatever Da’Quarius is up to is nice and wholesome.”


“So, you’ll take payment in pussy den?” Da’Quarius asked, standing in Paulie’s Pizza on State Street, talking to Tony.

“You know I will,” Tony smiled.

“An’ you realize da’ band isn’t providin’ it for you, right?” Da’Quarius asked.

“I can get my own,” Tony said. “Free admission. A bunch of twenty-something year old girls at a rock show, and a bar? I think I’ll do fine. And you just need me to move some shit around for you guys?”

“Just set da’ band up and help us pack,” Da’Quarius said.

“Nice,” Tony said. “The roadies always get the best chicks at the end of the night. Did I ever tell you how I used to be a roadie for Madonna back in the eighties?”

“No,” Da’Quarius said. “Probably cuz it didn’t happen.”

“It did so!” Tony exclaimed.

“Whatever,” Da’Quarius chuckled. “If yo’ gonna be at da’ show, you best call me ‘Snot Rocket’ an’ shit.”

“Holy shit, kid,” Tony said. “That name is badass!”

“What are you two going on about out here?” Paulie asked, coming out of his office.

“The kid’s in a band,” Tony said. “He came by to get some sage-like advice from me.”

“You’ve never been in a band,” Paulie muttered. “What do you know about it?”

“I didn’t ask him for advice,” Da’Quarius said. “I just wanted him to help set up.”

Paulie laughed. “Did he tell you he used to be a roadie for Madonna?” he asked. “He’s always telling people that one. Never happened.”

“It did happen!” Tony said. “I even nailed her after one of the shows!”

“I remember when you said you were her roadie,” Paulie said. “You were on vacation with your cousin, Vinny the retard!”

“Oh,” Da’Quarius said. “Not cool, Unca Paulie.”

“That was his name!” Paulie said. “It was OK to call people stuff like that back then. You should have heard what Helen called our dog.”

“That’s just what I told you!” Tony argued. “I totally banged Madonna!”

“Shit,” Da’Quarius said. “I gotta get ready for da’ show. You guys can settle dis shit on your own.”


Rose walked into the teen center, followed by Helen. “Don’t cause any trouble this time,” she said. “Every time we come in here we end up getting kicked out.”

“I told you we’ve been banned for life,” Helen said. “Just last week Harold was in here looking for twinks, and they’re not going to forget that you and I were with him.”

“They’ll forgive us as long as they see we’re here for a good reason,” Rose said.

“What are you two doing here?” a woman asked, approaching them. It was the same one who had called the police on Harold and Helen the week before. “If you don’t leave I’m calling the police.”

“Told you,” Helen said. “We’ll get going.”

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Rose said. “My wife needs to learn why it’s wrong to use racial slurs in today’s society.”

Helen rolled her eyes. “And visiting a bunch of gay teens is the best way to do that.”

“I’ve asked around about you two,” the woman said. “You’ve been in here in the past. Didn’t one of our counselors live with you? From what they tell me it didn’t end well.”

“She was a bad egg,” Rose said. “I won’t even repeat what she did to our son.”

“Are we banned for life?” Helen asked.

“I’d say so, yes,” the woman replied.

“Too bad.” Helen turned toward the door. “Come on, Rose. They don’t like our kind here. Our country is in a sad state when two old women can’t even hang out with a bunch of gay teens.”

Rose sighed and left with Helen. “That was surprising,” she said. “I don’t know what to do with you now.”

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” Helen said. “I don’t know what to do with myself half the time either.”


Da’Quarius came down from his room, dressed in a torn black tee-shirt and an old pair of jeans that he wore to do housework. He’d painted his face white with some paint Gregg had given him. Dutchie took one look at him and went running toward the kitchen. “Good deal,” he said, nodding. “I must look good.”

The door opened, and Helen and Rose came inside. “I just don’t see why you need to do anything,” Helen said. “All I did was call the dog a… WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?!”

“It’s just me, biddy,” Da’Quarius said. “Don’t have a heart attack.”

“Why are you like that?” Rose asked.

“Yeah,” Helen said. “Is this a new trend: white-face? Because I find it offensive.”

“This is what you find offensive?” Rose asked, turning toward Helen. “Calling the dog those names isn’t offensive to you, but this is?”
“What did you call my dog?” Da’Quarius asked.

“Don’t change the subject,” Helen said. “Why are you painted like a mime rapist?”

“I’m not painted like a mime rapist,” Da’Quarius said. “I’m in a rock band, and we got a show tonight at Froggy’s House.”

“I don’t know this Froggy character, and I don’t want you going to his house dressed like that,” Helen said.

“Froggy’s House is da’ venue,” Da’Quarius said. “It’s an all-ages club downtown.”

“Are any adults going to this show?” Rose asked.

“Tony is taking me,” Da’Quarius said. “He’s close enough to an adult, right?” A horn blared from outside. “That’s him now. I gotta jet, ‘less you guys gotta problem.”

“I suppose it’s OK,” Rose said. “As long as Tony’s there.”

“Thanks,” Da’Quarius said. “I’ll be home by ten.”

“Good night,” Helen said. “Remember that mimes aren’t allowed to scream if you drag them into any alleys.”

“Helen!” Rose exclaimed.

“What?” Helen asked. “Now I can’t insult mimes?”

Rose closed the door, watching Da’Quarius get into Tony’s car from the window. “You know, that show of his might be fun,” she said. “We should go to support our son, and it might be good for you to see a band of mixed races on stage.”

“I think you’re getting a little loopy,” Helen said.

“Come on,” Rose said, grabbing her coat. “Let’s head over to Froggy’s House and see our son on stage.” She opened the door and went outside.

Dutchie came in and went to his bed to lie down. “This is still your fault,” she muttered to the dog. “You little spook bastard.”

“Helen!” Rose snapped. “I’m standing right here!”


Tony put the last amp on the stage. “All set,” he said. “When do the women get here?”

“The doors open at seven,” Gregg said. “I don’t expect much of a crowd though. We don’t normally draw one.”

“I don’t see why you don’t with a name like Pussy Phlegm,” Tony muttered. “I’m gonna go to the adult area and get a drink.”

“Stick with the top-shelf stuff,” Steve the drummer said. “They got busted with fruit flies in the cheap stuff a while back.”

“Noted,” Tony said. “Later, Pussy Junk.”

“Phlegm!” Gregg shouted after him. “What’s up with this guy?”

“He works for free,” Da’Quarius said. “Don’t knock him.”

“Did you hear him going on about doing this for Madonna?” Tom asked. “There’s no way that’s true, right?”

“He might have some mental issues,” Gregg said. “The guy’s pathological or something.”

“He’s just Tony,” Da’Quarius said. “Give it a rest and get ready for the show.”

Tony walked up to the bar and nodded to the waitress. “Gimme a beer,” he said. “Bottled.”

The waitress came over and put the bottle on the counter in front of him. “That’s four bucks,” she said.

Tony put a five on the counter. “Keep it,” he said.

“Thank you, big spender,” the waitress said, taking the five dollars. “It’s sweet, you helping those kids. Is one of them your kid?”

“You think I’m old enough to have a teenager?” Tony asked.

The waitress shrugged. “You could have started young.”

Tony laughed. “I don’t have any of my own,” he said. “The white kid is my buddy’s nephew.”

“Three of them are white,” the waitress said.

“I mean the one who’s painted white,” Tony said. “The black one.”

“Oh,” the waitress said. “You should have just said so.”

“I could have,” Tony said. “But I don’t want to sound racist.”


Rose and Helen entered Froggy’s House, just in time to see Pussy Phlegm, with their adopted son as the new front man, getting ready to start the show. “I wish he had told me the name of the band he was in,” Rose said, reading the flyer she had gotten by the door. “This puts an image in my mind that didn’t need to be there.”

“And yet this is supposed to give me a lesson in racism,” Helen said. “Three white kids in a band and one black kid painted white. How’s this supposed to help me?”

Rose looked around. “You might be right,” she said. “Da’Quarius might actually be the only person of color here.”

“Ha!” Helen said. “You just called him colored! I win!”

People turned to stare at Helen, but she ignored them.

“I did not say ‘colored’,” Rose said. “I said ‘person of color’. It’s a politically correct term. And we’re not winning or losing here. I just want you to stop being insensitive toward our son’s race.”

“Fine,” Helen said, throwing her hands up. “If it stops you from taking me to places like this, I’ll stop calling the dog the n-word. If you’ll excuse me, I have to take a shit before the concert starts.”

The same people turned to watch Helen make her way to the restroom. “Sorry about her,” Rose said. “She doesn’t get out of the house much.”


“Ready, guys?” Gregg asked.

“I’m ready,” Da’Quarius said. The crowd that had gathered was small, and it was expected to grow as people came to see Shih-Tzu Dynasty, the band they were opening for. “Let’s get dis party started.”

“Wait,” Steve said. “Did you learn all the lyrics?”

“Mo’ fucker,” Da’Quarius said, “you know I’m just makin’ it all up, right?”

“Alright,” Gregg said. “We’ll play and you sing.”

“I know da’ deal,” Da’Quarius said. He walked up to the mic and took it in both his hands. “Good night e’ryone!”

The small crowd cheered.

“I’m Da’Quarius Masters, and dis is PUSSY PHLEGM!”

The band played, and Da’Quarius started screaming. He stopped the screaming and started shouting lyrics into the mic.

“Why’d I bon ya? Yo’ pussy leakin’ like it got pneumonia!

“Now my dick smell like it’s squirtin’ ammonia!”

“Oh dear,” Rose said from the back of Froggy’s House with Helen. “Those are some raunchy lyrics.”

“I can’t understand him,” Helen said. “Did he use the n-word?”

Holy shit!” Da’Quarius continued, wailing away. “What the fuck did I do to my dick?!”

“It’s down there lookin’ pretty sick!”

“Yeah!” Tony shouted, slamming his beer bottle to the ground. “Let’s fuckin’ mosh, you little shits!”

Da’Quarius continued his singing. “It’s not getting’ any better, an’ I cain’t believe her again!

“But I’m in love with all dat pussy phlegm!”

“Alright,” Rose said. “I think it’s time to go. I’ve seen enough.”

“I can’t use slurs,” Helen said, “but it’s OK for the kid to keep spouting that filth on stage?”

“Yes,” Rose said. “No. I don’t know. Let’s just go and forget this whole day.”

“Good idea,” Helen said, walking with Rose to the exit. “This one is taking forever to friggin’ end.”

“BREAK YOURSELF!” Tony shouted, running into the small crowd. He swung his arms, hitting everyone around him. “What’s the matter?! You pansies never been in a mosh pit?!”

“Tony!” Da’Quarius shouted as the band faltered and stopped. “Cut dat shit out!”

“PUSSY PHLEGM!” Tony shouted as he pushed a girl into her friends and ran off to cause more damage.


“That’s a new one on me,” Gregg said as the Froggy’s House security and management came out to subdue Tony and talk to the crowd. “I’ve never been part of a show that was shut down due to some nut in the audience.”

“Dat’s Tony,” Da’Quarius said. “He got a little carried away, but he’ll be cool next time.”

“Next time?!” Steve shouted, walking from behind his drums. “There’s not going to be a next time.”

“What’s dat s’posed to mean?” Da’Quarius asked.

“It means Tony is out,” Gregg said. “We can lug our own stuff if he’s going to pull that shit. Froggy’s has a no moshing policy, and we’ll get banned if we bring him back.”

“You can’t just kick him out for dat,” Da’Quarius said. “He didn’t know dis club has pussy-ass rules like dat.”

“It’s all-ages,” Gregg said. “A grown-ass man can’t be in here pushing kids around. He’s out.”

“If he’s out, den I’m out,” Da’Quarius said.

“He’s just the roadie,” Tom said. “And he’s creepy.”

“And those stories!” Steve added.

“Fuck it,” Da’Quarius said. “You guys are a bunch of assholes anyway.”

“Daq!” Gregg called. “Snot Rocket!”

“Fuck you,” Da’Quarius said, flipping off the band as he walked to the exit. “Good luck with yo’ weak-ass shrieking, bitch.”

Gregg watched Da’Quarius leave. “Fuck off then!” he shouted. “We don’t need you! We never did! We’re Pussy Phlegm, dammit! I’m the singer! ME! Fuck the fuck off!!”

“Dude,” Steve said. “You suck.”

“Yeah,” Tom agreed. “You’re too controlling too.”

“Fuck this band,” Steve said. “I quit.”

“Me too,” Tom said. “I’m out.”

“Fuck,” Gregg said. “I’m just gonna off myself.”

“Do it,” Steve said.

“Yeah,” Tom added. “You’re all talk, no action.”


Helen and Rose settled in after coming home from Froggy’s House. Da’Quarius came in moments after. “You’re home early,” Rose said. “I didn’t expect you until ten.”

“I quit,” Da’Quarius said. “Those guys are a bunch of assholes.”

“I’m glad you’re home,” Rose said. “And I’m kind of glad you won’t be going out in that make-up or yelling those words again.”

“Me too,” Da’Quarius said. “I think I scared a lot of white folks with dat shit.”

“We’re getting ready for bed,” Rose said. “Why don’t you take Dutchie out and we’ll all get ready.”

“OK,” Da’Quarius said as Rose went into the kitchen. He hooked Dutchie’s leash to his collar. “Come on, Dutchie. Let’s go for a walk, lil’ nigga.”

“OH!” Helen said, standing up. “Rose! Tell me you heard that!”

“Calm down, Helen!” Rose called from the kitchen. “I’ll bring you your tea!”

Helen sat back down with her arms crossed. “I guess it’s OK when he says it. Friggin’ kid and his friggin’ dog.”

The End


Want the new Freedom Lane tee shirt? Get it here:

Freedom Lane tee by Budgie Bigelow

Freedom Lane – Rose the Cam Girl

Rose walked through the home of the Garcia brothers, across the street from her own Freedom Lane home. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen your whole house,” she said. “It’s lovely, despite you using it for that adult website of yours.”

“Thanks,” Antonio said. “We don’t do most of our work here. Just the cam girl stuff and sometimes a movie in the basement. Otherwise it’s pretty much like a convent.”

“OK,” Rose said. “I don’t want to be a bother, but I really have to get home before Helen starts to worry. Can I just borrow that cup of flour?”

“Sure,” Antonio said. “I think we keep it in the kitchen. I’ll run ahead and get it.”

“Thanks,” Rose said. She looked around the hall again, admiring the work they had put into the home since they’d bought it. She checked out one of the rooms, one that Antonio said was reserved for whatever a “cam girl” was. She noticed the computer on the desk was on, and text kept popping up on the screen.

“Take off your shirt?” she said, reading aloud what was on the screen. “Who are they talking to?”

“You!” the text on the screen said. “Show me your wrinkly boobs!”

“You can hear me?” Rose asked.

“Yes!!” the text read. “Get on the bed and show me your feet!”

“Oh dear,” Rose said. “Let me tell you something. You do not talk to a lady that way! I don’t know who you are or what your mothers taught you, but you do not ask to see a woman’s breasts like that. I’d call you pigs, but I’d be giving pigs a bad name. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Rethink your life choices!”

Rose left and almost ran into Antonio, who was holding a Tupperware container of flour. “There you are,” he said. “Here’s the flour.”

“Thanks,” Rose said, taking the container. “Bye-bye.” She left through the front door without looking back.

“Was that Rose?” Manny, Antonio’s brother, asked, coming out of one of the other rooms.

“Yeah,” Antonio replied. “She just left after borrowing some flour.”

“She ended up on cam just now,” Manny said. “The guys in the room are going crazy!”

“Really?” Antonio asked. “They aren’t pissed, are they?”

“No,” Manny smiled. “They loved it. They’re all messaging our bots to get Rose back in the room to tell them off again.”

Antonio walked to the window and looked at the house across the street. “Shit,” he said. “What are the chances we can get her to come work for us?”


Freedom Lane

Created, written, & directed by Budgerigar Orville Bigelow

Co-created by executive producer BluntSharpness

Season 14, Episode 3: Rose the Cam Girl


“Can you believe this shit?!” Tony yelled, pacing through the main area of Paulie’s Pizza. “Community service. I didn’t do nothing!”

“Tell it to the judge,” Paulie groaned from the booth, where he was reading the morning’s paper. “I remember the story. You and the kid broke into a country club and got dragged out. I wouldn’t qualify that as doing nothing. Besides, it’s not like you’ve never done community service before.”

“I’ll need a couple days off,” Tony said.

“I’m not paying you for them,” Paulie replied.

“Come on!” Tony exclaimed. “When will I be done paying my debt to society!?”

“Stop being so over dramatic,” Paulie said. “You better not act that way when my new girlfriend gets here.”

“You got a new girlfriend?” Tony asked. “When were you gonna tell me?”

“I wait until she wants to see my place, making meeting you unavoidable,” Paulie replied.

The bells jingled as the door opened, and a woman came in. She was middle-aged, chubby, and had dark mocha-colored skin. She smiled when she saw Paulie.

“Oh,” Tony said, nodding. “This must be your mystery girl. You sure do have a type, boss.”


“We need to go in there with a plan,” Antonio said, standing on Rose and Helen’s porch. “We can’t just start asking Rose to come work for us. She’ll tell us to fuck off.”

“Rose doesn’t talk like that,” Manny responded.

“You know what I mean, bro,” Antonio said. “We need this. Do you have any idea how much money those perverts who are into getting shamed are willing to pay to have her lecture them again?”

“Dude,” Manny said. “I’m the one who told you, you asshole!”

The door opened, and Rose was on the other side. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t know you two were out here. I just wanted to check the mail.”

“May we come in?” Antonio asked.

“Sure,” Rose said. “Come on in. Do you want some iced tea?”

“No thanks,” Antonio replied.

“Shut up,” Manny snapped. “Iced tea kicks ass!”

“I’ll get some,” Rose nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh look,” Helen mumbled, not looking away from the TV. “It’s the numb-nut brothers. To what do we owe the displeasure of your visit?”

“We’re here to see Rose,” Antonio said.

“Well then,” Helen said, looking away from the TV. “Maybe you shouldn’t have put her to work serving the two of you drinks then.”

“See!” Antonio said. “That’s why I said no. Of course iced tea kicks ass, but we’re here for business.”

“Do I need to be here for this nonsense?” Helen asked.

“Not really,” Antonio replied.

“Good,” Helen stood from her favorite recliner. “I’m gonna go take a shit. I hope you’re gone when I come back down.”

“Bye, Helen,” Manny waved. “See you later!”

“Kiss my ass,” Helen muttered, making her way toward the bathroom.


“Don’t be a stunad,” Paulie said, standing. He left the booth and met his girlfriend in the aisle. “Hi. Let me introduce you to Tony. This is Tony. Tony, this is Denise.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tony said, shaking Denise’s hand. “I’m Paulie’s business partner.”

“He is not,” Paulie said. “He likes to think he is, though.”

Denise laughed. “Paulie’s told me a lot about you, believe it or not,” she said. “He said you two have been friends for a long time.”

“I like pizza.” Tony shrugged. “This arrangement makes sense. What do you do?”

“I’m the director for Grand Soups,” Denise smiled. “We just opened a new soup kitchen on Grand Ave.”

“A soup kitchen you say,” Tony said, sitting down. “Maybe you can help me out with my little community service program.”

“Actually, Tony,” Paulie said. “We were hoping to have a little lunch.”

“That’s OK,” Tony replied. “You go ahead and make it while I talk to Denise.”


Rose returned a moment later, carrying a pitcher of iced tea and three glasses. “Here we go,” she said, setting it on the table. “Now what brings you two here?”

“We want you to be a cam girl,” Manny said.

“Dude!” Antonio said. “I told you to play it cool!”

“I’m always cool!” Manny said.

“What are you two talking about?” Rose asked. “I’m lost.”

“Remember when you walked into the cam room yesterday?” Antonio asked. “You started talking to some of our users, remember?”

“Right,” Rose said. “I’m sorry about that. Did I upset any of your customers?”

“Not really,” Manny said. “They loved you!”

“What?” Rose asked.

“What my brother is trying to say,” Antonio said, “is that we want you to work on cam for our site.”

“No,” Rose said, shaking her head. “I’m not doing that.”

“We’re not asking you to get naked or flash your beave,” Manny said. “The guys went crazy on you telling them off. They get off on women berating them, and there was something about you doing it that really got their rocks off.”

“That’s disgusting,” Rose said, walking to the front door. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested.”

Antonio stood. “But…”

“Please go,” Rose said.

Antonio and Manny shared a defeated look and walked outside. Rose closed the door behind them. “Dammit!” Antonio snapped. “I knew we should have been more subtle.”

“Bro,” Manny said, walking back toward their house. “Subtle don’t count with hand grenades.”

Antonio followed. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean!?”


“Don’t you dare ruin things with Denise for me,” Paulie said, following Tony toward the kitchen.

“What?” Tony asked. “She’s only helping me get my community service hours out of the way, and you agreed to give me the time off. It’s a Wednesday anyway, and we’re slow. What’s your problem?”

“You taking the time off to work in a soup kitchen isn’t my problem,” Paulie said. “It’s you spending time with my girlfriend without me there as a buffer.”

Tony snorted. “Don’t be jealous,” he said. “I’m only feeding some bums. It’s not like it’s a date or anything.”

“Just don’t try to give her that smarmy charm of yours,” Paulie said.

“I can’t help it if I’m charming,” Tony replied. “It’s just how I am.”

“I just don’t want to have a long conversation with Denise about you being a creep at this soup kitchen,” Paulie said. “I also don’t want that conversation, should it happen, to end with her dumping me for associating with someone who’d be a creep at a soup kitchen.”

“Relax,” Tony said. “You always use long sentences when you’re in the wrong.”

“That’s not true,” Paulie said. “I’m so rarely in the wrong we’ve never established a pattern.”

“I’m just going to make soup,” Tony said, putting on his jacket. “The sooner I get these hours out of the way, the better. I promise I won’t tell too many embarrassing stories to your new soup kitchen girlfriend.”

“She’s just my girlfriend,” Paulie said. “You can leave the soup kitchen out her title.”

“Sure,” Tony said, opening the door. “I’ll tell your girlfriend you said hi when I see her at the soup kitchen.”

Paulie watched Tony leave. “My ass,” he said. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you screw this up for me.”


Rose was getting dinner ready when the doorbell rang. “Da’Quarius!” she called. “Can you see who’s at the door?”

“Sure,” Da’Quarius yelled back, jogging to the door. He opened it, finding Manny and Antonio standing on the front porch. Manny was holding a gift basket. “Wha’chu guys want?”

“We want to talk to Rose,” Antonio replied.

“You guys don’t ever learn,” Da’Quarius said, shaking his head. “I heard wha’chu been tryin’ to do, an’ you ain’t never gettin’ her to do it.”

“What if we offered money?” Manny asked.

“Were you gonna make her do dat shit for free?!” Da’Quarius asked in return.

“We brought her a gift basket,” Manny said.

“I’ll get her,” Da’Quarius said, “but she ain’t doin’ it. Hey, Rose! It’s for you!”

Rose came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands with a dish towel. “Oh no,” she said. “Not you two again. You can just go right back to your own house!”

“See,” Manny said. “If you only did that on cam -”

“I said no already,” Rose said.

“Wait!” Antonio said. “What smells so good. Is that dinner?”

Rose sighed.

“We haven’t eaten all day,” Antonio added. “A home-cooked meal would really hit the spot.”

“Can we stay for dinner?” Manny asked, pushing out his bottom lip. “Please?”

“You just want to stay to convince me to do your stupid computer show,” Rose said, crossing her arms.

“No,” Antonio said. “We really want to have dinner with you, Daq, and Helen.”

Something dawned on Rose. “OK,” she said, smiling. “You can have dinner with us. We can even talk about your proposal.”

“Alright!” Antonio said.

“Oh, Helen!” Rose crooned, turning away from the Garcia brothers. “Guess who’s joining us for dinner?”


Tony walked through the soup kitchen, looking around to get familiar with his temporary surroundings. “It’s pretty standard back here,” Denise said. “We make the soup and bring it out front.”

“Cool,” Tony said. “Where’s the pizza oven?”

“What?” Denise asked.

“You want me to cook these bums up some pizza, right?” Tony replied. “It is my area of expertise after all.”

“We don’t have a pizza oven,” Denise said, trying to decide if Tony was joking or not. “We make soup, and we have plenty of people to cook today. What I really need is someone to pass out the soup and bread.”

“Oh,” Tony said. “Sure. I mean, if you don’t want to put my cooking skills to use, I guess I could put some bowls in front of some bums.”

“Please don’t call them bums,” Denise said.

“OK,” Tony said. “Do they prefer ‘money impaired’ instead?”

Denise laughed. “I love your sense of humor, but please don’t make those jokes when you’re on the floor.”

“What jokes?” Tony asked.

Before Denise could respond, Paulie came into the kitchen from the front area. “There you two are!”

“Paulie,” Denise said. “What are you doing here?”

“I was moved by Tony’s want to help out,” Paulie said, “so I decided to slap on an apron and help too.”

“I don’t want to help,” Tony said. “I just need your girlfriend to sign my paper for my community service.”

“Well it’s great that you’re here,” Denise said. “I could use another volunteer.”

“Great.” Paulie rubbed his hands together. “Where do you want me to set up?”

“Don’t bother,” Tony said. “These dummies don’t even have a pizza oven.”

“What?” Paulie asked. “Why would they? I can make a decent soup.”

“I’ve never seen you make soup before,” Tony said. “It’s not like liquid pizza or something.”

“Shaddup!” Paulie snapped. “I know more than pizza, you stunad!”

“I actually need volunteers on the floor today,” Denise said. “Can you grab a ladle and help Tony pass out the soup?”

“Yeah,” Paulie said. “If you don’t want me to use my culinary expertise I can.”

Denise gave Paulie a polite laugh. “OK,” she said. “Get an apron on, and I’ll show you two your station for the night. Hurry up. The dinner rush is about to start.”

“Hey,” Tony said, following Denise. “I get credit for Paulie’s time worked too, right? He doesn’t really need to be here.”

Paulie sighed and followed.


The platters were passed around as Rose, Helen, Da’Quarius, Manny, and Antonio all made their plates. “There’s not enough food,” Helen said. “Why’d you invite these two guacamole brains to dinner?”

“It would have been rude not to,” Rose said, scooping some mashed potatoes onto her plate.

“Uh-huh,” Da’Quarius muttered, pulling his plate in front of him and picking up his fork. “Cuz dere can’t be any other reason.”

“What did he say?” Helen asked.

“Nothing,” Rose replied. “So, tell me, boys, what was it you wanted me to do for you?”

“Dere it is,” Da’Quarius said.

“We want you to be a cam girl,” Manny said through a mouthful of food. “You already know that.”

“Oh right,” Rose said, feigning forgetfulness. “What does this job entail exactly?”

“It’s simple,” Antonio replied. “You get in one of our cam rooms, get on cam, and scold the perverts when they start asking you to do sex stuff.”

“What?” Helen said. “What the hell are you babbling on about? Rose isn’t going to talk to any perverts for you. Deal with your own shit.”

“No,” Rose said, putting a hand on Helen’s. “They want to make the perverts say these things to me.”

Helen put her fork down and looked at the Garcia brothers. “Does she have that right?”

“Yeah,” Manny said, smiling widely. “The users come in through our site and will interact with her.”

Helen took a breath. “And you think my woman would do something like that?”

Da’Quarius had a look of glee on his face as he looked from Helen to the Garcia brothers.

“We were hoping she would,” Antonio answered.

“And why,” Helen said, pushing off the table and getting to her feet, “do you think my Rose would do something as degrading and disgusting as what you’re suggesting?”

“Because we’d pay her for it,” Manny said.

The look on Helen’s face softened. “Oh,” she said, sitting down. “Hell. If Rose won’t do it, I will.” She picked some chicken up with her fork and popped it in her mouth.

Antonio and Manny looked at each other, smiles forming on both of their faces. “Helen,” they said together.

Rose groaned, shaking her head as she looked downward.

“Damn,” Da’Quarius said. “I was hopin’ she’d at least throw a plate at’chu guys.”


“Soup’s up!” Tony said, placing the bowls onto the trays of the homeless people in line. “There’s no need for shoving! We got soup for days!”

“Calm down,” Paulie said. “These people are destitute. They don’t need your commentary.”

“I love the enthusiasm,” Denise said, coming from the kitchen with a bag of bread. “Keep it up, Tony!”

“Thanks!” Tony said, taking another bowl from Paulie.

“How are you doing?” Denise asked Paulie.

“I’m good,” Paulie replied. “Though my shoulder is getting sore from ladling all this soup. There’s no way all these people are homeless. I’m guessing some of them just want a free meal.” He earned himself a few dirty looks from those in line.

“Here,’ Denise said, moving Paulie with her hands on her shoulders. “Let’s switch you and Tony for a little bit. You ready for the big leagues, Tony?”

“You know it!” Tony exclaimed. “I was born to pour soup!”

Denise giggled. “Good,” she said. “I’ll check back on you two in a bit.”

Paulie grumbled, handing out bowls of soup. “Thanks for the free meal, mack,” one of the homeless men said, taking a bowl from Paulie while giving him a stink-eye that reminded him of his sister.

“Come and get it!” Tony exclaimed, giving the bowl a long pour from his ladle.

“Cut that out!” Paulie snapped. “Do you have to be such a goofball?!”

“What’s your problem?” Tony asked, handing Paulie the bowl of soup. “How can you be such a grump when you’re feeding the hungry?”

“I just don’t want you acting like some kind of gagootz,” Paulie said. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“You’re not my boss at the soup kitchen,” Tony said.

“The hell I’m not!” Paulie said, taking another bowl and dropping it onto a tray, letting the soup fall from its rim. “This is why I went into management.” He gave another bowl of soup with a similar result.

“Watch it!” the homeless man said, stepping back as Paulie almost dropped the soup on him. “Asshole.”

Paulie sighed. “This stinks,” he said, turning toward Tony. “Move your ass. I’m ladling again.”

“No way,” Tony said. “I thought your arm hurt or something.”

“I’m over it,” Paulie said. “Give me the ladle.”

“No,” Tony said. “This is my job now, and I like it.”

“Stop being an asshole and give me the goddam ladle!” Paulie exclaimed.

“Hey!” a homeless man shouted. “I want my soup!”

“You’ll get your soup when I’m good and ready to ladle it into the damn bowl, you friggin’ bum!” Paulie exclaimed.

“Paulie!” Denise said, watching from the kitchen door with her arms crossed. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Paulie looked from her to Tony, who was shaking his head at him. He sighed. He walked toward the kitchen taking off his apron. “Can I see you tomorrow night?” he asked, handing it Denise.

“Don’t count on it,” Denise said.

“Alright,” Paulie said. “Have fun, Tony!”

“Sure thing, boss,” Tony said. “Well, since I have to do both jobs now…” He picked up the huge pot of soup and waddled it over to the counter Paulie had manned for less than a few minutes.

“Tony, no!” Denise shouted.

Tony lost his footing, dropping the pot of soup, sending into the chests of three people waiting in line. They started shouting. “Oops,” he said. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Get out!” Denise shouted, pointing toward the door.

“Wait,” Tony said, reaching in his pocket. “I need you to sign this paper. I already wrote I was here for thirty hours if that’s OK. I hope you dumping Paulie doesn’t mean you can’t hook me up, right?”

Denise stared at Tony with her arms cross. “Just get the fuck out of here.”

“OK,” Tony said. “You can sign it after my shift tomorrow then.”


Helen sat in front of the computer in the Garcia brother’s house. “OK,” she said. “How’s this work?”

“We told you!” Antonio said from outside of the room. “People will start saying things, and you respond.”

“OK,” Helen said. She waited a moment and picked up the mouse, holding it to her ear. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“They’re messages on the computer screen!” Manny shouted.

Helen squinted at the screen. “Hell,” she said. “I can’t read all that. It keeps moving!”

“Just say something!” Antonio shouted.

Helen stared at the screen. “This is boring,” she said. She lifted her leg and farted, filling the silent room with the sound. “Ha! You guys here that?! Crack a window for me.”

Antonio rushed in the room and shut off the computer. “Holy shit!” he yelled, pulling his shirt over his nose. “That fuckin’ reeks!”

“I didn’t tell you to come in here!” Helen said. “What are you doing?”

“We’re done,” Antonio replied. “Chat’s over. Everyone left.”

“All in a day’s work,” Helen said, grabbing her cane and standing. “When do I get paid?”

The End


Edited by Katherine J Marshall


Want the new Freedom Lane Sign shirt?


Freedom Lane – Tony and the Country Club

It was Friday night, and Tony was spending it walking through Star-Mart, wearing his white tee-shirt and torn jeans, filling his basket with soap and shampoo. He turned down the aisle to make his way to check out when someone called his name. “Tony!”

“Who wants to know?” Tony asked, turning around. He saw someone he didn’t recognize. “Shit. Don’t tell me I nailed your wife or something.”

“What?” the man asked. “It’s me, Ira. Ira Friedman!”

“Holy shit!” Tony said. “I used to mess with you so bad when we were in school. What are you up to? You still pissing your pants at recess?”

“I’m fifty-five,” Ira replied.

“That’s not a ‘no’,” Tony said.

“I’m a lawyer now,” Ira said. “What are you up to?”

“I work at my buddy’s pizzeria,” Tony replied. “It’s pretty popular. You may have heard of it; Paulie’s Pizza. It’s down on State Street.”

“Sorry,” Ira said. “I haven’t.”

“Too bad,” Tony said, shrugging. “I guess we can’t all do what we love.”

“I need to run,” Ira said. “It was nice catching up with you.”

“Where’s the fire?” Tony asked.

“I’m on the board of my country club,” Ira said.

“Oh yeah?” Tony asked. “Which one?”

“I’m at McKinley Greens in Woodbridge,” Ira said. “I didn’t know you frequented country clubs.”

“I don’t,” Tony said. “I know that one. I always wanted to go inside. How about you set me up and give me the grand tour someday?”

“You?” Ira laughed. “You used to put ketchup in my hair at lunch, and you think I’d bring you, a pizza man, into my country club as a guest?”

“Jeez,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “You were mister polite a minute ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Ira said, turning away. “They can’t just let anyone in McKinley Greens. A pizza man, too! Oh, wait until I tell the others!”

Tony watched as Ira walked off. “You friggin’ mook,” he said. “I’m gonna get into that snotty club of yours. Watch and see if I don’t.”


Freedom Lane

Created, written, & directed by Budgerigar Orville Bigelow
Co-created by executive producer BluntSharpness

Season 14, Episode 2: Tony and the Country Club


“So you bullied dis guy when he was a kid,” Da’Quarius said after hearing Tony’s tale of his shopping trip at Star-Mart the night before. “An’ now you wanna break into his country club just to prove you can get inside?”

“I wasn’t a bully,” Tony said. “Everyone messed with him. He was a little snot then, and he’s a big snot now.”

“So you bullied him,” Da’Quarius said.

“I wasn’t a bully!” Tony shouted, slamming a fist on the counter.

“Oh!’ Paulie said, exiting the bathroom, the paper tucked under his arm. “Cut the friggin’ shouting and slamming out before I bully you both!”

“Can you tell Tony he was a bully?” Da’Quarius asked. “He don’t believe me.”

“Who’d you ever bully?” Paulie asked. “You were a little squirt until you hit puberty in your twenties. You probably had your head dunked in the toilet every day when you were in school.”

“You didn’t know me!” Tony shouted. “I ran with a tough crowd. We were dunking kids in the toilets and dropping girls’ pants in the hallways.”

“OK,” Da’Quarius muttered. “You was both bullies, den.”

“Who were you talking about anyway?” Paulie asked.

“Ira Friedman,” Tony replied.

“Da’ lawyer from da’ TV?” Da’Quarius asked.

“What?” Tony asked. “Is he famous or something?”

“He’s always on TV,” Da’Quarius said. “He’s all like ‘I’ll sue for you!’ an’ shit.”

“He’s that sue-happy shyster?!” Paulie asked. “You keep away from that guy. He’ll sue anyone for anything. Don’t you bring any lawsuit onto my doorstep!”

“I can’t stay away,” Tony said. “I vowed vengeance, and I swear I’ll get into that country club!”

“Fine,” Paulie said. “Just don’t come crying to me when he takes you for everything you got.”

“Joke’s on him, then,” Tony said. “I got next to squat to my name.”

“You can get in dat place easily,” Da’Quarius said.

“I’m out,” Paulie said, walking toward his office. “I want nothing to do with this.” He went inside and closed the door.

“Go on, kid,” Tony said.

“Step one,” Da’Quarius said. “Make a pizza.”


The doorbell rang, and Helen opened her eyes, waking from the pleasant nap she had been taking in her favorite chair. “Who the hell is that?!” she snapped. Rose put her book down and got up, walking toward the door.

“Hello?” she asked, opening it. “Harold. What are you doing -”

Harold Fuchs shoved past Rose, making a beeline for Helen. “Don’t start any trouble with me,” he said in his usual nasally voice.

Helen sighed and stood. “You came into my house, numb-dick,” she said. “You’ve already got it unless you want to tell me why you’d risk death for trespassing.”

“I need your help,” Harold said, looking away. “I wish I didn’t, but Lee is too weak-willed to do what needs to be done.”

“I heard that,” Lee lisped, following his husband. “Hi, Rose. Sorry for Harold. He got out of the car and barged in before I could stop him.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rose said. “Helen is pretty much the same. Do you want some tea while these two… talk?”

“Sure,” Lee said. “That will be lovely.”

“Go have your tea party,” Harold said, waving a hand.

“Did Lee bring his own doilies?” Helen asked.

“Let’s just get down to it,” Harold said. “We need to take down the mayor.”

Helen laughed, almost cackling. “The friggin’ mayor?!” she exclaimed. “You really do have a nut loose, don’t you?”

“Hear me out, you witch,” Harold said. “He’s planning on proposing major construction in our neighborhood, and he’s naming a new street off of State after Sandra Springer.”

Helen stopped laughing. “Do not use that name in my home.”

“That’s going to be the street’s name,” Harold said. “Sandra Springer Way. It’s right near your brother’s place, too.”

“Shit,” Helen said, sitting back down. “Looks like we’re going to have to kill the mayor.”


“I got a pizza,” Tony walked out of the kitchen area carrying a box. “Now what?”

“Just bring it to da’ club an’ tell ‘em you deliverin’ it,” Da’Quarius replied. “You couldn’t figure dat part out?”

“It’s genius,” Tony said. “Hey, boss!”

“What?” Paulie asked, coming out of his office.

“I’m making a delivery,” Tony replied. “Cover for me for a few.”

“The hell you’re making a delivery!” Paulie shouted. “Who the hell told you to start taking delivery orders in the middle of the friggin’ day?!”

Tony looked over at Da’Quarius. “Don’t look at me!” he shouted. “You a grown-ass man. You make your own damn decisions.”

Paulie sighed. “You’re both going now!” he said. “I won’t have customers complaining I didn’t make good on a delivery because my employee has half a brain. Just do it and get back here, OK?”

“Sure, boss,” Tony said. “If you insist.”

“And don’t make an executive decision like that again!” Paulie shouted as Tony and Da’Quarius left.

“That was slick,” Tony said. “He insisted we go to the country club and everything!”

“Yeah,” Da’Quarius said, rolling his eyes. “But he’s gonna be pissed when it takes you over an hour to make one delivery.”

“An hour?” Tony asked. “Once I get in that country club, I ain’t leaving!”


“I didn’t say we were going to kill the mayor!” Harold shouted. “We just need to discredit him enough to end this nonsense about the new street!”

Helen thought. “Yeah,” she said. “I hate to admit it, but you’re probably right about the assassination. You don’t have any ideas on how to go about this?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Harold said. “You’re the con, and you’re good at these things. I’m just a citizen.”

“No,” Helen said. “You’re just a sneaky conman who never got caught. I remember that little business of yours, and I know why you’re pissed about Sandra Springer.”

“Sandra Springer?” Rose asked, coming out of the kitchen, carrying a cup of tea. “You mean the female police officer who took down the organized crime ring? She was kind of a hero of mine when I was a police dispatcher.”

“She also ended Harold’s shady business,” Helen said, not taking her eyes off of her adversary. “She also put a huge chunk of my friends and relatives into the slammer, too, even before the feds started picking them off. Luckily for Harold, he got away. How did that happen again?”

“Always have a scapegoat,” Harold said. “That’s how you stay out of prison. But you didn’t know that, did you, Helen?”

“We are not doing anything illegal,” Lee said, coming out of the kitchen with his own cup of tea.

“And nobody is going to become the scapegoat for anything,” Rose added.

“You three are really tying my hands here,” Helen said. “But I have an idea. What’s the one thing no politician can come back from?”

“Being gay?” Harold asked.

“Bingo,” Helen replied. “We just have to make everyone think the mayor is gay.”

“Oh, lord,” Rose said. “Do I have to remind you two that you are both gay, or should I not even bother?”

“Quiet, honey,” Helen said, waving a hand. “I think I have a plan. Get in the car. We need to find us some twinks.”

Harold smiled. “I can do that.”


“Act cool,” Tony said, walking up to the main door of the country club.

“Mo’ fucker,” Da’Quarius said, “I’m always cool. You da’ one who’s always causin’ shit.”

“Quiet,” Tony said. He walked through the front doors with no problem, carrying the pizza in front of himself. He looked around the place. “This was easier than I thought. I could have just shown up and came in.”

“Just cuz da’ door was unlocked don’t mean we ain’t trespassin’,” Da’Quarius said. “Here come da’ golf cops now. Dey sensed my blackness.”

“Excuse me,” one of the security guards asked, a muscular guy in his early forties. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I gotta pizza here for McKinley Greens. Am I in the right place?”

“Someone ordered a pizza?” the security guard asked. “We have a full kitchen staff. Who ordered it?”

Tony was silent for a moment. “They didn’t say,” he said. “So I’ll just wander around until I find them.”

“Why don’t you come with us?” the other security guard asked, who looked more or less the same as his counterpart.

“I’m really OK, boys,” Tony said. “Tell ‘em, kid.”

“Dude,” Da’Quarius said. “I’m too black to be messin’ ‘round here. I shoulda stayed in da’ car.”

“You told me you were cool!” Tony snapped.

“Come with us,” the security guard said.

“RUN!” Tony shouted, throwing the pizza box at the two guards, the pizza flying out and landing all over them and the floor. Tony ran past them, and Da’Quarius followed.

“Yo!” Da’Quarius said, racing after Tony. “Da’ Exit’s da’ other way!”

“I told you I’m not leaving that easily,” Tony grunted as he ran. “I’m gonna experience all this place has to offer.”

“You better be a ninja or some shit,” Da’Quarius said. “Cuz we gonna get kicked out or worse if you ain’t.”


Helen walked into the LGBT center along with Harold, followed by Rose and Lee. “Welcome,” she said, “to twink paradise”.

“These are kids,” Rose said, scolding Helen.

“Even better,” Helen said, stopping and looking around. “The mayor will be in more hot water when we photograph him hanging around with a bunch of teenage twinks.”

“How do you know about this place?” Lee asked.

“It’s not a secret that we have an LGBT center,” Rose said. “Helen came here for a weekend for community service. It didn’t really end well.”

“Enough with the history lesson,” Helen said. “Come on, Harold. Let’s find us some twinks.”

“I don’t think this is going to end well either,” Lee said with a sigh.

Helen and Harold walked around, sizing up everyone they passed. “How’s this one?” Harold asked, nodding to a boy sitting on a couch. He had noticed Harold watching him, and he looked uncomfortable with the attention.

“Too skittish,” Helen said. “He’d run off like a rabbit before he could be any good to us. How’s this one by the table?”

“The colored one?” Harold asked.

“Harold!” Lee shouted. “You can’t say that!”

“I can’t say the other word either, according to you,” Harold muttered.

“Can I help you?” someone asked, approaching. She was older than the others and had the air of authority about her.

“We’re just visiting,” Helen said, waving a hand. “Carry on.”

“You can’t just come in here unless you have a reason to be here,” the woman said. “Unless you have a reason you’re going to have to leave.”

“We’re shopping for twinks,” Harold said. “So leave us be.”

“You’re a moron,” Helen groaned. “Figured a practiced fruit like you would know a thing or two about picking up teenage boys.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Harold snapped.

“Take it at face value,” Helen retorted.

“I’m calling the police,” the woman said, taking her cellphone out of her pocket.

“We should go,” Rose said, tugging at Helen’s arm. “You don’t need another strike.”

“Hell no I don’t,” Helen said, letting Rose lead her to the door. “You coming, Harold?”

“No!” Harold shouted, stomping his foot. Lee was trying to tug him away, but he refused to move. “I came here for some twinks, and I’m not leaving without twinks!”

“It’s your funeral,” Helen said. “Come on, Rose. Let’s leave these two to their perversions and get home.”

“We can’t just leave them here,” Rose said. “I drove them.”

Helen sighed. “Alright. Let’s go help Lee lay on the senile old homo bit to save Harold from the police.”


Tony placed a golf ball on a tee. “This is gonna be sweet,” he said.

“Hurry up and hit it already,” Da’Quarius said. “It’s cold as fuck out here.”

“Golf is a game of patience,” Tony said. “It takes concentration and quiet.”

“How da’ fuck do you know?” Da’Quarius asked. “You don’t even play golf.”

“I do today,” Tony said. He picked up the single club he had taken from a closet inside the country club after he lost security. He swung, hitting the ball as hard as he could. It went flying through the air, toward the green. “Now that’s a hit!”

“OK,” Da’Quarius said. “Now you gonna get a cart and go after it?”

“No way,” Tony said. “I just want to hit the balls. I don’t want to go chasing after them like some kind of demented asshole.”

“I told you you don’t know shit about golf,” Da’Quarius said.

“I’m going to hit another one,” Tony said, reaching in his pocket for another tee and ball.

“Fuck dat,” Da’Quarius said. “Umma do one. Gimme da’ club.”

“You had your chance!” Tony said. “You should have thought to take a pocket of balls and tees and a club. Now you’re gonna sit there and whine because I’m having so much fun and you’re not.”

“Let me hit one ball,” Da’Quarius said. “You dragged me all da’ way da’ hell out here. Least you can do is share yo’ club.”

“Fine,” Tony said. “Here’s the club, you baby.”

Da’Quarius snatched the club from Tony and stood in front of the tee. He took little time to measure his shot and whacked the ball. It flew in the same direction as Tony’s landing on the other side of it, rolling toward the green. “Fuck yeah!” he exclaimed. “I got farther than you, bitch!”

“I’ll show you,” Tony said, taking another ball and tee out of his pocket. He was about to place it on the ground when he was interrupted.

“Hey!” The security guard shouted from the deck of the country club. “I found them!”

“Oh shit,” Tony said, dropping his ball and tee and running. Da’Quarius did the same, dropping the club.

“You ready to head home now?” Da’Quarius asked.

“Fuck no,” Tony said. “I want to try the food here, then we can go.”

“Shit,” Da’Quarius said. “We gonna spend da’ night in jail.”


“I am never teaming up with you again!” Harold said, being led to a chair near the entrance of the police station. “I can’t believe that went so badly.”

“Who taught you how to lie?” Helen asked, being led to a chair next to Harold’s. “You don’t go in there telling them exactly why you’re there. That was your fault, and you got me dragged in here with you.”

“Bah!” Harold said, waving a hand. “I’m not done. I’m getting this street taken down before it even goes up.”

“Well good luck with that,” Helen said. “I’m out. I’ve had enough of your shit. Officer, I’m ready to talk.”

“Right this way,” the officer said, leading Helen off into an office.

“Where did Helen go?” Rose said, coming into the area with Lee.

“She’s gone,” Harold said. “Hopefully they’re delousing her before they chuck her ass in a cell.”

“Harold!” Lee snapped. “This is as much your fault as it was hers.”

“She’s the one who brought us there to gather some twinks!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rose said. “We talked them into letting the two of you go. Once Helen’s out we can leave.”

“LET ME GO!” Tony shouted, being dragged in by two police officers. “I wasn’t trespassing, dammit! The door was unlocked!”

“Tony?” Rose asked.

“Rose!” Tony exclaimed. “Call Paulie. Tell him he needs to come down here and explain to them I was just delivering a pizza! He needs to bail me out.”

“Hey, Rose,” Da’Quarius said, walking in. “What are you doin’ here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Rose said, looking down at Da’Quarius with her hands on her hips.

“I helped Tony on his delivery,” Da’Quarius said. “Only he decided to walk around, an’ security grabbed him while he was cooking himself a steak in da’ kitchen.”

“And you had nothing to do with it?” Rose asked.

“I’m just an innocent minor,” Da’Quarius said. “I told them I had no idea Tony was gonna act like an asshole, an’ I tried to stop him.”

“Don’t say anything else, kid!” Tony shouted.

“What’s with all the shouting?” Helen said, coming from the officer’s office. “Da’Quarius? What did you do?!”

“You da’ one in da’ office, biddy,” Da’Quarius replied. “What you do?”

“Never you mind,” Helen said. “Come on, Rose. Let’s head home.”

“What about Lee and Harold?” Rose asked.

“They might be here a while,” Helen said. She walked toward the exit with Rose and Da’Quarius as an officer came out to see Harold.

“Mister Fuchs,” the officer said. “Do you mind telling me about the porno you’re filming with the kids from the teen center?”

“Always have a scapegoat,” Helen muttered as she left. “I told that wrinkly fruit that the moment he asked for my help.”

“Oh, Helen,” Rose said.

“Maybe you should’ve told Tony dat too,” Da’Quarius said.

“I know my rights!” Tony shouted. “You call Ira Friedman and tell him I got a good lawsuit for him to file!”

The End


Edited by Katherine J Marshall

Freedom Lane: Miss Cake

There is a little house in New Haven on a street called Freedom Lane, but our story doesn’t begin there. It begins in a little classroom in a school called Haven Hills, where Mr. Hessman is teaching his sixth-grade social studies class, using his time to educate his students about the current issues in the world.

“If Russia could tip the scales of an American election using social media,” he said, “what’s to stop them from coming into your homes and raping your parents?!”

The students gave him their complete attention. They knew better than to interrupt him when he was on a roll like this. “I mean, really,” Mr. Hessman continued. “We’re talking a full-blown invasion happening in the fall of twenty-sixteen, only in the form of cyber-soldiers instead of actual ones. How do you fight electrons from coming in and out of the country?!”

“Hess!” one of his students interrupted. It was Da’Quarius Masters, his personal favorite. “What da’ hell are you talkin’ ‘bout?”

“I’m talking about the downfall of our country!” Hess replied, slamming his fist on his desk and standing, “and it’s happening at the rate of one tweet at a time!”

“Hess!” Da’Quarius shouted.

“What?” Mr. Hessman replied. “You want to teach this class?”

“Are we takin’ our test tomorrow on dat economics bullshit you been teachin’ da’ last two weeks?” Da’Quarius asked.

“Yeah,” Mr. Hessman said. “That’s tomorrow.”

“Den why da’ hell you goin’ on an’ on ‘bout Russian Twitter hackers again fo’ da’ millionth time?!”

“Because this is what’s important now!” Mrs. Hessman shouted. He looked around the room, and the students weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to him like he originally thought. They thought he was off his nut, and Da’Quarius wasn’t helping with his questioning. He stepped onto his desk and stood, giving himself an extra three feet of height.

“Da’ hell you doin’?!” Da’Quarius snapped.

Mr. Hessman looked around. He finally had the full attention of his class. He smiled. “This is important,” he said. “Russian hackers are -”

He was interrupted by his own momentum, as he lost his footing on his desk and fell to the ground. Da’Quarius got up along with the other students and looked down at his unconscious body. “Shit,” Da’Quarius said. “I bet we don’t gotta take dat test now.”


Freedom Lane

Created, written, & directed by Budgerigar Orville Bigelow
Co-created by executive producer BluntSharpness

Season 14, Episode 1: Miss Cake


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The Trumps: Complete Series

Join Donald, the patriarch of the Trump family and president of the Neighborhood Association, as he lives his life, casting a huge shadow for everyone else in his life.

Season 1:

Meet the Trumps

Two Pences, None the Richer

Sensual Misconduct

Mint Jared (because he’s on the lamb)

The Ballad of Rover Trump

Donald, Uninvited

Nepotism: America’s Favorite Pastime

Donald VS the Fake News

Melania is Missing

All Huge Things Must Come to an End

The Trumps – All Huge Things Must Come to an End


The Trumps is a work of “fiction,” a “satire,” a “parody.” Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely “coincidental”, and this story is not meant to bear any political opinions.



Donald walked into his kitchen, wearing his robe. He found his son, Eric, sitting at the table with a box of Pop Tarts in front of himself. The toaster was also on the table, plugged into an extension cord so he wouldn’t have to go far to cook and eat.

“Good morning,” Eric said.

Donald grunted. “Where’s the covfefe… I mean coffee.”

“Who always made it?” Eric asked.

“Fucked if I know,” Donald mumbled, sitting down at the table, across from his son. A week had passed since everyone else in his family had gone. Melania was deported and refused to come home or something. The whole deal confused him. Then the police came and arrested Donny Jr, Ivanka, and Jared. To top it all off, he didn’t even know what happened to Barron.

Eric smiled, chewing on his breakfast.

“What the hell are those things?” Donald asked.

“Pop Tarts,” Eric said, demonstrating what he was eating by spewing crumbs of it from his mouth while he spoke. “They’re Jolly Rancher flavored.”

“I guess it beats nothing,” Donald said, tearing open a package and putting them in the toaster. “You got something to drink?”

Eric put a bottle of blue Gatorade in front of his father.

“Great,” Donald said, opening the bottle. “Let’s make breakfast great again.”


The Trumps
Created, Written, and Directed by Budgerigar Orville Bigelow

Season 1, Episode 10: All Huge Things Must Come to an End

“We need to make this quick,” Donald said, walking into the North Street Penitentiary with Eric by his side. “That breakfast of yours isn’t sitting well at all.”

“Why did everyone get arrested anyway?” Eric asked.

Donald sighed and lowered his voice. “They helped me win the Neighborhood Association election,” he said, “but a certain group of people believe that it was through not-so-nice means. They’re basically in trouble for helping me, and my haters want to make sure anyone who helped me ends up in prison, even though we’re all innocent.”

“But Donny Jr went crazy after he talked to you,” Eric said. “He was trying to flush all this paper down the toilet and everything.”

“Shut up,” Donald groaned. “Now isn’t the time or place to talk about it.”

“OK,” Eric replied, walking along with his father, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Hey. How come I wasn’t arrested?”

“Because you didn’t help,” Donald replied.

“Why didn’t you ask for my help?” Eric asked.

Donald sighed again, stopped walking, and turned toward his son. “Look, do you want me to spell it out for you? You’re not as bright as your brother, and you definitely can’t hold a candle to Ivanka. We left you out because we knew you’d somehow screw it all up. Is that what you wanted to hear, that you’re too dumb to be asked to help with even the most simplest of tasks?”

“No,” Eric said, sniffing. “I didn’t want to hear that at all.”

“Then don’t ask why you’re not included in stuff like this,” Donald said, turning and walking down the hall again. “Sad.”

“Mr. Trump!” someone yelled.

“Don?!” another voice exclaimed.

Donald turned toward the cell and saw Jared sitting on the bed, and Mike Pence standing by the bars, topless and wearing nothing but the orange bottoms of his prison jumpsuit. “Mike?” Donald asked. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m having fun with my cellmate,” Mike said, grabbing and uncomfortable-looking Jared by the shoulder, hard. “We’re going to oil up my pecs in a minute and really get crazy.”

“They let you bring oil in here?” Eric asked.

“I make my own,” Mike replied.

“I meant,” Donald sighed, “what are you doing in prison?”

“Oh,” Mike said. “That. I got arrested at a rest stop for soliciting a… You know what, it’s not important.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “Look, Don. They’re trying to get me to flip on you, but I’m your man, through and through. Also, I love it here. Everyone is so friendly, especially in the showers.”

“Right,” Donald said, turning away. “I need to see my son and daughter.”

“Wait,” Jared said. “You’re going to see Ivanka? Take me with you!”

“No can do, Jared,” Donald said. “It’s a top-level meeting, and only top-level people are invited.”

“Then why am I here?” Eric asked.

“I have no idea,” Donald replied, continuing his walk down the corridor.

“Well,” Mike said, sitting on his bunk and putting his arm around Jared’s shoulders, “this bod isn’t going to oil itself up.”


Rudy, the head of Donald’s legal counsel, was waiting outside of the room for Donald. “Good morning,” he said, smiling a wrinkly smile. “I see you brought Eric. It’s good to get him out of the house, isn’t it?”

“Can the chatter,” Donald said. “Are Donny Jr and Ivanka in there?”

“Yes,” Rudy replied. “I had to pull some major strings for them to bring Ivanka here, but you have to know that -”

“I don’t have to know anything,” Donald interrupted. “And you need to stop blabbing to the media about my business. Do you have any idea how bad you’ve made me look over the last two weeks?”

“I explained this to you already,” Rudy said. “I’m just getting ahead of it. They can’t use it against you if you’re already out and open about it.”

“Whatever,” Donald said. “Just keep Eric company while I talk to Donny Jr and Ivanka.”

“OK,” Rudy said. “Just be wary of what’s going on here.”

Donald grunted and went into the room, closing the door between himself and Rudy.

“Hey,” Eric said. “Am I too dumb to get into prison?”

Rudy looked over Eric. “I could probably argue the case that you have the mental capacity of an eleven-year-old and have you tried as a child,” he said. “I think that’ll work.”

“So, yes?” Eric asked.

Rudy nodded, and Eric looked away.


Donald sat across from Donny Jr and Ivanka, who were wearing matching orange jumpsuits. “Daddy,” Ivanka said. “We’re so sorry this happened.”

“Sorry my nuts,” Donny Jr retorted. “Why the hell am I in here, anyway?”

“Look,” Donald said. “I’m going to figure out how to get you out of here. Everything they think they have on you is all fabrication and bullshit. The two of you being in here is going to be temporary. I am going to get you out.”

“They’ll let us out, Daddy,” Ivanka said. She looked toward her brother who gave her a nod, confirming that he had the same conversation she had.

“What’s that about?” Donald asked.

Ivanka sighed. “They said they’ll let us out if you resign from the Neighborhood Association Presidency.”

“No!” Donald snapped. “Absolutely not!”

“We’re in jail, dad!” Donny exclaimed. “I know it’s all tickle fights and muff-eating in women’s prison for Ivanka…”

“No it isn’t,” Ivanka said.

“But for me,” Donny Jr continued, “my ass is literally on the menu. Look at me! I’m one dropped bar of soap away from being a rotisserie chicken! So resign already.”

“I said no!” Donald shouted, slamming a fist on the table. “That’s what they want! They want to use you as bargaining chips to get me off the board for stuff I haven’t even done!”

“But Daddy,” Ivanka said, almost whispering. “You did-”

“Enough!” Donald shouted, standing. “I’ll get you both out of here, and I’ll do it my way!”

“Jared too?” Ivanka asked.

“If there’s time,” Donald replied. “Now let daddy work. You’ll be out of here before you know it.” He left, leaving his son and daughter in the room.

“What are the chances he’ll resign?” Donny Jr asked.

Ivanka looked toward her brother. “You better learn to hang onto your soap.”


Donald sat in his office, deep in thought. Most of his family was in prison, and the walls felt like they were closing in. Everything around him had gone wrong, and he was running out of options. The hooker literally had him by the balls, Mueller had uncovered more than just a pee tape, and it was only a matter of time before Mike Pence flipped, was no longer his man, and decided to take over the presidency once Donald was ousted from office.

The cold metal barrel of his revolver touched his temple, and he thumbed back the hammer. This was it, the trump card he had kept in his private deck all along when plans A through Z were all but exhausted.

Before he could go through with it, there was a knock on his office door.

“Come in,” Donald said, stashing the revolver in a desk drawer. Eric came in a moment later, holding a plate of Pop Tarts. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to see if you wanted dinner,” Eric said. “They’re the peanut butter ones.”

“No thanks,” Donald said. “I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Eric asked. “I know… I probably won’t understand. But if there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”

Donald was ready to dismiss his son and contemplate his own death a little more, but a use for his most useless progeny came into his head. “There is something. I need you to go to prison.”

“Like to visit Donny Jr and Ivanka?” Eric asked. “You wouldn’t let me see them earlier.”

“No,” Donald said. “You need to get arrested and end up on the inside. Then, I need you to kill Mike.”

“Your work friend?” Eric asked. “Why would you want him dead?”

“He’s next in line for my job!” Donald snapped. “I need him out of the way before he cuts himself a plea to get out of prison, makes it look like I’m guilty, and takes over the presidency of the Neighborhood Association.”

“And you want me to kill him?” Eric asked.

“You offered to help,” Donald said, sitting back and crossing his arms. “Maybe you’re not as useless as Ivana said you are.”

“Mom said that?” Eric asked, a look of pure hurt on his face. “I can do it! I swear I can get arrested, go to jail, and kill your friend!”

“Good,” Donald said. “Figure it out and get it done. I have other shit I need to do.”


Donald walked out of his office into the afternoon sun. A podium was set up, and Sarah Sanders, his spokeswoman, was waiting for him. “They all warmed up?” he asked. The local media, television and newspapers, were waiting to hear what he had to say, and he knew they all expected him to tender his resignation from the Neighborhood Association.

“They’re warmed up,” Sarah replied, “if ‘seething’ means warmed up.”

“Good,” Donald said, taking the podium. “Today, fellow neighborhood citizens, I want to clear the record about my children, my campaign, and the thing with the girl and the other thing.”

There was a murmur from the crowd as Donald took a pause and a deep breath.

“There are charges alleged against me, saying that Vlad helped me win the election to become president of the association,” Donald said. “I want to address those first, and I assure you that every single one of the allegations against me are completely false. What we’ve witnessed here is nothing more than a witch hunt.”

There was a wave of discussion and questions from the small crowd.

“Secondly,” Donald continued, “my son, daughter, and son-in-law are all innocent of their supposed crimes, and should be released immediately. Mueller, one of my pain-in-the-ass neighbors, made up these crimes to punish my kids for things I’ve never done. This is a disgusting lie, and they should not be imprisoned for it. That’s it.”

“What about the allegations from the prostitute that say you sexually assaulted her?” Turner, reporter for the County Neighborhood News asked, putting his hand in the air. “Do you want to talk about Dani Weathers and her allegations as well?”

“No,” Donald Trump said. “Any other questions can be directed to Sarah.” He walked off the stage as the reporters shouted their questions. “There,” he said to Rudy as Sarah tried her creative best to tell everyone to shut up. “That should keep them quiet long enough for me to figure this all out.”

“You didn’t tell them anything new,” Rudy said. “You can’t just shout ‘witch hunt’ and call everyone with evidence against you liars.”

“Why not?” Donald said. “I still have some aces up my sleeve.”

“What aces are those?” Rudy asked.

“The wall!” Donald yelled. “We’ll start talking about building the wall to keep the other neighborhood out of ours. And don’t forget those Korean cleaners. Let’s schedule a meeting with them and cancel it.”

“Why?” Rudy asked.

Donald shrugged. “Who cares? Just as long as it keeps them out of the election business long enough for Eric to do his thing, and for me to cover up this mess.”

“What is Eric doing?” Rudy asked.

“Nothing,” Donald quickly replied. “Come on. Let’s head to Wendy’s and grab some burgers.”


“I’m going to shoot this giraffe!” Eric shouted, standing in the middle of the street. The neighbors were all watching from the windows as he held his BB gun over his head. He saw some curtains move, and he knew he had an audience. A stuffed giraffe, one that Barron had left behind, was sitting on top of a fence post.

“I’m going to do it!” he shouted. “I hope nobody calls the police!”

Eric hesitated, waiting for the neighbors to call the police so he could be arrested and somehow do as his father had asked. At least he’d be with Donny Jr again. He pumped the air rifle and took aim at the giraffe’s head. He squeezed the trigger, and the stuffed toy’s head rocked back as it fell to the ground.

“Got you, you fucker!” Eric shouted. He listened, and there were no sirens or any police shouting. He pumped his air rifle and walked toward the fallen giraffe. He aimed it at its body. “I’m not done with you,” he said, pumping another BB into the giraffe. “You cunt!”

Again, there was silence in the neighborhood. “Shit,” Eric said. “How the hell am I supposed to get arrested then?”

A woman walked down the other side of the street, her dog ahead of her on the leash. She gave Eric an odd look, so he picked up his rifle and aimed it at her dog.


Everyone was gone, one by one. First Melania was deported and left, and Barron somehow disappeared. Then Ivanka, Donny Jr, and Jared were all arrested soon after. Mike got himself thrown in prison too, and even Eric was missing, presumably attempting to get into prison to kill Mike at Donald’s behest.

The Trumps’ home was odd when it was silent like this. There was no Donny Jr and Eric arguing about backyard wrestling, Melania quietly crying in the bathroom, Ivanka and Jared arguing over there instead of at their own house, or Donald shouting at everyone to shut up and give him some peace and quiet. Now that he had his peace and quiet, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

The desk phone rang, and Donald nearly jumped out of his pants. He picked it up. “Donald Trump,” he said.

“Donald,” the voice on the other end said. “It’s Robert Mueller. I want to give you one last chance to come clean.”

“I am clean,” Donald said. “This sick obsession you have with me needs to end. You won’t win, Mueller, and your lies are going to catch up with you.”

There was a long sigh on the other end of the phone. “Step down and end this,” Mueller said, “or I will.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Donald said. “I still have my kids and my family. You can’t get all of us.”

“Can’t I?” Mueller asked. “Last chance, Trump. Step down and move out of the neighborhood, or I’ll play my last card.” He hung up without waiting for a response.

“Sad,” Donald said, putting down his phone. He took in a breath, sitting in the office in his silent home.


Jared walked through the prison yard, looking around for Donny Jr. He spotted him on the other side, playing basketball without his shirt on. “Donny,” he said, walking up to the court. “We need to talk.”

“Who’s yo’ bitch?” one of the players asked.

“A friend,” Donny Jr said, passing him the ball. “I’m out, guys. I’ll see you at dinner. What do you want Jared? I’m finally making it good with one of the gangs, and I didn’t even have to blow the white power guys in D Block.”

“I’m scared,” Jared said. “Mike has been… touching me. I think he’s going crazy in here.”

“Shit,” Donny Jr said. “I’ve been hearing all about him, too. Is it true what he did to that twink in the showers?”

“That was me!” Jared said, tears now coming.

“Stop that!” Donny Jr said. “Do you have any idea what they’ll do to you if they see you crying here? Do you know what they’ll do to me if they see me comforting a little bitch who cries?!”

“Sorry,” Jared said. “I figured you’d have some kind of plan to get out of here. Did your Dad tell you anything?”

“He only said he won’t resign,” Donny Jr replied. “That means we’re on our own, and I do have a plan.”

“What’s going on here?” Mike said, walking up to Donny Jr and Jared. He wore only the bottoms of his jumpsuit, and he now had a tattoo of a dollar bill across his chest. “You two having a tea party without me?”

“We’re just talking,” Jared said. “Honest, Mike. We’re just talking.”

Mike looked from Jared to Donny Jr and back again. “I better not find out it’s anything else,” he said, walking away. He nodded to the white power brotherhood as he headed to the barbells to do some lifting.

“What’s your plan?” Jared asked. “I’ll do anything. I can’t spend one more night in that cell with him!”

“Here’s the plan,” Donny Jr said, shoving a shiv into Jared’s thigh. “You go to the infirmary, and make sure Ivanka finds out you got shanked in the yard, only tell her some black guy did it. She’ll probably call Dad, begging him to cut the deal, resign, and get us all out of here.”

“I don’t like this plan,” Jared said, falling to the ground in a puddle of his own blood.

“Fuck you, Jared!” Donny Jr snapped. “It’s the only one I got! Let’s see you come up with something better before you bleed out, you little bitch!”


Donald woke up the following morning to find Eric once again in the kitchen, eating Pop Tarts with the toaster on the table. “So, you’re still here?” he asked.

“I tried,” Eric admitted, “but it wasn’t enough. I shot a giraffe, a dog, and a kindergarten kid, but I couldn’t get arrested. The most I got was some lady calling me an asshole.”

“You can’t even do that right,” Donald said. “It doesn’t matter. Maybe having Mike killed wasn’t the best idea.”

“Are you serious?!” Eric said, Pop Tart crumbs flying from his mouth. “I was going to rob a bank with my BB gun today!”

Donald’s phone rang in his pocket, and he took it out to see a number he didn’t recognize. He accepted and put the phone to his ear. “Donald Trump,” he said.

“Daddy,” Ivanka’s voice said from the other end. “Have you found a way to get us out of here yet?”

“I’m working on it,” Donald replied. “Give me a few days.”

“I don’t know if we have it,” Ivanka said. “Jared was stabbed yesterday, and he nearly died in the prison yard.”

“Oh?” Donald asked. “Well it’s not too bad a loss.”

“Did you hear me?!” Ivanka sobbed. “He almost died! Thank God Donny was there to help!”

Donald was silent, listening to his daughter cry from the phone in prison.

“Daddy,” Ivanka said, getting her crying under control. “You need to make the deal. Resign so the charges are dropped. Jared won’t last. Do it for me.”

“Phone time is over!” someone shouted in Ivanka’s background.

“Daddy!” Ivanka sobbed. “I…”

“Time’s up, Trump!”

“I have to go,” Ivanka cried. “Please help Jared. Save him.” The call ended.

Donald stared at his phone as the screen went black. “I guess it’s over,” he said. “I’m going to have to -”

“Dad,” Eric said, looking at his own phone. “You’re going to want to turn on the news.”

Donald looked at his son and then turned on the TV on the kitchen counter. The anchor was doing a story on Donald. “The lawyer of prostitute Dani Weathers has brought forth evidence of Neighborhood President Donald Trump’s collusion in winning the presidency of the association,” he said. “It’s unknown how Weathers’ lawyer came across the video tape and wire tap evidence that proves the election was fixed, but it seals the fate of the now disgraced Donald Trump.”

“What’s this mean?” Eric asked.

“It means it’s over,” Donald replied, setting is phone on the table as it vibrated frantically. “This whole stupid thing is over, and it’s far too late to make any of this right for anyone.”


The lights of the police cruisers flashed in front of the home of Donald Trump, and the cameras of the local media were all waiting for him to emerge. The police had asked him to come out minutes ago, and everyone was holding their breath as to what would happen next. The President of the Neighborhood Association had been boisterous, obnoxious, and foul since the day he won the election, and now he was to be arrested and ousted due to his role in tampering with the election results.

But nobody knew what kind of end would come to Donald Trump.

Finally, the door opened, and Donald Trump emerged, wearing his best suit, his hair combed neatly. He stopped on his porch as he closed the door behind him, and his son Eric looked from the front window of the house as his father walked toward the waiting cruisers, his whole world undone because of a prostitute he hadn’t taken seriously, whose lawyer somehow had more dirt on him than anyone else had been able to uncover. He didn’t say a word as the officers approached him, holding a set of handcuffs, reading Trump his Miranda rights.

Donald only nodded once to the arresting officer before he was put into the back of one of the cruisers and driven away from his home to answer for the heinous things he had done.


Edited by Katherine J Marshall

The Trumps – Melania is Missing


The Trumps is a work of “fiction,” a “satire,” a “parody.” Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely “coincidental”, and this story is not meant to bear any political opinions.



Donald blinked, opening his eyes, staring at the ceiling in the hospital room. “What happened?” he asked.

“You had a mild cardiac episode,” Ivanka said.

“It wasn’t a heart attack,” Donald replied.

“I didn’t say it was,” Ivanka said.

“I just want that on the record,” Donald said. “I don’t want the fake news getting ahold of the story and telling everyone and their mothers that I suffered a heart attack. Where’s Melania? Did she come too?”

Ivanka sighed. “There’s something else you need to know,” she said. “Something happened to Melania soon after you were admitted to the hospital.”

“What?” Donald asked.

“You have to promise not to get mad,” Ivanka said. “The doctors said you have to be careful with your stress levels.”

“Just tell me!” Donald snapped.

“They took her away,” Ivanka said, tears sparkling in her eyes. “She was deported.”

“Deported?” Donald asked. “How is that possible?”

“The County Neighborhood News reported that she was a mail order bride,” Ivanka said. “In a matter of hours, she was gone. All that was left of her was a note saying she was taken back to her home country.”

Donald turned and looked at the ceiling. “Hell,” he sighed. “I’m never going to hear the end of this from Vlad.”

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