By The Beautiful Sea

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By The Beautiful Sea by Fred Barnett 

(An Excerpt from the upcoming book “Shark Fin Soup”)

It was going to be another hot one, and Mmbop had forgotten to wear his certified-previously owned Raybans. The sun glasses were given to him, in trade, by a rich-bitch tourist, for one of his prized wood carvings,  carvings that were ordered from Malaysia — for a dollar apiece. Mmbop already owned fifty pair of “generic sunglasses”that another cheap tourist had traded for one of the hundreds of oversized-for-hanging carved wood cannibal forks that lie behind his shack. The forks were ordered by his father, from Taiwan, for 50 cents apiece.

As If any tourist had even noticed, there wasn’t a substantial tree left on any of the High Society Islands within three hundred miles. The forests had all been sold off, cut down, and hauled off years ago. There was no wood here on Mmbop’s tiny twin islands of Hubba1 which was otherwise known as Hubba, and on Hubba 2, otherwise known as Hubba Hubba. There were a few coconut palms that had grown from drifting coconuts after the last major tree harvesting by the Haliburden Company over twenty years ago.

The sun came up and shimmered upon the surface of the glassy morning waves, as the wire-thin, black skinned 15 year old boy, Mmbop Hand-sun, sat on the beach and pondered healthy sized coconut bobbing up and down in the blaze of the rising sun, just a few feet away in the sparkling morning sea.

“Shouldn’t waste perfectly good food!” Mmbop said, as he pushed his thick blonde dreadlocks back. The golden hair and clear blue eyes were a throwback to his Scandinavian sailor ancestors who visited the islands over seven hundred years ago.

He lifted himself up, stretching his thin shadow across the beach.

After eating the sweet coconut meat he would clean off the husk and carve a bearded monkey head for the tourists. Maybe he’d add a human finger bone through the nose.

Tourists always assumed that the “nose-bone” came from a chicken. Chickens were revered as Gods on the island of Hubba. The chickens were only used for eggs, by permission of Queen, Erica. The good Queen had recently given permission to all of her islanders to eat the sacred eggs.

The island’s omelet loving priests had convinced the island’s monarch that the eggs were a gift from Lomalagi (Heaven) for the island’s people.

The Queen’s ruling came after the priests had decreed that: “The chicken, DID come before the egg.”

Mmbop watched the coconut bobbing in the water. After the coconut carving was finished, Mmbop would top the head off with cheap sunglasses.

“White meat love that stuff,” he thought as he bent toward, and tried to grab onto the fibrous husk of the object, slowly floating away in the glare of the gentle sparkling sun. As he reached for the coconut with his hand, it suddenly turned. He noticed in the reflecting light that it appeared to have already been carved…with a big honker, a comical beard and even a human bone through the nose!

It, of course, was a real human head.

Mmbop scooped it out of the surf with his hand fishing net.

“MMMMPHUKET!” He would never be able to sell this “Mmnoggin to the White Meat.” 

“Granola grinding, hemp wearing, coral hugging tourists don’t want a real human head,” he thought. “Not even a fresh one like this.”

“Maybe I should toss it back?” he said to himself. “Hmmmmm?” He was also considering “fixing it up” with a few additional cuts. He reached into the pocket of his old puke colored swimsuit (that yet another cheap rich-bitch tourist traded him for a genuine plastic whale tooth) and grabbed his 18-tools-in-one Swiss cannibal fork, complete with saw blade, grater, marital aid, assorted knife blades, Egyptian nose hooks (for removing brains), screwdriver, waterproof universal remote, etc.

“Toss it back? Why waste a perfectly good snack?”

At home, waiting for him, was his main squeeze, Mmbopalula.  “Maybe I’ll take it back to her as a gift…”  

“Besides, nothing turns a woman on like a full head of hair”

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The Beanes of Bonny Auld Scotland

The Sawney Beanes: The Family that preys together

In the jolly bonnie merry auld 17th century, where the jolly green hills of bonny auld Scotland meet the Jolly auld *Southern sea, there once lived a very large, jolly close, in fact very jolly close family called the Beanes. They all lived together at the furthest edge of the southern coast of bonnie Galloway. It was here, beneath the craggy cliffs, beside that cold, gray dreary windswept sea, that the happy Beane clan snuggled every night deep within their warm and fuzzy cave.

And it was in the close proximity of that same warm, fuzzy, snuggly, cuddly cave, that the Beanes kidnapped, robbed and ate perhaps thousands of “wayfaring human meals on the hoof” for over twenty-five years.

The father and leader of the clan was a big, brawny, toothy, red bearded charmer of Viking descent, who’s “loving” parents had named Sawney Eric Beane. The soon-to-be-dreaded Sawney was born within a few miles of Edinburgh during reign of King James the 6th. Sawney’s own father, Haas, who had married a winsome lass named Naier, was a poor, broken vegetable farmer with a terrible scarred face. Haas, who had raised potatoes on his farm by the “doon” near the “burn” near the meadow’s of heather had, one day, become literally afraid of all meat.

Legend says, that Ol…I mean auld Haas  had been kicked in the head by a bull that he had been cooking, alive, in an open pit barbecue. Sawney and his dear old mum witnessed the incident when her husband, who “just couldn’t wait for the animal to die before he stuck his big stupid head into the pit for a bite,” thus setting his tar-coated dread locks aflame-even the lice living in his tangled mat of coarse filth were smart enough to get away from the heat. They safely bailed out. Other assorted and providential vermin were sent sailing into the air when the slightly peeved bovine then “kicked Hass”, literally across his nearly vacant bean.

Haas and Naier Beane became strict vegetarians for the rest of their lives.

At a very early age, Haas’ only son, Sawney, quickly began to tire of his family’s vegetable fare of fungii and potatoes, potatoes and weeds, bark and potatoes and pebbles, bark, roots and potato with fried twigs and sand and mold. When all of the other families were dreaming of sugar plums all snug in their beds, the wee lad would sneak out of his bedroom, and while clutching his favorite stuffed potato, would hungrily search for rats within the families modest home, bunnies from the nearby Bog, insects, and any other available protein.

The young boy began to show subtle traits of viciousness and cunning while still a shiny faced lad. Once, while in a mischievous mood, he axed to death the neighbors daughter, ate her, and then when asked by local magistrates about her sudden disappearance said “blamed the savage attack on his pet dog Feedo, The pooch was already famous for eating the Beane boy’s tedious school assignments. Since the excuse seemed plausible enough, the ten pound Scotch terrier puppy, was humanely put to sleep, by Sawney’s uncle Howya, with 150 decibel bagpipe blasts in both of it’s ultra-sensitive floppy doggy ears.

Very little is known of Sawney’s formative years, except that he might have spent a decade traveling through the Middle East and had lived among, and studied with spiritual “Mastics” (Glue sniffing monks). As a young teen, he returned to Galloway and spent a few months as the apprentice and finally the suspected murderer of Dubok Connor. Mr. Connor was a filthy old butcher, who’s already diminutive body was found (finely minced into even more diminutive Connor portions) by “a remarkable boy” who had been sent to Connor’s quaint Galloway butcher shop on Christmas morning of 1816, to fetch a goose for the neighboring family of the local cock-eyed bookkeeper and town legend Robert Ratshit (Don’t you cross another eye or dot another “T” Bob Ratshit!).

“The young Beane boy” was to officially start to work for pay at the tiny colorful shop of Dubok Connor the day after Christmas.

Perceived by the town as a polite, fresh-faced, young god-fearing boy (”He was always so quiet and such a good neighbor”), Sawney was not even considered a suspect in the “mincing of Connor” at the time.

Tales of the “suave young gent” surfaced again when Sawney reached the age of 17, when beneath the gloamin’ one evening he met a lovely young carnivore, bearing the graceful name of Ecollai. As a “carny,” young “Eccy” was considered a rebel within her own family living in what she also called “Mr. Potato Land.”

Despite advice from a local sage and blood letter, Tura Lura Laura, the two teens “Hutted up” but not in a thatched hut like most young couples. Instead they found their home-sweet-home deep within the rugged coastal cliffs and crags of merry jolly auld Galloway. Home-sweet-home’s entrance was a blood-red stone arch, an opening usually hidden by the cold gray Irish Sea. When the tide was out, a narrow strip of red sand could be seen, only barely visible from the high cliffs above. The entrance was completely obscured at high tide. The cave was by no means a tiny studio apartment. Today it still remains a huge burrow that spans over a mile deep into the solid rock cliffs.

The starry-eyed couple, Sawney and Eccy, so in love, immediately began producing a litter of “cave trash” that they could abuse when bored with one another. Fourteen Beane offspring appeared in all .

They were (in order of Birth):

1. Garbanzo: the round kid, his huge appetite initiated the eating of robbery victims.

2. Anasazi (the little princess): Even as a little child, she lured other children, dirty old rich bastards, and other criminals by dressing up, sometimes in the fine stolen jewelry and slutty clothes of the fashionably rich.

3. Azuki (the nerdish little family math-wiz): Even before hijacked travelers were killed, Azuki “the beane family accountant” extracted their trespass tax” (along with their still-beating hearts)”.

4. Mung (the Hun): The largest. At 12, he stood over 6 feet 5 inches tall. He was also the meanest, and most sadistic “soldier” of the clan.

5. Pokin (the Bacon lover): He “liked em smoked”. In fact, when the family was apprehended, four dried human-finger-cigarettes were found in a finely crafted silver case within the “greasy little bastards” pocket when the family was finally apprehended.

6. Boston Blacky: Born with a thin black mustache, he befriended and then tried his luck alongside gold-laden professional gamblers, whom he later tracked and trapped. He hated to lose.

7. Fava: So fond of liver, that She grew up almost entirely on liver-butter and jelly sandwiches.

8. Red: Always covered with someone elses blood, and followed by his trained rats. He was not even allowed out in public alone.

9. Pinto: A horse-faced cutie. Like the namesake 1970’s automobile, his rear end was always catching fire. He enjoyed lighting his farts too close to the rotisserie.

10. Frenchy: She liked ‘em battered to death, fried & crispy,

11. Snap: With his big healthy Viking teeth, he enjoyed chewing on bones and singing “to-marrow to-marrow.”. He often fought with the family dog over scraps…for fun.

12. Chili or “Jumping”: A wiry little fellow and born acrobat–He leapt from trees, startling his prey during ambush.

13. Green: The soylent type. Tall and thin, she was also nicknamed “string”. However the thin young girl was blessed with the deep vocal resonance of an early John Carradine. It was Green’s job to yell “Halt or die!” to all intruders. Of course the Beanes would have killed the victims regardless of whether they stopped or not. Besides there were never any intruders, so she would warn startled travelers with her booming voice miles from the cave.

14. And then there was (God- Bless-Him everyone) sickly (well, he never gained an ounce)……….Little Sprout: (Always little) He appealed to the sympathetic passer-bys as they offered their money and food to the poor, seemingly crippled (he could fight with his crutch in a most devilish way). Always the optimistic little waif, he helped the Beane family through their hard times with his boundless optimism.

(At a family meal….)

Sprout: “This body may be rotten, and full of maggots, but we’re going to eat the most delicious maggot-ridden-rotten corpse in all of Scotland this Christmas day!”

“ Hooray!”

“It was only business…”

During it’s infancy, the family business was simple, but time consuming: stalk, ambush, rob, kill, and hide all evidence. The children were always too busy to go to school or to hang out like the other teenage “Inn rats” who could be seen on any given day cruising the inn while showing off the latest slutty fashions and loitering next to Dave Galloway’s Seven Elfin Market. Every once in awhile one would see them slip behind the market for a “low oxygen highland” brought on by the blowing of bagpipes and tin whistles.

The Beane kids all worked too hard for such idle play. Well before sunrise (depending on the tides), seven days a week, the fourteen Beane children would arise, dress, eat a meager breakfast of cold gruel and travel for over an hour, uphill, by foot, horse and cart, and crooked crutch through the cold fog and rain, to their work site (Locals called the Sawney’s trail near Galloway “Ambush Gardens”). From sunrise to sunset (depending on the tides again) the entire family would be busy stalking, ambushing, robbing and murdering (Dad said of these “fishing expeditions” that “no witnesses should be left alive”). Then there was the “clean-up in which all bodies and evidence would be brought back to the cave, treasures would be cataloged, and evidence would be stockpiled or destroyed. If the bodies began to “stack up” they were buried under rocks on the beach or dried for later use as kindling wood. Next, the children would sit down to their meager supper of reheated, but still cold, gruel. Prayers were then said to Urtha the Fish God  before they went to bed.

As you can imagine, all of this heck-raising pretty much filled up the ambitious Beane family’s busy day.

Since most of the wary travelers often didn’t carry cash, the ever growing Sawney clan rarely had enough money for store bought food. One magical snowy Christmas Eve, as Sprout sang the ancient Scottish tune: “Sawney”(You won’t see me no moor, when I get to that Sawney shooooorre !”) the family sat with cups of delicious hot gruel in front of the fireplace. Their mittens warmed over the roasty toasty body of victim #43 (Mr. Yule), cracklin’ over a small pile of burning evidence. Father Sawney, with his corncob pipe in hand, looked into the warm glow of the fire and offhandedly suggested that they “begin to eat their victims.” Immediate gasps of phony surprise and disgust were followed by gales of laughter. They blamed the comment on dad’s drinking. Dear old dad was just talking nonsense again.

Pop always talked crazy after drinking liquor flasks stolen from the wayward travelers. And after drinking too much, dad’s blue eyes set ablaze by fire water, the belt usually came off, and…. .

But on this cold night, it was not going to be all talk. A second look by his loving family revealed the fact that this time dad was dead serious …. and, oh yes, nearly dead drunk. “We can’t afford to buy even meager portions of cold gruel any more for you children,” Sawney slurred. “Not if I’m gonna keep drinkin’.”

“You Scot-nosed bastards will either have to go to work, or we must start eating all of these piple, I mean peebles…I mean….”…….Sawney fell into a deep dream of sugar-plum fairies before he could finish his sentence…But regardless of his state they responded enthusiastically, in unison, with a chant of “NO MORE GRUEL! NO MORE GRUEL CRUEL IS CRUEL! GRUEL’S UNCOOL!”.

Then sprout, the little cherub, chimed in with his choirboy voice, and an optimistic “ Why eat gruel, when we can have fresh meat nearly every nite?”

Slowly they developed their unique culinary style. There were no cookbooks in Scotland at this time (or at any other time apparently) and besides, they couldn’t read. It was often trial (guilty: execution!) and error. Eccy was not much of a cook so everyone had to pitch in. Especially mamma’s “little angel” sprout, who “born a natural chef understood the cosmic secret of tenderizing.” True tenderizing” often required multiple beatings with heavy clubs and the trampling of horses.

On the next fine Christmas Eve father had captured a group of five fat jolly missionaries. Momma tried to cook the first missionary by roasting him. The result was “ He’s too tough!”. She boiled the second missionary and that one came out of the pot “too mushy!”. The third was stewed and was “too stringy!” After the fourth ruined attempt, by baking, Mama Beane ran from the kitchen in tears, and exclaimed “ I Can’t get these missionaries to cook right!. I Tried baking, boiling, stewing, and roasting….I cant do anything right!”, she said, breaking down in tearful sobs. Sweet, dear little Sprout gently put his arm around his mom and hugged her.

He turned to his father and asked, “Daddy? What did these missionaries look like?”

“Why son, they were wearing brown robes with a rope around the waste and they had these funny haircuts….uh, with a bald spot on top.”

“Mama!” exclaimed their little guy, “No wonder!”, he said as he turned to the rest of the hungry brood……….“Mom! Those were Friars!”(This was the true origin of what is believed to be only a “sick joke”).

The whole Beane family enjoyed a hearty laugh that Christmas.

And the fifth frier was cooked “Just right.”

PART II

Great gobs of greasy grimey tourist guts, loose limbs and other edibles were soon festively hung on nice new shiny polished bone hooks upon the cave wall.

New and interesting travelers were dried, salted, pickled, and eaten nearly every day. Sometimes groups of travelers numbering as large as six were ambushed and murdered as the Sawney ranks grew. Meanwhile, the isolated children received no education except in the Beane clan’s “lifestyle” of murder, robbery, incest and cannibalism. All seized valuables, besides cash, were stockpiled in “Azuki’s room,” or the “bank” as it was called. Mung stacked the bones neatly or arranged them into gruesome dioramas in the many cavernous rooms toward the rear of the cave. Father demanded that nothing was to be thrown upon the beach that could later be cited as “evidence.”  The “close” family only went into town for essentials and tried to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible, wearing only their own old and worn clothing. They went about their business generally ignored. But the good people of Galloway always stopped to bless, comfort and visit with the frail, pale, sickly, but always optimistic Sprout (God bless him). Despite his presumably poor health (he faked a cough and used a phony crutch), Sprout was always spreading cheer and good will wherever he went (God bless him, again) while searching out “dinner selections” for his household.

As the family expanded, sometimes the younger children, after playing on the beach in front of their cave, would carelessly leave their “human erector set parts, and unfinished pickled and preserved left-over “happy dinners” discarded on the sand. A dangerous habit, because sometimes the body parts would surprise unwary beachcombers along nearby beaches, who would report their finds to the increasingly suspicious authorities . These authorities began to connect the huge number of missing travelers with the gruesome “treasures” found along the shore.

A search for the robber / killers began. Innocents, some who had just been been acquaintances of the victims, were expeditiously accused, tried and put to death for some of the crimes.

Oops.

Some of the accused (and later executed) were only guilty of being seen with a victim shortly before they disappeared.

Oops.

_________________________________________________________________

ARE YOU GOING TO GALLOWAY FAIRE?

Parsley, sage, Rosemary’s baby & thyme

As a family, the Beane’s, looked forward every year to the popular Galloway Summer Faire. They attended the 2-week-long event, faithfully, in fact every day.

One night, while returning home, though very tired, twenty of the Sawney clan decided on one last attack upon an unsuspecting well dressed couple traveling on the same quiet road toward the coastal Beane home. The Beane’s were first “forced to kill the unruly old dowager, Hillary,” because “she absolutely refused to let go of the earthly burden of her weighty jewels” (You know how those dowagers can really piss you off). During the negotiations “Get off your London Derriere!” and another attempt to “reason” with the old bat by using a wooden bat, a great tragedy occurred.  Chicky and Splitpea, two of Sawney’s grandchildren, were standing on the ground nearby. There they held onto the reigns of their own little ponies, the sky-blue painted Starflight and Angel Puff, to whom Splitpea had glued on a cute unicorn horn made of human bone. Splitpea had decorated the horn with real gold sparkles thereby making sweet Angel Puff look “like a real fairy tale princess’ pony.”

At that moment while the ex-dowager was being relieved digit-by-digit of her earthly burdens, Sawney cordially invited the more cooperative husband, Charles, down off of his steed with a crossbow arrow, so that they might also relieve him of the encumbrance of his own heavy purse. The crossbow arrow, which had lodged itself deeply into Charles’ shoulder, caused the rude old man to let out a piercing scream.  The horrible cry caused the dying old man’s horse to leap about, mistakenly trampling Sawney’s two moppets, Chicky and Splitpea under it’s considerable weight.

Sawney, outraged by the deaths of his two loved ones and the disrespectful behavior of the old couple, began to hack at the already dead but “considerably lighter” couple with his sword. The other Beanes, though a bit groggy, just couldn’t resist a good family hacking. The whole group suddenly “sprung to life” and joined in on the festivities.

While the Beane’s were busy in making merry upon the dismembered corpses, they failed to notice the arrival of twenty other late night revelers, also on horseback. The twenty citizens, on their way home from the fair, had unexpectedly arrived upon the “very sticky red” scene. The startled Sawney, while in mid-hack, heard the gasps of the new visitors.

Realizing that his family was unfairly outnumbered by an advantage of at least two people, he quickly ordered a retreat, leaving the freshly ground Chuck and Hillary with the stunned witnesses. The twenty travelers galloped back to the fair and located the Chief Magistrate, a huge 400 pound gent named William Wallass. There they revealed to him the details of the attack, which included excellent descriptions of the family of merry makers.

The Beane Stalkers

Once Magistrate Wallass had been given the description of the two trampled Beane children with their unicorn pony, everything suddenly came together in his mind…. Missing people, pickled parts near the beaches where the mysterious Beanes were sometimes spotted. Wallass quickly dispatched an Guaranteed-Over-Month-Chain-Mail (The latest “ fast dispatch offering” from the Mail Service of Scotland) to King James to request reinforcements. Wallass needed at least a hundred men to deal with the large Beane family. The outraged King himself joined his best officers plus 400 of his personal guard to deal with this threat to decency and local tourism.

Two months later, The King’s men “immediately” began to sweep the Galloway area.  While patrolling the sunny shore near the cave, search dogs began to howl. The scent of death hovered in the approaching thick fog. Some of the hounds began to dig through the wet sand near the water covered entrance of the cave. As the search for bodies began, the tide started to recede. Within an hour the red sandstone arch of the cave entrance, and a terrible stench (would you like flies with that?) was revealed.

With flaming torches and swords drawn , the Kings men began to “experience the living quarters” and “modern active lifestyle” of, according to magistrate Wallass, “a really unique group of individuals”.

Within the glimmering light of their torches, the damp walls of the cave revealed human body parts-not hung like the spoiled sides of beef on rusty old hooks in Connor’s Meat Shop-but tastefully displayed, in glorious tableaus, much like one would find painted on the side of an ancient erotic Greek vase. The ghostly glow of the soldier’s torches, divulged bundles of fine clothes and piles of jewelry in many side rooms.

Then little Sprout’s own treasure room was discovered. “Sprout’s Mountain of Bones” the crude sign on the draped door proudly announced (Sprout had learned to read while wandering through victim’s belongings). Inside the cavernous room an amazing sculpture, resembling “a terrible fearsome fish” was displayed as if in a modern natural history museum. It was a grotesque 90 foot monstrosity that had been growing and growing, bone by human bone, for over 25 years.

The terrible Fish Goddess Urtha.

##

Count your Beanes

Since they were a very “close” family, the authorities found all 48 Beanes (Yes, there were many new Beaney babies), together in the Great Dining Hall. They had prepared themselves a great Stew ( Lord Stewart of Gahoolie), and were busy eating him at the Great Round Dinner Table. They did not notice the intrusion of the 400 party crashers. The quiet family dinner suddenly erupted into chaos when one of the King’s men passed gas and other soldiers started to chuckle in the shadows. The rude sounds alerted the Beanes, and a short fight ensued when the forty-eight Beanes tried to flee armed only with dinnerware. The family didn’t get very far. The exit was blocked by the King’s armed guards.

Along with the King, the entire entourage marched off to Edinborough. The prisoners numbered 17 men and 11 women and the remaining “Beaney babies” and their own offspring. (Chicky & Splitpea had been squished by horses previously). All of the Beanes, except for Sawney and Eccy, had been raised as cave dwellers. The little ones had only been taught cannibalism, robbery, and murder as a normal way of life. For the incestuous (I’m sorry, “close”) Scottish cannibal family there would be no trial, as the Kingdom would have granted more civilized critters. Outcasts like the Beanes were given no rights. Even the great Cod, Urtha: a giant Atlantic Cod, would not take or answer their prayers in their time of need.

“I Beane. Therefore I was.”

The entire clan, Beanes and Beaney Babies, were executed the next day. Men were dismembered, just as they had done to their victims. Arms and legs were cut off while the Beane men were still alive. This first wave of bloody executions was witnessed by the women and the children who, though chained and in line for their own executions, still haggled over body parts.

Next, the clan’s women were burned like witches, to an extra-crispy golden brown. As they were given last rites, the women expressed no repentance and only remorse for the fact that they were the ones being cooked this day and had forgotten to wear their “special” blend of spices. (The clan used a combination of tomato sauce, vinegar, wine, salt, garlic, molasses and seasoning, regularly, as a perfume and aphrodisiac.)

The children, though ravenous by this time, were scolded and sent to their execution without dinner. Whether they knew the difference between right or wrong, it didn’t matter to the King, who said of the Scottish prisoners, “Just make sure they’re all KILT!!”

The quarter century crime spree was over. Forty-eight Beanes were supposedly put to death. However only 47 corpses were counted before tables were set for the soldier’s own special supper.

##

Sprout sprouts.

Little Sprout (God bless him everyone) had managed to escape by squeezing his sickly, pale, frail frame through a tiny rat size hole in the back wall of the prison. A hole which, unbelievably opened up into an immense ten mile long cave leading to a hillside behind a local Inn. The “inn” was, in reality, a house of ill repute called “Stallions Itchy Bagpipes.” Sprout emerged from the cave after crawling on his torn knees for nearly ten days. He had survived solely on rat meat, mold and frozen water, sometimes called ice. For the next year he survived by sucking on the filthy toes (He often had to be stopped from actually ingesting them) of the prostitutes who took in the lost little waif. By then, Sprout was nearly forty-two years old.

Years later, now quite handsome and well “filled out” at the tenderized age of 47, (His hormones “kicked in” at the brothel)“Sprout” Beane, was given two nick names by his adopted family. At first, he was given the name Ray because of his “sunny demeanor,” Later, some of the ladies began calling him “Croc” because of his dinner table etiquette.

Sprout often grabbed his “dinner” while it was still very “raw” (i.e. alive) He enjoyed rolling on the floor with his prey, their neck locked within his powerful jaws. In this way, he would break the neck of whatever poor creature appeared on his plate before eating it. It was nightly entertainment for the girls and their guests.

And finally, after a toe biting incident, he set out on his own (he was tossed out). When out in the big bad world he’d need a last name, a common name that would avoid any suspicion or investigation into his past life.

Ray adopted the traditional Scottish last name: MacHeath.

Shortly afterward, Ray “Croc” MacDonald set out on his own, to become a farmer like his great-grandfather, with one basic difference: no veggies. He soon bought a piece of land near the old cave and cleared out hundreds of square miles of “stupid plants!” “It takes them a month to realize that they’ve been killed,” he’d say, to raise his cattle. The beef that was produced by MacHeath’s “E-I-E-I-O” label was raised on a special feed derived from “sweet sheep brains”. In turn, the beef became legendary for it’s inherited sweet “intoxicating” flavor. Ray proudly proclaimed that his beef “pleases the human palate, while appeasing a more basic human longing for the mysterious tastes and aromas of more “exotic” cuisine peeking out from our dark prehistoric past. Flavors ingrained in our very human essence. Deep down in our oldest DNA. Odd whiffs of pleasure float, drift and dance out of the dark mist that shrouds our ancient past-whatever that drivel means.”

The most popular sandwich was, interestingly enough, the  everything-on-it “Mad Cow,” which was barely cooked and very bloody.

“Secret recipe?” he used to tell critics, “My ingredients cannot be found in a simple recipe!” I use my “family’s perfume” seasonings. Parsley sage and all that other horse manure–I mean…oops. There goes the secret in the “secret sauce”…

With his second litter of 28 children, (the first legitimate children that he had produced outside of the clan, with his first legitimate wife Moira), he opened up and operated 25 very successful MacHeath Family style inns across Europe throughout the 1800’s. The Inns all were fronted with a blood-red stone arch resembling the entrance of the sandstone cave of Sprout’s happy childhood. They were a “close” family prospered well into the 19th century. The Inns were sought out by travelers seeking Croc’s modestly priced, yet tasty beef sandwiches and his famous cut Potatoes (A Beane family recipe that Sprout would name after his beloved late sister, Frenchy).

For some unknown reason “Croc’s Baked Beanes” never gained acceptance with his diners. It is said, that the idea for “Baked Beane” came to Sprout, after being visited upon by his roasting female relations in a nightmare.

Well…maybe his heart, or someone elses just wasn’t in it.

It would be nearly two centuries later, when a Southern Colonel, T. Parker Kluck, a slave dealer, and restaurateur would add the “Baked Beane” recipe to the “Fried Peanut and Banana Sandwich” menu at his own eatery. Little Kluck’s Cabin was a place very popular with high ranking confederate officers. “Colonel” T. Parker Kluck, himself half-black,  was arrested and hung immediately after the end of the Civil War,  Apparently Colonel Kluck had dismembered, coated with sawdust, and boiled nearly fifty ”surplus” slave children (many, his own offspring) in pig fat, and then sold them to his patrons as Fried Breaded Poultry (real chickens were scarce after the defeat of Vicksburg). He originally had opened the restaurant, along with his/sidekick, “the most notorious member of the bloodthirsty Quantril’s Raiders” Lieutenant John Box, an “evil, jaundiced, acrobatic, grinning monster” whose legendary surprise attack techniques included pouncing upon (from a ground standing position) the backs of astonished Union soldiers who were on horseback during full gallop.

In 1996, Beane Babies (registered trademark MacHeath’s) were first offered on a trial run, with Big Seal Burger’s “Harpy Meals.” The babies (collect all 48) were designed to fit inside of each other’s stomach.

I also found out that the Sawney Beane family had another predecessor in Scotland. Christie Cleek (real name: Andrew Christie.) “Cleek” means hook apparently. Christie was a real butcher in Perth Scotland in the 1300’s who started a cannibal clan during a 14th century famine, and also hid his group in a cave and waylaid travelers by pulling them off of their mounts, but this time with a hook. He escaped death during a raid on his clan and later re-entered society.

Cute huh?

* The Southern Sea is historically he same sea that Bonnie lied over.