Harry Guakomoli was only two days old and already an orphan. His father, an alligator wrestler in the employ of Colonel Carl's Roving Spectacle-O-Rama, died in his sleep the day after his baby boy's birth. The Guak's mother, who also performed in the traveling carnival as nudie dancer, claimed the culprit was Filthy O'Possum, patron saint of naughty dreams. Colonel Carl, who was neither a colonel nor named Carl, was already suspicious of the woman due to her role as a voodoo priestess. The death of one of his stars was the proverbial straw that proverbially broke the proverbial camel's proverbial back, The colonel accused our hero's mother of murdering his father. Instead of alerting the authorities, Colonel Carl meted out his own special brand of carny justice and handed the stripper burned at the stake.
Colonel Carl's Spectacle-O-Rama disbanded right then and there. Everyone present knew the law of the land, but after the voodoo priestess' blood-curdling screams and the smell of her burning flesh, the carnies lost their appetite for carny justice and the show's ringleader.
The colonel ordered, threatened, and finally begged for the Roving Spectacle-O-Rama's performers and crew to stay, but not a single soul was interested.
But the question remained: what to do with the orphaned infant. Finding themselves unemployed was hard enough, but before the boy's mother breathed her last breath she uttered something in a long-forgotten tongue directed at the fruit of her loins. Though no one in attendance spoke the language, they knew from the spite and malice in her voice she had placed a hex on her newborn son.
There was talk of leaving The Baby Guak to the gators and the incestuous cannibalistic swampfolk, but the babe's namesake, Harriet the bearded lady, agreed to take him as her ward.
Bearded lady and baby left the soggy fetid Louisiana bayou for the urban decay of The City. They made their way north by hitchhiking, and Harriet learned the meaning of "ass, gas, or grass: no one rides for free" only too well. She also had this sneaking suspicion they were being followed. Memories of the voodoo lady's curse crept into her brain. Thoughts of the priestess invaded Harriet's dreams, twisting and turning them into horrific nightmares,
Harriet woke up every night screaming. She would be drenched in sweat, though it is unknown if said perspiration came from the misery inflicted upon her by Mr. Sandman or because she was a rotund woman with glandular problems covered in a thick chestnut-colored shag. The leading theory suggests it was a combination of the two. Her screams would wake up The Baby Guak who would then belt out some screams of his own. After a month of this nightly occurrence the pair were evicted from the flop house where they had taken up residence.
The bearded lady could no longer take the punishment, punishment she blamed on her young charge. To her it was obvious The Baby Guak had to go. In the dead of night Harriet approached St. Hedwig's House for Children, an orphanage. Her corpulent form jiggled as Harriet waddled towards the steps to the front door. Her voluminous near gelatinous posterior threatened to defy gravity and break free of the stained lavender stretch pants that struggled to contain it. Her chubby sausage fingers gripped a wicker basket that contained our infant hero. Harriet set the basket down on the concrete steps.
"Don't give that boy to those nuns," a cold voice flatly stated from behind.
Harriet shrieked and jumped as the voice cut through the silence. The bearded lady spun around to find another large woman standing a dozen feet from her, her dark chocolate skin was completely covered save for her wrinkled face. An ill-fitting black overcoat clung to her doughy body. A red bandana kept her long greasy black dreadlocks from getting in her face. Her pupils constricted despite the near-darkness. She smiled, revealing a mouthful of rotted teeth. In the stranger's gloved hand were the straps of an over-stuffed duffel bag.
"What the fuck, bitch?! Tryin' ta give me a heart attack?!" Harriet snapped.
"I am sorry, nice lady. I just wanted to suggest that you don't give your boy to those nuns. They will pollute his mind with lies," said the stranger. Despite her smile she spoke with no emotion.
"Yeah? You gunna take 'im off my hands? If not, fuck off."
"If you are offering, nice lady, then I am accepting."
Harriet eyed the strange woman with apprehension. She wanted, needed, to unload the source of her agony, and she needed to do it immediately, but Harriet wasn't a cold-hearted monster. She couldn't leave The Baby Guak with some stranger hanging out in front of an orphanage at night. She was probably a bag lady and definitely on the drugs.
The strange woman noticed the reluctance plastered on Harriet's furry countenance. She held the duffel bag out to her.
"I am prepared to offer you $343 for the boy."
"I-I-I can't sell him...I don't even know you."
"I am prepared to offer you $2100 for the boy."
$2100 was a lot of money for Harriet. She had been surviving by selling her flesh to men with a specific kink. Unfortunately, not many johns get off on fat hairy women. With $2100 and no burdensome baby, she could start over. Make a better life for herself.
"There's $2100 in that bag?"
"Yes, nice lady. Come and investigate for yourself."
The stranger placed the duffel bag on the ground and stepped back. Harriet scurried over to the bag, unzipped it, and peered inside. Crammed into the bag were crumpled-up wads of filthy twenty, ten, five, and one dollar bills. Harriet crinkled her nose.
"This fuckin' money is fuckin' gross!" Harriet said in disgust.
"Dirty currency spends the same as clean currency. Do we have ourselves an agreement, nice lady?"
"You bet your black ass we do! FUCK YEAH!" Harriet squealed in delight. She zipped the duffel shut and, although the stranger held the bag with apparent ease, the bearded lady could barely lift the thing. "What the fuck is in this thing bitch?"
The strange woman made her way to the steps of the orphanage and grabbed the basket occupied by The Baby Guak.
"At the bottom is $343 comprised of quarters, nice lady," the woman answered. "Best of luck, Harriet Morgan. Your soul will forever be tainted by the smell of roasting flesh and stained with the mambo's screams.
The stranger, with our infant hero in tow, walked away into the night.
A year later a wicker basket is found on the front steps of St. Hedwig's House for Children. Inside the basket The Baby Guak slept.
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