Barry gets Culture

"Can I have some more?" said a small voice.

"MORE?!" thundered the curator. The curator was a rotund old fashioned gentleman with a full moustache and greying mutton chops. He wore a waistcoat and carried a timepiece on a silver chain. At the moment he was peering through his monocle at a booger.

"Please sir, can I have some more?" asked Barry. "More culture that is, guv'ner!"

"Well, well, well well. Well my young booger this is indeed but a warehouse of culture!" boomed the curator "Come with me son and I'll show you all the culture you want!"

And so Barry was led into a large hall where many, many old and beautiful paintings hung.

"See this boy? Its a Goya and that there is a masterpiece by El Greco. Righ here is a Manet! And look a Velázquez!!"

The curator smiled kindly at young Barry. "Well Master Booger, do you know what all these painters have in common?"

"Yes,yes they are all spanish masters" Barry snapped back rudely "What about something that wasnt made 500 years ago? I want to seem something by Matisse or Monet or Degas! Oh please show me a Picasso!!!"

The curator sighed sadly. "Very well then, we are here but to serve the public, yes? Let me take this off the wall for you." He grunted as he lifted a heavy canvas off the wall. Alarms began to wail.

Barry looked worried " What are you doing, old geezer?"

"You wanted MODERN art, isn't it you little turd?" Foam appeared on the curators lips, a vein throbbed on his forehead. "MODERN art, boy? I got your modern art right here. Oh yes, right here" And with that he smacked Barry upside the head with Picasso's Chien.

Barry staggered back, the image of a small dog was smudged on his face.

The curator's onslaught continued "Do you want a Blue Nude? Both Picasso and Matisse have blue nudes. No maybe you'd like to see something by Degas, yes? Here have a shot of L'Absinthe you little turd!" One more smack upside the head. "You got culture yet, boy? Do you really get it?"

And Barry ran out of the museum to sit breathless on the steps in front. People smiled at the sight of that bruised booger. A friendly dog licked his face and then urinated on his leg. But Barry didn't notice any of it.

A deep sense of satisfaction filled him. He said to himself "Barry, old boy you've finally done it! You went out and got yourself culture. Today, Barry ban gaya jantalman!"

Barry, Lard of the Jungle

As a young booger, Barry wandered from village to village chased and taunted. He was a nomadic pariah of sorts. Sometimes even his god awful aroma wasn't enough to stop the smacking upside the head.

On one of these wanderings there was a particularly vicious stoning attack and Barry ran into the nearby jungle for sanctuary. Nursing his wounds, he wandered down a leafy path. The jungle was cool and dark, there was a smell of rotting vegetation. Animal calls drifted through the canopy of trees. Liquid darkness, a black panther dropped silently onto the path. Muscles moved like steel under his glossy pelt, cat eyes glowed yellow. The beast was magnificent, a killing machine, one of the most feared creatures of the jungle.

Within seconds, Bagheera was doubled over on the jungle floor. He was completely crippled by a combination of violent retching and hysterical laughter.

"What the **** are you?" he managed to wheeze out between another retch and maniacal laughter. "Man, I'd smack you upside the head if it wasn't for your god awful stench" More retching.

And so through the day, Barry went about debilitating the various power groups of the jungle. The grey wolves led by the wise Akela were next, Kaa the python after that, bandar log dropped from their trees, the agonized trumpeting of Hathi's elephants could be heard for miles around. By the afternoon the wild Red dogs and killer bees were also devastated, Baloo had a seizure. At night, the lame tiger, great Sher Khan was done in.

In the twilight, the groaning of the jungle denizens was a song of agony and death. All that remained standing were the very spawn of the devil. Brave Barry wandered into their domain and almost reeled at the stench. "Gadzooks, their aroma is as bad as mine and what is this green carpeting? Why it is their feces! Surely these beasts are not birds for their craps doest look like mine." From the shadows they stepped forth, waddling into the clearing, moonlight reflecting from beady eyes. Their leader, a brute of a goose, walked right up to Barry and smacked him upside the head. It cleared its throat, spat on Barry and croaked "We have never seen such a magnificent display of abonimability since Bappi Lahiri took our eggs many years ago. Our prophets speak of a chosen one who will leads us to glory. Thy odour and repulsive appearance mark you out to be the 'The turd who walks'." And all the geeses ran in up in joy to spit on Barry and smack him upside the head. "All hail Barry, the turd who walks! All hail the prince of turds!"

And thus Barry the Booger also became Barry, Lard of the Jungle.

Barry is born

Many have speculated that Barry was not born as other mortals. It is said a turd fell from the sky, grew limbs and oozed out of the sewer and into society. Others speak of a missing link between Homo Sapiens and gay monkeys. Yet another school of thought suggests that every age must have that guy you really want smack upside the head. But in reality, DNA sampling of Barry's cells shows close genetic matching to most vermin including rats, cockroaches, pigeons, geese, cows and Bappi Lahiri. He was hatched in the early 80's. His survival through that obscene decade is attributed to a foul odour more powerful than the impulse to bitchslap him upside the head.