They walked in through the out door speechless.

“Where in *cough* the motherfuck have *cough* you two been?” yelled Agnes, pretending to care. She and Mildred hadn’t even noticed THEABS had been missing until five minutes prior to the boys’ return. Coincidentally, this was also when they ran out of their stash of industrial-strength Dextromethorpha. Needless to say, they were edgy.

The boys continued their silence.

“You *cough* answer your mother *cough* immediately!” piped in Mildred, abnormally animated.

“Mother? You’re not our mother! Neither of you are!” cried THEABS-right. These were his first words.

And they wouldn’t be his last.

Weeks passed by and not a single word was uttered between parties. THEABS had done all but shut themselves out of their foster mothers’ lives. Most of the time the ladies didn’t really give a flying fuck about anything but cough suppressants, bean flicking and salad tossing. Yet every once in a while their insatiable appetite for sex and drugs would wane and they’d long for the adoration of their adopted sons. An adoration that was fleeting at best. 

“Something must’ve happened that afternoon, Mil.” Agnes said, bewildered.
“What afternoon, Aggie? I don’t even know what week it is.” Mildred responded.

She was high. Very, very high. 

“You know which one, babe. When the boys disappeared? That day we watched the zoophilia porno and tried to reenact what the zebras did? You must remember! You said you hadn’t been fisted like that since the Vietnam famine of ‘49!”
“Oh please, Aggie! I say that all the time. It’s like what my step-daddy always told me: ‘You been fist-fucked once, you been fist-fucked a gajillion times. Now fetch me a fucking Pabst and roll me a smoke, you silly harlot’.”
“Your step-daddy always had a way with words.”

Mildred’s step-father was George Merriam.

Meanwhile, in their bedroom THEABS was listening in to their babbling, inebriated mothers.

“Jesus, don’t those two ever shut the fuck up?” THEABS-right exclaimed. Ironically, he’d been speaking up quite a bit himself since his recent outburst. He’d also started drinking considerably, much like his brother. In fact, most of their days were spent either in their bedroom shotgunning pilsners or sneaking out at night to rob area liquor stores. They were easily the most ambitious kids on their block.

“Apparently not, bro. Pass me another brewdog. BROSEF’S THIRSTY!!!!!!”
“Do you think we should tell them what happened that day, T.L.? Maybe that’ll get them to shut up and get things back to normal.”
“Normal? Things will never be normal, bro. That day… that day was life-altering.” THEABS-left responded.

That day, the boys discovered a man. But not just any man. An actor, a star. What’s more, the man bore such a striking resemblance to them that it couldn’t be any coincidence. Their collective intuition was too strong. They knew.

“Moms lied to us, bro. F. Murray Abraham? Are you fucking joking? Sure it made sense at the time. I mean, how couldn’t it? The man is a master of his craft. But come the fuck on. I know you’re just as pissed about this as I am.” T.L. continued.
“No no no, you’re right, Left.
“Ooh, I see what you did there! That was cute. Pass me another, bro.”

And so the boys continued to get shitfaced and determine whether or not to confront their mothers about the day in question. The day in which they discovered one Richard Mulligan.

Their father.

so, what’s the secret to the diet?  All whey protein and VALTREX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

please note that The Theabs Diet should not be confused with The Abs Diet

“Please, mommies?! Pleeeeeeeeeease?!?!?!” T.L. begged.

It was the week before Christmas, the year of our lord 1984. All that was on the minds of children across the globe was the anticipation of presents. But not THEABS.

After all, THEABS was no ordinary child. He was two children, each of which brilliant and advanced and hung and hungry all the like. They shared a zest for life unlike other children their age. Toys? Fuck toys. These two were into gonzo snuff cinema, fine wines, aged cheeses and progressive sodomy. Not unlike a swabbed throat testing for strep or Boy George’s club, these two were cultured.

And on the mind of both THEABS-left and THEABS-right this cold, wintry day was being first in line to see Blake Edwards’ latest farce: Micki + Maude.

“Absolutely not!” Agnes responded to their plea. “It’s PG-13 and last I looked, you were 7ish.”

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?!?!?!?!?!?!??!!?”

But she wouldn’t budge. And neither would Mildred, though for other (read: morphine-induced) reasons. What she didn’t know was that the persistence of her adopted sons would eventually win out. Most likely because she was too busy diligently performing analingus on her partner and didn’t see the two lads sneak out the front door.

“You got a car, T.R.?” T.L. asked his mute brother. No response. “Shit, of course not. We’re seven. Hmmmm. Looks like we’ll have to improvise.”

The twins surveyed their surroundings, hoping something or someone that could magically transport them to the Sioux Falls Cineplex would catch their eye. Lo and behold the resident drunkard Santa Claus appeared, off to make his daily wasted rounds to the front doors and living rooms of the homes within the community. He was a neighborhood legend. An icon. And not at all a sex offender (it was thrown out of court).

They had an idea. Surely Santa could take them to the theater in his sleigh, right?

“Santa! Santa!” T.L. screamed. T.R. threw in a couple of grunts and drools for good measure.

Oh no, it’s those fucking weirdo kids from the dyke drug den, he thought.

“Why hello there, kids! Ho ho ho!” he responded, like a professional.

“Santa! Santa! Can you take us to the movies in your sleigh? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?!?!?!??!” T.L. asked.

What the fuck do these two weirdos wanna go to the movies for? They’re ruining my fucking buzz. Plus, I don’t even have a fucking sleigh! It’s an ’81 Cutless! And I sure as fuck ain’t taking these annoying little yahoos on some fucking joyride around the city! Also, my license is suspended. And while I wasn’t convicted, I’m not supposed to spend more than 30 seconds around a minor. I’ll just give them some candy canes and send them on their way, he thought.

“Here, have some candy canes, boys!” he countered.

But as he reached into his bag to present the boys their delicious gift, THEABS-right began to chew on Santa’s leg.

“What in the motherfuck?!?! Get the fuck off of me you little freak!!!!!”

But T.R. would not relinquish his bite. He had felt like a lesser-than for too long and wanted to be an equal conspirator. While he may not have been able to speak, he sure as fuck could masticate on a patella. He was indeed his birth mother’s son.

“Give us the keys to your car and I’ll get him to stop, S.C.” THEABS-left bartered.

The pain was excruciating. T.R. had dagger-like incisors, not to mention was growling and gurgling like some rabid, tetanus-infested animal. There was nothing Santa could do but give up the keys.

“Oh, the flask, too.”

Typically this would not stand, but the agony was too great. He threw his prized carafe of peppermint schnapps towards the boys and THEABS-right surrendered his grip, teeth ripe with flesh, blood and polyester. 

“Now we’re talkin’. Let’s hit it, bro!” T.L. exclaimed, a hint of Jake Blues in his voice. The boys jumped into the Cutless with the gusto of ten thousand bulimics at a syrup of ipecac convention.

“Bro, you handle the pedals. I’ll do the drinkin’ and drivin’.” T.L. ordered, much to the delight of his right half. T.R. liked pedals. He also enjoyed won ton soup and spanking it to Bryan Adams’ Reckless LP, but that was inconsequential at the moment. They were off to see Micki + Maude!

Little did they know it would forever change their lives. 

“Mommies, where do we come from?” the left portion of THEABS asked Mil and Aggie.

The right portion had not spoken since the separation. It had been 4 years. But the elderly couple did not worry. They were vaj-deep in an anthill pile of Sweet and Low tiletamine. Their collective attention could only grasp the immediate tasks at hand and the mute nature of one half of their adopted child was not on the list.

“Wow, quite a question from such a precocious little boy! Mil, you wanna take this one? It’s my snort anyway.” Aggie replied, fucked up to the gills.

But Mildred, like THEABS-right, was silent.

“Mil?” Aggie inquired. She turned to see her lover stagnant, sheet-white. Eyes were blood shot and wide open like an owl’s. Her face motionless. Her nose crimson.

She got this way pretty often these days. Often enough that Agnes could just shrug it off and continue in her own grotesque indulgence.

“Roll tide, Mil. Roll tide.”

And so the existential question went unanswered, leaving both THEABS to do some research on their own. Thumbing through stacks upon stacks of magazines and newspapers, they were dedicated to finding the answer.

While silent, T.R. was not completely useless, providing his more able-bodied brother with knowledge in his own ways. More specifically, if he felt he had uncovered a critical piece of information, T.R. would maniacally jerk off all over the pages.

One particular article, in fact, had tickled his fancy and he unloaded a dollop-sized stream of toddler gravy upon it. T.L. knew his brother must be on to something.

“Thatta boy, T.R.! See? You really can help!” he exclaimed as he surveyed his brother’s discovery: a Boy’s Life interview with actor F. Murray Abraham.

In the Q&A, the thespian was promoting his new film, Amadeus, in which he gave the “performance of a lifetime.” His temperament came across as borderline megalomaniacal; he made outlandish statements about the power of his sperm and no less than 176 times referred to himself as “God.”¹ It was these proclamations that had caught T.R.’s attention.

“This makes perfect sense, T.R.! It reads here “Charlie Parker’s jazz sure as fuck ain’t the maker of men. Mine is. Abraham out.” Men are what boys become. We’re boys! And this periodical is about the life of boys! This must be where we come from!!” T.L. said, not at all reaching.

Excited as though they solved some great mystery, THEABS took the Boy’s Life issue to his mothers to show them their unearthing. However they were having “mommy time,” and the boys knew they were not to be disturbed.

But they couldn’t wait.

Bursting through their bedroom door, T.L. screamed with elation: “Mommies! We come from F. Murray Abraham!”

Agnes removed her face from Mildred’s Sahara-dry lab-maj and burst into laughter.

T.R. handed her the magazine, still soaked in his joy juice. “Well, he does make some pretty valid points in here. And he did play Omar in Scarface. What do you think, Mil?”

“I think you need to get back in here and finish whatcha started. I’m incomplete², you fucking cunt-tease!”

And that was that. THEABS came from F. Murray Abraham. Or so they would believe for years and years…

— 

¹Alec Baldwin would later site this interview as his inspiration for his role in Malice.
²In 1988, Mildred and Agnes would unsuccessfully sue Van Halen for stealing one of their many intimate bedroom quips.

Word To Our Moms
by Theabs, after Currin
painted in Kindergarten

It wasn’t until their third Halloween together did Mildred and Agnes come to the conclusion that perhaps THEABS should be separated. Sure, the topic had come up before; but they loved the deformed clump the way he was! And how couldn’t they? They made Paul Newman the actor look like Paul Newman the popcorn drenched in Light Honey Mustard salad dressing… BY PAUL NEWMAN!!!!!

All that aside, it was that fateful evening of October 31^st 1980 in which the once streamlined THEABS became divergent. One mind became two.

When given the choice between apples and Milk Duds whilst trick-or-treating at a neighborhood home, THEABS grew confused.

“Dud-ples!” THEABS muttered.
“Oh you silly, adorable little retard! That’s not one of the choices!” replied the neighbor.
“You’ll have to excuse THEABS! He’s still getting used to the English language. We’ve primarily been speaking PanAsian in the house!” Mildred lied, visibly concerned. And also high. Very, very high.

At first Mildred thought perhaps it was her increased intake of drencrom and Valtrex Fudgicles that was causing THEABS to “act out.” After all, she had been greatly impacted by the recent death of Bon Scott and ingesting more than her usual share of narcotics, much to the chagrin of Agnes.

But her partner knew better. Agnes had a feeling this day would come and knew she and Mildred would have to come to a decision on whether or not to separate the young lad from itself. It was unfair for their little bundle to think such things as Dud-ples actually fucking existed. Their Newman-esque looks were only going to get them so far and they deserved better.

“I think it’s time, Mil.” Agnes admitted, nearly in tears.
“Me too, Agnes. This latest batch was weaker than Freddie Mercury’s handshake. Dang ‘mo. Pretty voice, though. Terrrrrible overbite! Those silly Brits!” Mildred replied.

She was high. Very, very high.

“No no, Mil. Not the drugs! For once it’s not about the fucking drugs! And I actually thought the last batch was rather potent, but that’s neither here nor there. Oh and I second your emotion on Mercury’s overbite. You’d think the success of ‘Killer Queen’ could’ve afforded him some dental insurance! Ummm, where was I?” said a lost, also fairly high, Agnes.
“I love that song. You’re my killer queen, Aggie.”

And then they fucked for a while. A long while.

When Thanksgiving came around, the problem rose once again.

“White or dark meat, THEABS?” Agnes asked her beautiful boy(s) while serving the feast.
“WHARK!!! WHARK!!! WHARK!!!” THEABS chanted.
“That’s it! The last straw! I am calling the hospital first thing tomorrow. No more debating it, Mil.”

Mildred agreed. But she couldn’t wait. She had been smoking thalidomide nutella for weeks on end and had grown impatient, agitated. She grabbed the carving knife out of Agnes’s hand and in one fell swoop sliced THEABS perfectly in half. 

“Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, Aggie.”

1976’s Mother, Jugs & Speed was the most revolutionary film of all time.  The following year, Star Wars was released and everyone forgot all about the mindblowingness that was Mother, Jugs & Speed.  Well, everyone except for Theabs.  You see, Theabs were (and still are) bigs fans of blue comedies AND black comedies AND comedies starring black people AND jugs (of any color).  Well, Mother, Jugs & Speed was the perfect hybrid of all that and flazzum.  Yes, flazzum, as it starred their Lord of Flazzum, Bill Cosby.  The film went on to win 29 Theabsies at the 9th Annual Theabsie Awards, which was held at the Fort Wayne Howard Johnson. 

Mindy returned to Sioux Falls broke and broken. Richard had left her in the cold; she was without love or a career. All she had was THEABS.

Sadly, she was growing tired of them. Despite being a beautiful child (children?), it remained a constant reminder of the one true love of her life.

What’s more, she was a shell of her former self. The loss of Richard left her usually voracious appetite for Jamoca® Almond Fudge diminished; a rapid loss of baby fat and, even further, her quasi-trademark curves soon followed. It was this rubenesque figure that had won her so many roles in Hong Kong. She was in a rut and needed to act fast.

Upon scanning the classified section for acting work, Mindy came across an ad in search of a “portly female for new Charlotte Rae vehicle.” She ran her hands across her once-plump belly and immediately scowled. 

“Portly? That used to be my middle name!” she thought, despite her true middle name being David.

And at that very moment, she spied an advertisement in the newspaper that could potentially solve all of her problems. Well, most of them.

 Mindy was still saddled with the sudden burden of motherhood. And while she loved THEABS dearly, she knew he would do nothing but derail her dreams.

“You deserve a real home, THEABS. A house of love and dumplings and caramel corn and smiles. A home that I cannot give you.” Mindy exclaimed to her prides(s) and joy(s). T’was at that moment THEABS vomited Enfamil all over their mom’s saggy cans.

This was by no means a coincidence.

Shaken but not entirely stirred, Mindy cleaned herself off, gathered THEABS and found the first innocent-looking home she came across. It happened to be the residence of septuagenarian sisters/lovers Mildred and Agnes Theabs.

This was by every means a coincidence.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Mindy set THEABS at the doorstep, rang the bell and ran off towards her dreams.

Fittingly, as Agnes opened the front door a lifelong dream of her own was becoming a reality. South Dakota frowned upon homosexual unions, let alone those of incestuous lesbian couples. What’s more, they were, to quote U.S. Representative Ellis Yarnall Berry “against the granting of adoptions for these godless souls. Even the older black fellers no one wants. ”

Sitting on her front step was what Agnes’s “godless soul” had been longing for her entire life.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed. “Mildred! Put down the straw and come hither, sweetums.”

Mildred had been mid-snort a rather complex cocktail of Muesli and Sulazine EC. However, she could tell by the excitement in her partner’s voice that this was one bump worth postponing.

“Well what do we have here?” Mildred asked.
“This little bundle of love was here when I answered the bell, Mil.” Agnes answered.
“Well isn’t it our lucky day! Oh look, there’s a note.”

 Agnes picked up the note. It read:

2-FOR-1 SCOOPZ @ 31FLAVEZ. PLS WATCH BABY THEABS 4 ME. GOTTA GET FAT 4 TV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BE BACK IN 1990.

Theabs is sponsored in whole by JewJuBes, because we couldn’t reach a deal with the makers of Charleston Jews.  Damn Jews, controllers of the media AND the confectionery industry!!!

The Immaculate Conception.

Mindy was your average not-Asian-though-sorta-Asian-looking lass living in the economically affluent city of Hong Kong in the 1970’s. As a budding actress with an unhealthy Ultraman obsession, she was destined for a life of unluckiness in the love department. Her most promising prospect to date had a fetish for socket-fucking and poached eggs. 

It was at a taping of popular variety show Enjoy Yourself Tonight that Mindy’s luck would forever change. In what seemed like nothing more than a simple twist of fate, her eyes cast upon a handsome, rugged American man by the name of Richard. A fellow actor (though of considerably far more success), he had just completed a stint portraying Granville Whipple on Little House on the Prairie. He knew she was special, different, the second he returned the glance. He knew she was cut from the same cloth as he, and not because she was American. In fact, her ethnic ambiguity puzzled him until the day he died. He approached her immediately. She had to be his. 

It was only a matter of time that his swarthiness would overcome her. He was older. Cultured. Everything that Mindy wanted to be, yet with a horse cock and chin dimple seemingly etched by Praxiteles. She was not like any other woman he had ever been with in that she was so much more. She liked ice cream cones. Specifically sugar. Coincidentally, his nickname at university was Dr. Creamjeanz.

Their first (and, sadly, only) date took place the day after their initial meeting. They attended a screening of the classic Sansho the Bailiff; Richard’s suggestion, as he was researching a role that would later go to another actor of a similar name (BUT NOT TALENT!!!!!). As one can imagine, one thing lead to the other and soon enough Mindy and Richard were playing a game of “cut a hole in the bottom of the popcorn tub so I can give you a sloppy hojo.” Upon ejaculation, she smothered his man gravy onto an Ultraman toy and engulfed herself with it.

“This is not Method,” Richard replied, storming out of the theater. It was the last she would ever see of him.

Eleven months later, Mindy gave birth to siamese twins. And instead of two names, she gave it one: THEABS.

This is their story.