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Pinned Butterflies


The Butterfly on a Good Day!



M Butterfly found a new friend!

Before I go into that story, let me introduce The Butterfly to those readers who haven’t read my other posts. After nearly thirty years of abandonment, The Butterfly single-handedly revitalized my town.

With our own tax money in the form of grants.

Overnight, richly endowed by nearly $250,000 from one of the poorer towns in the state, The Butterfly built The Deathtrap, a restaurant that features several ways people could end their lives in the most dramatic methods outside of eating the lackluster and overpriced food: falling through the extended deck that somehow defied building inspections as well as the high possibility of burning to death from faulty out of code electrical wiring (once again, defying building inspection). And lastly, being stabbed to death by The Butterfly who tolerates no criticism.

We had no idea until The Deathtrap opened that so many people were suicidal. I’m sure The Butterfly hastened many people’s deaths the two months a year when The Deathtrap's open. We know for certain that one can be directly related to him...

Lately, The Butterfly’s on a campaign to be acknowledged as a Renaissance Man. He claims to be the first restauranteur in town ahead of the five other ones. Then again, if the others had grant money and purchased their land for nothing, they would’ve opened at the same time as The Deathtrap instead of going the conventional route of financing which takes an additional year or two.

This campaign is to get more monies so The Butterfly will get a bronze statue built of him to be placed in the town square as the town’s founding father. Since he resembles a cross between the photo above and T Rex that’s gonna be one helluva statue. Still, with his personality, hands down, we want this one:


The best way to sweet talk people, according to The Butterfly, is to insult them. He should know, it worked in his family where he emotionally abused his children and cowed (or as rumor has it, bribed in terms of liquor and free gelled goat eyeballs) certain townspeople and government authorities to not prosecute him due to all his illegal activities:

Breaking and entering
Vandalism
Theft
Misuse and misappropriation of grant monies
Vexatious litigation
Harassment
Arson
Slander
Defamation of Character
Refusal to pay vendors and employees
Pedophilia
Destruction of Municipal Property
Harboring Illegal Aliens
and
Incredibly Bad Sense of Fashion


The local authorities keep on imprisoning a local pothead due to violation of his parole for he can’t stop smoking pot, but The Butterfly can pretty much do whatever he wants.

“You’re a fucking pig!” he bellows in front of The Deathtrap to other restauranteurs. Someone should inform him that competitive advantage is not who can scream insults to other business owners, but to stop poisoning patrons.

When he shrieked to young boys, “SUCK MY DICK” he made a new friend:

THE TOAD!

Similar to The Butterfly, The Toad is another ugly wart to humanity. Grey, gray and grizzled, The Toad stands on its own diminutive two feet and, instead of talking, uses its sphincter to communicate. Unfortunately, there’s a fetid odor associated with each crepitation causing people to flee from The Toad except for The Butterfly who inhales deeply as if the stench were the finest aroma.

Which accounts for those meals at The Deathtrap.

I had the misfortune of being downwind from The Toad the other day. It farted, “You’re reprehensible” and went on the longest tirade, trumpeting so loud from its rectum that people fled from all directions.

I stood my ground although my kinky curly tresses straightened automatically.

“Your blog’s garbage,” it farted, seething in vitriol. “It’s disgusting."

“Stop reading it!” I stated with a sigh. “Although I’m glad you can relate so well to my fictional stories,” I responded in laughter, hanky in place over my nose and mouth. “Goes to show what an effective writer I am.”

With that, The Toad narrowed its beady eyes, one clouded with gristle from free eats out of the slop can at The Deathtrap and sauntered away after The Butterfly, leaving steaming pellets of excrement in its wake.

Suddenly, the two turned around and yelled at me, “You’re ugly.”

At that moment, I realized Mom was right: Beauty IS in the eye of the beholder.


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