#Wilfred Buffman

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #298

Brain Curds are lightly edited daily writing - usually flash fiction and sometimes terrible on purpose.

Thanks for letting us be frank with you. Read the rest of The Frank Program here on Tumblr!

“Welcome back to The Frank Program. I’m your host, Daryl.”

“And I’m Big Mike.”

“Frank couldn’t make it today, since he’s currently on a scheduled rehab nature retreat.”

“What, a hike? I’ve never known the big guy to go on walks in all the years I’ve known him. Maybe he’ll be a whole new person when he comes back.”

“Yeah, I doubt it. Today’s guest is the author of Freezer Burn Abs, Mr. Wilfred Buffman. Is that your real name?”

“Yes’m, it is. Got called Wilfred by ol’ Granpappy. Ma wasn’t so interested in names, so she kept it for me.”

“Yeah, but…” Mike raised an eyebrow. “Buffman?”

“Ol’ Finnish surname, that is.”

“You’re Finnish?”

“No! Heh heh!” Buffman slapped his knee. “I’m just gettin’ started! Hoo hoo!”

Daryl didn’t chuckle in the slightest, though the corners of his lips twitched. “Charming. Mr. Buffman, would you care to explain the premise of your book?”

“Sure thing, little lady.”

“Uh…” Mike held up a finger. “He’s a dude.”

“Hm.” Buffman examined Daryl. “You reckon? That’s mighty shiny long hair for a man.”

“Daryl, I told you you should have gotten a haircut.”

Daryl glared at Mike. “I did. Mr. Buffman, please continue.”

“Alrighty. Well, it all started when my beloved, Maria, died. I was in-console-able. Couldn’t stop the cryin’ for weeks. I felt my masculinity slippin’ away from me like a meltin’ freezer pop.”

Mike almost looked like he was going to start crying for weeks. “You lost your wife? What happened?”

“Wife? I ain’t never been married. Maria was my sheep dog. Herded my goats like a champ, she did. Anyways, I figured I needed to stop cryin’ if I was to move on with my life, but I couldn’t quit. So I hopped inta the frigid deep.”

Mike gasped. “You went swimming in freezing water?”

“No, no, listen to me, ya city slicker. We ain’t got pools in my neck of the woods. I hopped into my chest freezer in the ga-rage.”

Daryl nodded. “Yes, yes. This was all in the book, Mike - did you not read it?”

Mike sulked. “I had to go to a hearing yesterday.”

Buffman continued. “I sure weren’t ‘hearing’ much in the freeze. Snuggled up with the steak and brisket for hours, I was, hopin’ if the freezer could keep meat juices from flowin’ it could do it to my tears just the same.”

Mike sniffled. “I had a dog when I was little…”

“Sorry, Mike, but you’ll have to save that story for the next time you’re our guest.” Daryl patted his shoulder. “Mr. Buffman, my apologies for the interruption.”

“You’re a real beta, ain’t ya?” Buffman growled. “Apologizin’ for another man’s tears has gotta be the lowest cowardry I come across.”

“So it’s cowardly to be polite?” Daryl’s jaw quivered with rage, but he only shook his head. “Forget it. Tell us more about what happened in the freezer.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Pretty-hair. What happened was I figured out that I loved it so much in there I fell right to sleep. Didn’t come out for five hours, and when I did, I was fulla energy not like any I’d ever felt. I was a new man. My abs were chiseled like one o’ them fancy ice sculptures you see in the movies.”

“So, you claim that by following your regimen, other men can quickly and easily improve their muscle definition?”

“That and a few more lil’ things. Or not so lil’, if’n you pick up what I’m smellin’.”

“Great that we’ve got that all established. Very inspirational.” Daryl pulled a folder out from under the desk. “Now I’d like to talk to you about some not so inspiring factoids. According to a report from the Safety Commission, the number of children climbing into freezers has increased twofold since the wide release of your bestselling book.”

“Sounds like good news t’ me.”

“And a large portion of those children suffocate and die. What do you think of that?”

“I think that sounds like nat’ral selection. If’n they got too small’a lung capacity to handle it, they ought be not carryin’ on wastin’ good oxygen.”

Mike tugged on his collar. “Yikes.”

Daryl went to the next page. “But forget about the dead children for a moment. There’s also that nagging matter of your history with eugenics advocacy groups. You believe you are qualified to decide who should live or die?”

“Nah… hell, that’s God’s job. I just think we shouldn’t be savin’ lives that ain’t worth a damn. Let The Lord sort ‘em out.”

“Daryl,” Mike whispered. “Where do you find these guys? I’m scared.”

“Get used to it,” he whispered back. “This is real journalism.” He straightened out his back and stared down Buffman with great confidence. “So let me summarize, Mr. Buffman. You believe in the culling of the ‘weak’, and you have gleefully raked in the money from a book that instructs readers to climb into their refrigerators and possibly suffocate.”

“Like I said, it’s in God’s hands whether my methodry makes a man stronger or weaker. Not mine.”

Daryl sighed. “Wow. I didn’t want to pull out this last tidbit, since it seems a touch too on-the-nose, but here goes it. I couldn’t make this up if I tried, folks, but this man’s real name? Wilfred Hitler.”

Mike was dumbstruck. “Seriously?”

Daryl nodded. “Seriously.”

Buffman shrugged. “It was a common name back in the day, where I come from.”

“You’re from New Jersey. I found your birth certificate, sir - you’re not eighty years old like you’ve publicly claimed for the past several years - you were born in 1973. You don’t even have your AARP card yet. Given that, I don’t think your physical appearance is all that impressive. You’re not only a eugenicist and a candidate for being called ‘literally Hitler’, but you’re a pathetic fraud, too. How do you sleep at night?”

Buffman smirked. “Mighty cold.” He got up from his seat and walked to the other side of the table, sticking his face right up to Daryl’s. He let out a low, guttural growl: “Then I fry up my pillow for breakfast.”

Mike shook as Wilfred exited the studio and slammed the door behind him. Daryl was stirred, too, but better at hiding his emotions.

He took a deep breath. “That’s been today’s episode of The Frank Program. Thank you for letting us be frank with you.”

“Daryl, should we… should we call the cops?”

Please comment, reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed - I'd love to know what you think! See you again tomorrow.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #309

Brain Curds are lightly edited daily writing - usually flash fiction and sometimes terrible on purpose.

Thanks for letting us be frank with you. Read the rest of The Frank Program here on Tumblr!

Daryl was dressed differently today. Very differently. Usually, it seemed, Daryl was the type to just throw on whatever happened to be clean and walk right out the door without so much as brushing his hair, but today he wore skinny jeans, a black t-shirt, and… eyeliner?

Big Mike was perplexed, but there wasn’t so much space in his head for that. There were greater concerns - namely, the existence of a maniac named Wilfred Buffman.

Daryl was uncharacteristically chipper. “Welcome back to The Frank Program. I’m your host -”

“Actually, Daryl,” Mike tapped his shoulder. “I think we should talk about this before we start recording.”

“Why?”

“Because now, there are three threatening letters. They’re made out of newspaper clippings, dude, like straight out of a movie! And I don’t want to say who I think they’re from on air…”

“Mike, this is proof that what we’re doing is making an impact. Before, this show was a joke. Everyone listened just to laugh at us. We couldn’t interview guests to save our lives. Now it’s doing something. That televangelist asshole is off the air.”

“But, uh…” Mike grimaced. “Maybe another recent guest may be a little more of a��� problem? He seemed a little, uh, fucking nuts.”

“Mike,” Daryl patted his shoulder. “Chuck Tangent may be a psychopath, but he’s totally harmless.” Daryl turned back to the microphone. “With me in the studio, as always, is Big Mike. Frank couldn’t be on call today because he’s busy going through withdrawal.”

“Isn’t it a little late in his treatment to go through withdrawal?”

“Normally, sure. But he got into the medicine cabinet. Anyway… Today’s guest is one of the most influential guitarists of the last four decades, has written a whopping twelve number-one singles in his native United Kingdom alone, and is the (recently former) frontman of the rock band, Posh Death. Barry Hacksneer, welcome to the Program.”

“Thanks for havin’ me.” Barry wiped his nose on the sleeve of his denim jacket.

“Barry, I’ve got to ask -”

“Ack-chully… call me Mr. Hacksneer.”

“Alright. Mr. Hacksneer…”

“Ah, yeah. That’s good.”

“What influenced your band to break up after forty-seven years recording and touring?”

“Hm. Just felt like the time, really. Y’know, you stick around with the same mates for that long and all the ideas just get stale. We’re old geezers, now, might well act like it and go to the home.”

“So it wasn’t creative differences?”

“No, love, it was creative sameses. In addition to us all mute-ually hating each other’s guts. But don’t fret, I’ve already started recruitin’ for a new band. It’s called Posh Wank.”

Daryl giggled.

“Aw, there’s that smile. I may not be playin’ anymore, but FYI I’m still always on the hunt for groupies.”

Mike leaned over to whisper in Daryl’s ear. “I think he’s hitting on you, dude.”

“So what?” Daryl whispered back. “I’m pretty.”

“Aren’t you like seventeen?”

“Sixteen.” Daryl cleared his throat. “Mr. Hacksneer, I pored over years of interviews with you and I was shocked that nobody seemed to ask. My favorite track of yours, hands down, is Human Carousel. Some may consider it a deep cut, but I’m curious about the writing process.”

“Fucked if I know, honestly. I was on too many drugs and too many sixteen-year-old girls were on me, if you catch my drift. Which album was that one on, love?”

“1789, Posh Death’s third album from 1983.”

“Ah yes, the Frenchie Tour.”

Big Mike once again whispered in Daryl’s ear. “Dude, are you just gonna let him admit to statutory and not say anything?”

Daryl shrugged. “It’s not like he’s hiding anything. What am I supposed to do? He probably wouldn’t do it again.”

“Daryl, I’m telling you, he’s actively trying right now.”

“Mike, with all due respect, shut up.” Daryl put his smile back on and leaned his elbows on the table. He looked Barry Hacksneer right in the eyes. “So, what’s it like to ride the Human Carousel?”

Mike didn’t give the aging rocker time to answer. “Actually, I have a better question, Barry, why were you fucking sixteen-year-olds?”

“Ha! Listen, mate, I only messed around with the ones who wanted it, yeah? I ain't no Jimmy Savile but I didn’t have the time to be checking IDs all night like some low-life bouncer either. Also, and I’ll tell you this because you don’t seem well-travelled, sixteen is the age of consent in many jurisdictions.”

“You’re disgusting, man. They’re kids!”

“And you’re a stubborn git. What, you’ve never hit on someone younger? Perfect angel, are you?”

Mike thought back to his interview with Rhonda Pope - one of the most disastrous moments of his life. Ms. Pope wasn’t a minor, but she was still less than half his age. Was he really no better? Did anyone know - him included - how far he might have gone if she’d taken him up on his offer of a drink?

Mike collected his resolve. “At least I regret my mistakes. You’re bragging about them.” He pointed to the door. “Get the fuck out of this studio.”

Barry scoffed and shook his head. “Whatever, mate.” He got up and walked toward the exit, but double-took at Daryl. “Wait a tic… are you a bloke?” He looked the teen up and down. “Not to be rude, mate, but I thought you were a bird. Probably wouldn’t ‘ave cared, honestly. Oh well.”

Hacksneer left and Daryl immediately punched Mike in the arm. “What the hell?!?”

“You’ll thank me when you’re older. Teenagers are all hopped up on hormones… I can’t stand by while you make a decision you’ll regret. What kind of friend would I be to your dad?”Daryl grumbled. “This has been The Frank Program… Thanks for letting us be frank with you. Dammit. Never gonna have another chance with a rockstar now…”

Please comment, reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed - I'd love to know what you think! See you again tomorrow.