Halloween 2024

October 19, 2024 fabulousfables

It’s that time again when goblins, witches, clowns, celebrities, fairies, demons, werewolves, mummies and all manner of costumed beings descend upon us to extort candy.

Trick or treat. Give the treats or suffer the tricks.

I don’t know about you, but I’m giving up the sweets.

Fabulousfables.com has some treats for you, given in the Halloween spirit.

There is the story of “El Chupacabra.“

Maybe you haven’t heard of El Chupacabra, the goat sucker.

It is a mythical creature about 3 feet when standing erect, but it prefers to stoop.

It’s eyes are red, evil and alien, not of this world.

The creature hisses sulfur when agitated.

Two popular theories are the animal is an extraterrestrial, or it was created in a military lab.

What happens when the chupacabra graduates from sucking goat blood to a taste for human nectar?

This story addresses that grisly phenomenon.

The next story is “The Dreamcatcher.”

The dreamcatcher was a gift a grandfather gave to his grandsons to protect them from bloody nightmares, from danger in the night.

The relic, though, held power beyond the capture of the dreams of little boys; it had power unexpected and severe.

The Lonesome Werewolf is a story about a young werewolf whose greatest wish is to have friends.

It’s Halloween; can he fulfill his wish tonight?

If so, what does a friendship with a werewolf look like?

La Llorona: The Story begins: Once upon a time in Mexico, there lived the most beautiful woman in the world.

That woman became La Llorona. (Pronounced La Yoydona) The Crying Woman. The Wailing Woman. The Wailer.

Whatever you call her, La Llorona’s story is a tale of a malevolent spirit that wanders the Earth, forever cursed.

It is said her scream has such power that it can kill the weak-hearted.

Some will swear they have seen her; she is well-known in the Latino community, though many dispute her existence.

Maybe she does exist.

Who knows, except those people who swear they have seen her; they insist she exists.

The Spider and the Fly is not a story, but a poem by Mary Howitt, (1799–1888.) The poem was published in 1829.

It is a cautionary tale about the use of flattery and charm.

Although written long ago, the poem is as relevant today as the day it was written. The poem’s lesson is timeless.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

Flatulence

July 13, 2024 fabulousfables

Consider flatulence, which is a fancy word for farting.

I know. I know. Talking about farts is impolite and should not be done in public. Butt, I have to ask; who here was taught flatulence manners?

That’s what I thought. It is a stinky subject, and shame on Emily Post for ignoring farting. She literally wrote the books on etiquette?

A fart is something we laugh at, and the embarrassed emitter of said fart is ridiculed either verbally or mentally. That’s not right. One should be free to fart anywhere without shame, unless it is in my general vicinity.

Facts

Before we get into manners, I have some flatulence facts for you:

Flatology is the scientific and medical study of farts. I wonder if that is a booming industry. Flatus is the medical word for gas generated in the stomach or bowels.
According to flatology experts, farting is the expulsion of that gas from the intestines via the anus. Sorry to be so crude, but I didn’t write that; someone on Wikipedia did.
Humans fart an average of 14 times a day. Even the most beautiful women in the world fart. Sorry to break that to you boys, but your toots are disgusting, so don’t judge your fellow flatulators.
Fart is shorter and funnier than flatulence, hence the popularity of the word. Some call it passing wind in an attempt to sanitize the fart.

Yes, I made up the word flatulator. It is more euphonious than flatulist or fartist, don’t you think?

Manners

Because Emily Post didn’t complete her job, I’ll offer help. My first rule for manners of flatulating near people is to ask politely “May I flatulate?”

Really?

NO. OF COURSE NOT. ARE YOU INSANE?

Just walk away before you fart so nobody hears or smells you. That is manners.

Unless you are on an elevator. Ever wonder why there are so many elevator fart stories and jokes? Elevators must be common settings for errant or intentional farts.

Don’t tell anyone, but I heard there is a group of people who intentionally fart on elevators. They are called the Stink Bomb Mafia, and they are committed to their art, which is what they call it.

Suppose you are in an elevator, and you emit a silent-but-deadly. What should you do?

Fart etiquette, if there were such a thing, would require you to apologize for the fluffy, while complaining you had to flatulate and could hold it no longer.

Right?

NO. NO. NO.

Never admit to a fart you can conceal.

Blame Game

Because there is no fart etiquette, some fart knockers have turned flatulence into a blame game.

For example, wait to see if someone comments on your invisible stench so you can say “Whoever smelt it, dealt it.”

Then you hold your nose and look with disdain at the unwitting fly that fell into your trap. This maneuver is called the Spider and the Fly. Have you ever heard a spider bark. Sounds like poot.

Suppose your fart is audible. What then?

Jump back. Hold your nose. Point to the person nearest you, and say “Ewwwwww!!!!!” This is called The Misdirection.

If you are caught, and there is no way out, simply lift a foot slightly off the ground, push out your butt a bit and grunt and wince as if you are trying to conjure up a one-cheek squeak, but the tweeter never comes.

Sigh in relief, and put your leg down. People are grateful you didn’t bathe them in more flatus molecules, yet they are embarrassed for you. See what you did there? You unsettled them. This is the classic Wait, Wait, Never Mind move.

Finally Caught

If you can’t escape blame, fall to your knees and raise your arms and praise God for the ability to fart. Tell people that without these booty bombs, we would explode into a million pieces. This technique is called The Mortality.

Not to mention people get nervous when you bring God into it. Tell them The Good Book teaches that the wind blows where it wishes.

Sorry I veered off of fart etiquette and into fart tactics. I offered three rules: ask if you may flatulate; admit and apologize for your flatulence, or walk away and then fart. But it didn’t seem you were interested.

Or you can let one rip. Own the honker. Be loud; be proud. Don’t apologize. Imagine yourself the greatest of all flatulators.

Sorry, I cannot approve of your behavior, you fecal-fumed terrorist. This is undeniably a breech of etiquette in my book if I had one.

“That’s all for now my fellow flatulators; as the Stink Bomb Mafia says: “May your farts be stealthy.”

David Madrid.

Contact: David Madrid

Thank you Adobe Stock for providing the photos. Yes, I have an account.

With apologies to Emily Post, (born Oct. 27, 1872 or Oct. 3, 1873, in Baltimore, Maryland—died Sept. 25, 1960, in New York) who was an American authority on social behavior. She crafted her advice by applying good sense and thoughtfulness to basic human interactions except when it came to flatulence.

Encyclopaedia Britannica

A Thousand-Mile Journey

June 2, 2024 fabulousfables

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

Lauzi

aka

Lau Tzu

This simple teaching tells us any endeavor, adventure, plan or fulfillment of a dream, begins with a first step.

The saying is from Chapter 4 of the Tao Te Ching, a Chinese philosophical and religious text said to be written by 6th Century BC philosopher Lauzi, whom we identify today as the Lau Tzu.

A contemporary of Confucius, arguably the most famous of Eastern philosophers and widely regarded as the greatest wise man, it is said Lau Tzu and Confucius met several times. Lau Tzu was the elder.

We dream of doing great things but don’t commit to action because of risk, embarrassment or potential failure, so we continue to live our lives in a state of what could have beenism.

Take that first step, and suddenly, potentially, the dream becomes reality, the plan is realized, the problem solved.

Or not.

Sometimes we fail, and then we must learn to take the next first step on a new path.

David Madrid

Depiction of Lauzi, known popularly as Lau Tzu, in E. T. C. Werner’s “Myths and Legends of China.” LauTzu is said to be a 6th century BC philosopher. It is said he authored the Tao Te Ching, the foundation of Taoism.

David Madrid.

Contact: David Madrid

Fruit Fly Kamikaze Attack

February 25, 2024 fabulousfables

I cracked my favorite cup

Fending off a kamikaze fruit fly attack

The fly zoomed for my eye

I flung my water at the fly; massive sigh

My cup hit the wall; the water missed the fly

Who paused on my cheek, then turned and leaped

My cup, now will forever weep

And the fruit fly flew away

To attack another day

That is my story; yes it is true

Beware the kamikaze; it’s coming for you

David Madrid.

Contact: David Madrid

Superior People

February 5, 2024 fabulousfables

‘Each man is my superior in that I may learn from him.’

I am paraphrasing Ralph Waldo Emerson, great American philosopher and poet, who actually said, “In my walks, every man I meet is my superior in some way, and in that I learn from him.”

I shortened the quote long ago just for myself to better remember it and its lesson.

If you are open to consider each person can teach you something, you are open to accept their humanity.

This way of thinking will check your ego, especially if you consider yourself all that.

This belief, put in practice, will make you feel better about people, and eventually, yourself.

Emerson was born in Boston on May 25, 1803 and died April 27, 1882.

Ralph Waldo Emerson postage stamp issued in 1940.

For more information about Emerson go to Wikipedia.

Contact: David Madrid

My Shirt

January 27, 2024 fabulousfables

There hangs in my closet a shirt so old, a thriving Aztec civilization was playing ball on its courts when the shirt was made.

That’s an old shirt.

It is said the shirt was made at the peak of the Mexica — which is what the Aztecs called themselves — civilization in 1520.

That is 503 years ago.

183,595 days ago.

4,406,280 hours ago.
264,376,800 minutes ago.

1.58 billion seconds ago.

More or less.

How time flies when you’re counting nanoseconds. I won’t go there.

Mathematics

I broke down the numbers so you understand how the Aztecs saw the world.

To the Mexica the universe is made of numbers, and math moves the numerals into equations that transform into matter and then action.

Everything — birth, life, death, the seasons with planting and harvests based on astronomy, architecture, human sacrifice and even love — in the end it is all encompassed in mathematics.

The Shirt

How is it possible that I own such a shirt?

The shirt is magic; it finds its host.

It found me in the Arizona desert where an old man lived in a small adobe home near the Sierra Estrella southwest of Phoenix.

The man, who looked as old as he claimed the shirt was, said the shirt brought me to him, and this article of clothing belonged to me now.

You probably think I’m a little loose in the head, and I understand.

Origins

This shirt, I won’t call it mine, because I feel I am his’ or hers’ or its’, whatever the heck it is?

This piece of clothing was made from reed fibers that grew on the shores of Lake Texcoco near the seat of power when the Aztecs were ascendent.

Strong fibers, reduced to smaller fibers of a specific number and braided, produced the strongest cloth ever made; then the shirt was infused with a brujo’s sorcery.

Brujos

Brujos are male witches –call them warlocks, witchdoctors, whatever — who know the secrets of plants. They are properly called yerbedos, herbal healers.

They also know the secrets of the desert and its snakes and their venoms; so watch out.

Brujas are their female counterparts, and in Mexico, South America and the Southwestern United States, these witches still exist and are justifiably feared.

Fibers

I don’t know how many fibers are needed to make this cloth; that is a lost science from another time, but some say it was in the billions, as absurd as that sounds.

The shirt is indestructible, and that’s some wicked magic, my friends.

The shirt doesn’t age, and it boasts a replica of the Sun Stone, a priceless Aztec calendar the Spanish buried because they considered it pagan.

It was rediscovered in Mexico City, Dec. 17, 1790.

My shirt is as old as the calendar, and its image, round and complex, is sewed into the cloth.

The original calendar was full of color, adding another dimension to the beauty and magic of the stone, but as the color faded on the stone, so it faded on the shirt.

Calendar

My calendar tingles as I feel the rotation of the Earth and its relation to the cosmos and time, upon my chest.

I don’t understand the arithmetic, but this is it in a nutshell:

¹The calendar consists of a 365-day calendar cycle called xiuhpōhualli (year count), and a 260-day ritual cycle called tōnalpōhualli (day count).

It’s two calendars in one.

I see the numbers the Mexica saw only when I wear the shirt, which I do sparingly, because it takes a physical toll when you are overwhelmed by an ocean of numerals.

I do not know what the numbers mean, but I feel them in my soul, and sometimes, with much effort, I can see the numbers as a whole.

I am fascinated to see our universe from the Aztec perspective, numbers never looked so beautiful.

This is my shirt below; you are looking at an eternally enchanted artifact.

The Aztec “Calendar Stone”. Museo Nacional de Antropología, Mexico City. With permission of Wikimedia Commons

The Sun Stone presides over the Mexica Hall of the National Museum of Anthropology. The stone is 12 feet in diameter, 39 inches thick and 54,210 pounds.

Disclaimer: This story is fiction and certain claims about Aztec mentality are made up by me. Nevertheless, I challenge you to prove me wrong.

Email: David Madrid

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aztec_calendar ↩︎

Happy New Year and Goodbye Old Year

December 31, 2023 fabulousfables

Here we are sliding into 2024 and out of 2023.

We’ve come out of a crazy, sloppy year, 2023.

In 2023, so many things happened.

Untidy things.

I mean, someone reported a dead dog to the authorities, but it turned out the dead dog was actually a hotdog. She — it was a woman who called 911 — thought she was ordering a hotdog at the local wiener shop; the operator heard “dead dog.”

Weird stuff like that is what I mean about 2023.

Did you know there is a worm called The Rascal that is bred to rebel. That worm doesn’t listen to anyone. He is truly a rebel without a cause.

We found that out in 2023.

Yep. Weird crazy things happened.

We discovered in 2023 an invisible gland in the human body that can be activated by poetry. Yep, discovered in 2023, according to my notes, a poet gland.

All you have to do is recite two lines of a favorite poem, and then kill a chicken and sprinkle yourself with its blood.

After that, the poems come to you, and finally, you are a poet.

I found a bloody chicken on the Internet, printed the photo.

Then I cut the blood drops from the photo, and I recited a couple of lines of a favorite poem, then sprinkled myself with the paper chicken blood to see if I could prompt the invisible gland to open.

I was intrigued, so I began:

“I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and sky.

“And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.”

It is a sea-faring poem.

Definitely gland worthy.

Nothing happened.

Nothing.

I shivered; was that the gland I felt, or did I have to pee?

I didn’t know.

I guess now I’ll have a find a real chicken.

I’m joking about the birds.

Kids, leave those chickens alone

What a long, strange year it’s been.

I know you want me to cite my sources, because 2023 was nuts, and who knows what the truth is?

My source is the Internet, and that’s why I know the discoveries are real.

The stories are on the Internet, they have to be real.

Right?

Moral: Do not believe everything you read on the Internet.

Here it is, a favorite poem, in case you are curious.

Sea Fever

John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking,

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; 

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

This poem written in 1916 by John Masefield from down Ledbury way.

We appreciate his words.

Contact: David Madrid