Chupacabra Halloween

There is a creature who hunts in the night.

It drinks the blood of lowly beings such as goats; in fact, it prefers goats.

A goat is safe; a goat does not draw attention.

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

It is a mythical creature about 3 feet when standing erect, but who 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.

Why goats?

Goats are safe for the chupacabras, who leave two tiny puncture marks near its heart.

The goat is tired, but nobody notices.

Chupacabras are intelligent creatures, who hide from our sight; that is why there are so few sightings.

But just like humans, chupacabras have personalities, and occasionally, but rarely, there is a rogue chupacabra, who decides to slaughter goats and sheep.

Eventually it graduates to more challenging prey: dogs and children.

Prey old enough to fight back.

Blood flows sweet and warm with no taste of hay or alfalfa.

The fight makes the blood intoxicating.

This is a story of one such rogue who ventured far from home, and became entangled in a Halloween drama in the desert.

This is the story of “El Chupacabra.”

Four brothers, a pitbull and a chupacabra. What could go wrong?

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

Contact: David Madrid

Halloween Cometh

Werewolves are scary.

You’ve seen the movies.

A person growing into a wolf with bones stretching and cracking, with face lengthening outward into a werewolf mug.

Hands and feet turn into long sharp claws.

Growing twice the size of human dimensions.

Hair everywhere, top to bottom, coarse.

Humanity disappears as the wolf asserts itself.

The werewolf lives to kill and eat; he has the heart of a wolf after all.

And Halloween is prime werewolf night, in case you didn’t know.

So many humans just walking around disguised.

Werewolf delight.

What if werewolves are real?

Would you walk a bit more carefully in the full moonlight?

Your body tingling with the feeling that a vicious beast may tear into you at any moment?

Where the snap of a twig, you are sure, will bring instant death?

Scary stuff for sure.

Which brings me to this: I have a story for you.

It’s about a werewolf family on a Halloween night.

It is called “The Lonesome Werewolf,” and names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Is the story true?

Read it and decide for yourself.

&

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Willie Werewolf, the main character in this story, was drawn by artist Vincent Rogers — better known as Owsley — in Owsley’s younger days.

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

Email: David Madrid

Mocking TV and Movies

TV and movies, love them or hate them, but definitely mock them.

I love television and movies as much as the next person, but mostly, I love to make fun of those goofy scenes that defy reality and the laws of physics.

My mockery is a wicked pleasure that hurts no one, unless you are watching the picture with me and have to listen to my critiques.

I’m not going to reveal the titles of the works I criticize, because these flaws are in so many television episodes and movies.

Viewers deserve better than sloppy entertainment, so I came up with a “Bugs Me Quotient” to judge weak scenes. I wish I could tell you how I arrived at my quotient, but the formula is so complex that only aliens and amoebas can understand it now.

I can tell you the higher to quotient, the more ridicule these scenes deserve.

Here are some mockable moments from action movies and TV and their Bugs Me Quotient.

Heroes are the good guys in this blog. They are fleeing bad guys down a corridor with closed doors. The good guys find an unlocked door and run through it, but as they flee, they don’t close the door behind them. Thus the bad guys know which door the hero used. This occurs in many movies even when there is no chase; hardly anyone closes the doors behind them anymore.

Bugs me quotient: As one who closes doors behind me, and when needed, I lock the door, I give a bugs me quotient of 100 percent because it bugs me every time I see it. Close the door.

There is a shootout between two sides, each armed with machine guns and automatic weapons, and they shoot and shoot and shoot and spray cars, stores and buildings with multiple bullets as innocent bystanders run in all directions. Both sides miss their targets and the bystanders. The shooters eventually run away.

Bugs me quotient: A machine gun or automatic weapon increases the odds that a blind person could hit a target. But what’s the excuse if you aren’t blind, and you do a whole lot of shooting and nobody gets hit? My bugs me quotient is 90 percent, because the incompetence shown in these battles makes them unbelievable, and therefore, uninteresting. It’s just a bunch of noise.

There is a shootout in a house, and the shooters have high powered weapons. Yet the targets hide behind the interior kitchen wall next to the doorway, and the drywall protects them from numerous bullets. Unless the wall is concrete or steel, which is unlikely in most homes, it won’t stop bullets. Drywall does not stop bullets, and the interior walls of most homes are made of drywall.

Bugs me quotient: Another win for disrespecting the audience for the sake of more shooting. If heroes are hiding from bullets, give them something bulletproof to hide behind. Put a little effort into the scenario or change it. My bugs me quotient is 80 percent. Shooting for the sake of shooting is poor entertainment.

Hero gets shot, usually in the shoulder or just a graze, and it doesn’t slow the hero down. If the hero gets shot all over, hero is down until patched up, usually by a veterinarian, and then hero is back in the game. The wounded hero kills the bad guy and walks away. But when hero’s back is turned, bad guy comes back to life and attacks hero in one last desperate attempt at murder. The hero, of course, finishes off the bad guy, finally.

Bugs me quotient: Getting shot hurts a lot and will put you down for a long time. Bullets will kill you. My bugs me quotient is 35 percent. Blatant over exaggeration bugs me, but I understand the story must move along, and so we must suspend belief for the hero to complete his objective.

Hero is tortured. He is hung by his hands several feet off the floor for hours or days. He is shocked with battery cables as his feet hang in a tub of water. After he is brought down from his height, he lies stomach down across a table. Hero is in horrid pain from hanging so long. Then the torturer pours a pail of boiling water on hero’s naked back, before throwing a bag of salt onto hero’s burns. Hero is rescued and needs help out of his dungeon. Hero cannot walk on his own because of the brutal torture. But minutes later, burns are gone and hero goes after the bad guys as if nothing happened. Maybe there is blood.

Bugs me quotient: Forget all the other torture, the boiling water and salt alone would have rendered hero incapable of continuing that day. My bugs me quotient is 90 percent. Why does this bug me so much? If you can’t justify a torture’s effects, leave it out or change it.

Hero must escape or save someone by swimming underwater. We find that our heroes can hold their breaths for up to 5 minutes or longer and swim great lengths while navigating treacherous courses of underwater obstacles, and sometimes, enemies. Five minutes is a long time underwater, and some distances would be impossible to swim in those five minutes.

Bugs me quotient: Few can hold their breath underwater while moving for five minutes, and fewer still can swim such long distances without breathing. My bugs me quotient is 10 percent. Some people — think Navy Seals — can do these things, so I gladly suspend belief for a good underwater action scene.

Hero is chased to a cliff where hundreds of feet below the ocean or river awaits. Hero jumps off cliff to escape bad guys and lands perfectly in the water so that no legs are broken, and fortunately, the water is deep enough the hero survives.

Bugs me quotient: First off an urgent public service alert: Never! And I mean Never! jump or dive into water without first knowing how deep the water is and if there are any rocks near the surface. You can break your neck and drown. My bugs me quotient is 10 percent. The hero has no choice but to jump or be captured and tortured and killed by the enemy.

So that is my list.

Movie makers should use common sense to stay as true to reality as possible. It’s the simple things you ignore, and the outright flaws put into a scene to make it bloodier or more violent, that leads us to mock your work.

Ha, ha, ha. We laugh at your gaffes.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

The Runaway

Despite rumors to the contrary, I have never been a runaway.

Yet these ugly rumors persist that when I was a wee lad of 3 to 5, I had a penchant for running away.

If I was running away, where would I go? Had I formulated a plan of escape? Did I have a destination?

Nah. I wasn’t running; I was exploring, and sometimes that took hours.

One morning I disappeared from home without permission. I crossed three mesquite-filled lots to visit my Aunt Tina on 11th Street.

I walked the street but I could not find the house; I was on the wrong street.

As I looked about I saw a blonde-haired boy, about 7 years old, standing on his porch watching me. The boy wore slippers and plaid pajamas under a bright red robe.

“Hi,” he yelled.

“Hi,” I returned.

“What’s your name?” the kid asked. “Do you live around here? Where are you going? What’s your name?”

“My name is David. I’m looking for my aunt’s house. I can’t find it.”

“You want to come inside and play?”

Just like that, I forgot about my aunt and her house.

“OK,” I said.

His name was Joey. He was home sick from school, and his mother had to work, so he was alone and bored. He did not look sick to me, but what did I know?

I was too young for school. We went into his bedroom and there I saw the biggest collection of toys outside a department store.

There were cars, a fire truck, Teddy bears, balls, bats and games.

Best of all, Joey had the biggest collection of miniature green soldiers and painted cowboys and Indians.

We took his bedspread and blanket and fluffed then into a mountain where we fought wars using the soldiers and cowboys and Indians.

Occasionally, we brought in the fire truck to clear the dead.

It bothered us not a bit that we used combatants from different time periods.

Needless to say, hours passed, and then Joey told me his mother would be home soon, so I had to leave.

I walked back across the fields, and when I reached the end of 14th Street, where I lived, I could see my mother walking up and down the street. It appeared she was looking for something.

I wondered what she had lost.

That is until she saw me, and it was then I realized I was in trouble again for running away.

I could not escape my reputation as a runaway.

Neither could I stop my explorations, leading to more accusations of running away.

Finally, there was an egregious incident when I disobeyed my father and got a good whipping.

Yes, I admit he told me I could go to the store on my bicycle as long as I came straight home, and I did not come straight home. I think it was the word straight that messed me up.

My father convinced me that I had to change, and I adjusted accordingly. I either asked permission or shortened my adventures so nobody noticed I was gone.

Eventually, I was old enough to disappear for a day with no one giving it a second thought as long I was home for family dinner.

Thus ended my my runaway years that never were.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

The Gorilla

A gorilla named Abe entered a burger joint and asked for a strawberry shake.

The man behind the counter, Slick he was called, saw an advantage.

This is dumb beast knows nothing, he reasoned.

Slick made a sloppy shake, cutting back on the strawberry and adding water, and he brought it to Abe.

“That’ll be 20 bucks buddy,” Slick said, quadrupling the price.

Abe paid the man.

Slick was encouraged; the gorilla didn’t complain.

‘I can get more money out of this idiot,’ the soda man thought.

“You know, we don’t get many apes around here,” Slick observed in an attempt to small talk Abe before convincing him to order more.

“I don’t doubt it,” the gorilla said. “With prices like this for a sloppy watered-down shake, no self-respecting ape would come here.”

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

The Tree

There was a tree

It was a special tree

A sacred tree

It sat outside our chicken coop in the adjacent lot

Behind it was a desert of lush mesquites and prickly cactus

The tree was not alone

It stood with two trees to the left

And two trees to the right

The tree’s branches whispered

“Climb me. Climb me.”

So I did

I climbed the tree limb by limb until I was high up in the leaves

From up there I saw the entire world

Beginning with the chicken coop below

I saw the rooster strutting about

His hens much impressed

Lover Boy I called him

He was the meanest rooster that ever lived

I saw the graveled road that led to our house

I saw my dad drive up the road when he got home from work

I ran inside and scooped the dimes in his lunch box

My dimes, purposely left there for me

I saw my backyard where my dad killed a tarantula

Where my mother hung our just-laundered clothes to dry

I saw my neighbor’s backyard where I had suffered a run-away horse incident

The tree embraced me

I was safe

It enveloped me and breathed

Absorbing carbon dioxide and releasing sweet oxygen

I was cloaked

Nobody could see me

Nor did anyone know where I was

I moved about within the tree sometimes for hours

The tree revealed the universe to me through colorful stories

Full of adventure, heroics, danger, happiness and joy

Each limb offered a tale

I was on a ship at sea, a barrelman in a crow’s nest

I spotted land and saved the crew from dehydration

Beautiful island people swam to our ship to greet us

I was also a cowboy tracking bandits from above

Woe to the outlaw that rode below me

I was Tarzan the Ape Man living in my tree house

I was in a vessel making for the edge of space

Avoiding black holes

In that tree I could be whatever I wanted

Wherever I wanted

The tree was magic

It held the mystery of the cosmos within its leaves

Does the tree still stand?

I do not know

What kind of a tree was it?

Again, I don’t know

Nevertheless; in my mind it will always be my tree

The moral: Value the tree, for it is a giver of life

And a keeper of imagination

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

Dedicated to my dad Joe Madrid on this Father’s Day, June 18, 2023. May his spirit dwell within the trees.

Where’s the punctuation? you ask. I wasn’t feeling it when I wrote this piece. Sometimes we can break the rules of writing to have a bit of fun. Learn your punctuation though. It is important for most your writing and your grades in school.

A BB to the Buttocks

“Pull down your pants and bend over,” my big brother Joe instructed me one cold winter morning.

Joe was my hero; I worshiped him as a nun worships Jesus, so when he commanded; I complied.

Five neighbor kids gathered to witness Joe’s proof that a shot in the butt with a BB didn’t hurt.

My brother and I got BB guns for Christmas, and we showed off our rifles, which led to the butt shot.

I was about 4 years old, my brother 2 1/2 years older.

I pulled my pants down to a respectable level, (upper cheek) bent over and waited to prove my sibling correct.

And then … bap! went the BB gun. Splat! went my left cheek, and the projectile stung like an angry wasp.

Ouch!

My screams were those of a crazed dying baboon, and the commotion brought our mother out of the house.

She assessed my wound, a little uplifted red splotch.

She assured me I would be OK.

I’m sure my brother got punished for his low-down dirty deed, but I don’t remember.

He insists I deserved to be plinked for being stupid enough to listen to him.

I still trusted Joe, though the Jesus glow rubbed off him, and a bit of a devil glow showed, which taught me to beware.

Now I am happy my brother shot my buttocks, because it left us with a story to tell as I have just done.

The neighborhood kids saw Joe’s claim as bogus, and no one else volunteered to be shot.

A week later, a BB I shot at a water meter — at my brother’s direction, I must add — ricocheted and plinked Joe in the eye.

He wasn’t blinded, but he was angry, and he accused me of revenge for the butt BB, which was silly, because I had no control over the ricochet.

That bouncing BB did teach us something: actions can have consequences beyond getting in trouble by your mother.

Moral: Karma: Sometimes a BB to the eye equals a BB to the butt.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

The Website

What is this website, FabulousFables.com?

You have the right to know.

FabulousFables.com is a repository of stories; mostly my stories and some fables from Aesop.

I share my tales with you and ask nothing in return.

There are three reasons I created this site, which by the way, is a non-profit entity.

The first reason is that I am afflicted.

I know that sounds terrible, but it isn’t so bad.

My affliction is that I must release the stories that build within me before they overwhelm me.

My stories are legion.

What would happen if my flow of words stopped?

I don’t know, but I picture an explosion of skin, blood and guts that will ruin your attire.

Share the stories

Why would I keep these stories to myself?

I can’t; it defeats the purpose of a story; a story must be told.

The second reason for this site is that I leave a historical record.

I exaggerate in the interest of telling a good tale.

I write about kids from my childhood who were local legends, and I document their stories.

Some stories are about me; they include boy scouts hiking across the desert to camp at a lake, a battle with a rattlesnake, a runaway horse.

Exaggeration

All great true stories are exaggerated.

That is how third- rate thugs become heroes.

Jessie James, Billy the Kid, Kit Carson, Al Capone, Batman.

I want you, everybody, especially young people, to read my stories.

This is history I leave you.

We must not lose our stories, or all is lost.

Most stories and fables on this website are creations of my mind.

The stories just come and come, and I must release them.

The third reason for the site is you.

I created it for you, the young and the old.

Enjoy my stories and blog here at FabulousFables.com.

Contact: David Madrid

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

La Llorona: At Last

New today at FabulousFables.com is the story of La Llorona, just as I promised in a previous post.

Latinos know who I’m talking about.

For those not familiar with the story, and those who are familiar, read my account at La Llorona: The Story.

It is a tale of murder most despicable, a story of love, hate, jealousy, murder .

If you have heard of La Llorona and want to know more, La Llorona; The Story is a must-read, but beware supernatural entanglements.

Statue of La Llorona, 2015. Wood carved in the shape of La llorona, typical of Mexican culture, with a white veil on a stone base, located on the island of La Llorona in the canals of Xochimilco, Mexico. Thank you for the use of the photo to DF. KatyaMSL – Own work. Wikimedia Commons

Contact: David Madrid

© 2023 FabulousFables.com