4) Lord of the Lizards.

www.amazon.com/author/tobyzoates

These stories, that have been available on Blogspot for 10 years for free, will now only be available on Amazon at the address above. They are contained in “Vagabon Freak”, the 1^st volume of a trilogy titled “The 7 Lives of the Punk Poofy Cats”. I have been the archetypal starving artist in his garret, painting, drawing and writing, writing, writing as if I were some waif crying out in the wilderness. Now I need you, dear reader, to hear my cries and go to Amazon and buy a copy of my book and keep me alive. There you will find my complete tale, from beginning to end, in one place, for you to hold in your hot little hands. When you read it straight through, I assure you, it will blow your mind.

Below are introductory paragraphs and some pictures that I still retain to illustrate those stories, hopefully to give you a come-on to get my book. Thanks for giving me a go, TZ.

Snapping out of his reverie and back to 1957 Arthur slunk off to his bedroom hoping his parents’ squabbling would keep them busy and he’d be free to play his private games. He left his door slightly ajar, as completely shut would invite suspicion, then he fished out his costume from under his bed, one of his mother’s old dresses, two balls of socks stuffed down his singlet to represent voluptuous breasts, and a floppy T-shirt bunched up on his head as if it were a bouffant hair-do. He then bounced about on his bed hugging, fighting, kissing and fucking his pillow which stood in for one of the handsome heroes from his beloved pirate movies glimpsed repeatedly on the wonderful TV.

After about half an hour of this fantasy role playing he felt a prickle of hair standing up on the back of his neck as if he was being watched, and glancing over at the door he caught a glimpse of his father’s shadowy form watching him through the crack of the door. While his father had often beaten him for being a sissy he’d hoped the boy would grow out of it but it now looked like the kid’s transexuality was a possibility and they’d all have to live with this disgusting freak. Artie quickly stripped off the drag and later hung his head in shame at the dinner table. While they passed the Birds-eye peas Frank had a cold fury in his glance.

“Looks like we’ve got a little girl in the family just like you always wanted Elaine.”

“What do ya mean? You’re always putting shit on someone. Why don’t you give the kid a break?”

“Your son is a fucking freak, and you probably encourage him in it.”

“Oh leave the kid alone, you’ve been picking on him since he was a baby. If he’s confused it’s cause you’ve fucked him up!”

(If you want to read this story further please go to the WEB address above and buy "Vagabond Freak.")

Calamity Jane.

Oliver.

Melbourne Olympics 1950

Jailhouse Rock.

The Olympic Village.

The Heidelberg School of Painters.

3) Blood and Linoleum.

www.amazon.com/author/tobyzoates

These stories, that have been available on Blogspot for 10 years for free, will now only be available on Amazon at the address above. They are contained in “Vagabon Freak”, the 1^st volume of a trilogy titled “The 7 Lives of the Punk Poofy Cats”. I have been the archetypal starving artist in his garret, painting, drawing and writing, writing, writing as if I were some waif crying out in the wilderness. Now I need you, dear reader, to hear my cries and go to Amazon and buy a copy of my book and keep me alive. There you will find my complete tale, from beginning to end, in one place, for you to hold in your hot little hands. When you read it straight through, I assure you, it will blow your mind.

Below are introductory paragraphs and some pictures that I still retain to illustrate those stories, hopefully to give you a come-on to get my book. Thanks for giving me a go, TZ.

Arthur tried to block out his parents’ whining voices, thinking of other families, their care-free strolling and sunny smiles in their crisp white shirts and stylish skirts, the children blond and perfect. He wondered what was wrong with him that he deserved only these grumbling fuckwits swinging like a pendulum between sweet and sour. He swore to himself, “If they start fighting again, I’ll kill myself in front of them, that will stop them in their tracks.”

It was monstrous the violence they’d put him through, unbearable. He quaked on remembering the nightmare of his infancy and prayed to any god who might be listening that it would not be repeated in the oncoming years, or that this second chance at domestic bliss in West Heidelberg be not as insecure.

Shadowy images of the early ‘Fifties drifted back to him, of the flabbergasted tension between his parents that rent all their lives apart. After four years of marriage to Frank, of poverty, domestic warfare and a second child, Elaine had been fatigued, restless and angry. Escaping from her parent’s prison only to be incarcerated in Frank’s, she’d dreamed of a gay life, dancing in the arms of a Bogart-like character, seeing something of the world, not this eternal pushing and shoving in the kitchen.

Frank was no fun, he preferred fishing and golf and boozing it up with his mates in the pubs, not interested in nightclubbing with the wife. Arthur shuddered at the memory of that particular night when his world had fallen apart. His mother had insisted on going out, with or without her husband. Frank’s patriarchal domestic lordship was outraged and his jealousy would not have it.

“My two screaming babies and those of them we share the house with, it’s driving me crazy. Please, can’t we get a baby-sitter and go out for once?”

“No, we can’t afford it! You’re staying home, where you belong!”

“I’m sick of you, you boring bastard! You stay home with the kids if you’re so fucking concerned about them, I’m going out for a drink, I want to hear some music and have some fun!”

“You fucking slut! You just want to meet some bastard behind my back! A good woman would want to be with her kids, not run after blokes like a fucking mole!”

“Yeah, well you’re a selfish arsehole, you don’t mind spending money on your mates but where’s the money for us? I’m fed up, give me some fucking money, I need a fucking break from this shit!”

“Listen cunt, you get nothing more from me, you’ve already spent the housekeeping money on beer, now you wanna go fuck someone on my dough! Well you can fucking keep your slut’s face indoors!”

Arthur was just handing his plate back after dinner, when, nervous of their arguing, he dropped it and it shattered. Frank leaned over and slapped the three-year-old hard across the face, grumbling, “You clumsy little bastard!” whereupon Elaine responded in turn, screaming, “Stop hitting the fucking kid!” They were already sozzled on beer, him a bit slow and her in an Amazonian fury; before he could duck she smashed a plate on Frank’s head and blood seeped into his popping eyes. 

(If you want to read further please go to the WEB address above and buy "Vagabond Freak.")