I swear that this is a true story

Betty is lying on a beach, with a mojito in her hand, listening to the waves splash in the sea and feeling the sun on her face. The sand is golden and hot. She is reading a really good book like The Hunger Games and imagining that she too is a leader of rebels in a dystopian post apocalyptic future where she is fancied unconditionally by at least two really hot, strong men. Probably one of them looks a lot like Henry Cavill and the other one probably looks like either Samuel T Anders and/or Eric Bana. She is probably also humming something like Celine Dion, because that’s just the type of person she is.

A shadow is cast over her and she looks up to see a rather large, gloomy looking woman with big droopy breasts, a paunch that Father Christmas would be proud of and big chunky legs with the most horrific cellulite ever to grace any a person’s body. She is wearing an ill-fitting (and ill-advised) bikini that incredibly manages to be both too big and too small all at the same time. Don’t try to imagine that, it will break your mind. There are pubes sticking out everywhere.

Betty tries not to sick up all over herself, but she is nothing if not polite so she swallows most of it back down and casually spits the rest into her mojito.

BETTY: Err, hello? You are blocking my sun.
LADY: I know.
BETTY: Well, would you mind moving please? I’m trying to sunbathe.
LADY: Yes I do mind, I’ve decided I want to stand here.

Betty thinks this is weird, but she tries again.

BETTY: I’m having a nice time, please can you just move? There is plenty of room for you to go elsewhere, and there are plenty of other people on this beach you can stand over if you want to.

LADY: Yes, I know that, but I’ve chosen you and I’m going to stand here whether you like it or not. I’m not going anywhere.

Betty notices that when the lady talks she has black, scanky rotten teeth. The lady stares at her unblinking and with a big, wrinkly sausage finger picks her nose and digs around. After a few minutes, she pulls out the goods and flicks a crusty green bogie into Betty’s face.

BETTY: What the hell are you doing lady? Who the crap are you anyway?

LADY: I am Infertility and I just flicked a bogie at you.

BETTY: Well, nice to meet you. You are clearly a lunatic, now can you just piss off and leave me to my sunbathing?


BETTY: What is wrong with you? Just go away! You are in my sun, you are in my way and you are starting to ruin my day.


Betty looks at the lady again. She has never seen such grotesque features combined so offensively on one face before. They make Mr Potato Head look like Henry Cavill. She has lank, greasy hair cut into a mullet; the haircut that is known throughout the whole world to be the worst.

Betty knows that you can’t always reason with everyone, especially when they appear to be a raving lunatic, so she gathers up her things, throws the rest of her sick, bogie mojito into the sand and moves to another sun lounger, far away from the fat troll. She pauses for a minute to put her things back down again when she realises she undid her bikini top to avoid strap marks while sunbathing and had inadvertently exposed herself to the rest of the beach. Disaster averted and safely strapped back in, Betty finds a new sun lounger, lies her towel back down, stretches herself back out, and picks her book back up.

A shadow is cast over her again. Betty looks up, and she is pretty pissed now.

BETTY: Look Infertility, I don’t know what your game is, but I don’t want you here. I didn’t invite you over, I have done nothing to encourage you to stay. You are really irritating me, now just piss off.


BETTY: What is wrong with you? Don’t you have anything better to do? Why are you bothering me? There are literally tons of people here, go find someone else to annoy.



Infertility shrugs her shoulders.

INFERTILITY: Yeah, people call me that a lot.

BETTY: Good God, just leave me alone. I’m not going to say it again.


BETTY: FOR FUCK’S SAKE! Why are you doing this? What are you even doing? Why me? What have I ever done to you?

Infertility shrugs her shoulders again, and sniffs in that irritating, loud sniffy way that only really gross people can do.

INFERTILITY: You haven’t done anything to me, I just chose you at random to come and annoy. No reason really. Don’t even know why I picked you, it was completely arbitrary. No rhyme or reason. I just saw you sat there, having a nice time and I thought, meh, she’ll do.

Betty angrily smashes all of her beach paraphernalia into her beach bag.

BETTY: That’s it, I’m leaving. This is so weird, I have done nothing to you, I dont know you from Adam and yet you have picked me at random to ruin my day? Who do you think you are?

Betty steps away from the sun lounger and away from Infertility, but Infertility matches her step for step and blocks her path.

BETTY: Move please.

I told you Betty was nothing if not polite.

INFERTILITY: No, I’m here to stay. I’m. Not. Going. Anywhere.


Even angels from heaven have their limits.

INFERTILITY: No, look this is getting boring. I’m not going. I’m here to annoy you, and I’m here to stay. How many times are you going to ask me to go? Is there something wrong with your hearing?

Infertility reaches out and for no good reason, jabs Betty in the stomach. Betty groans and doubles over, white hot pain stabbing her in half, when Infertility turns around. In horror, Betty realises what is going to happen, but the pain is too much and she can’t move in time. Infertility pulls her pants down, and lets rip a huge fart in Betty’s face. Betty fills her lungs to scream, but it only serves to inhale more of the bum burp. Betty pukes everywhere. Infertility laughs and pulls her pants back up.

BETTY: (Weakly) I don’t deserve this. I haven’t done anything wrong.

INFERTILITY: (Nonchalantly) Yeah I know, I don’t care.

Betty might look like a puny weakling, but she has an inner core of really hard rock like that rock from Avatar that everyone wants because it’s really hard. She jumps up from the sand and smashes into the beast with all her might. Betty punches with every ounce of strength in her body, and bites and kicks until she has no energy left. Infertility smells like really smelly cheese, but unlike really smelly cheese which often tastes surprisingly good, Infertility tastes like sewage and dead rats.

Infertility thrusts her massive wobbly belly paunch at Betty and knocks her back to the ground. She looks down at Betty lying in her own sick on the floor and a wide, rotten smile of satisfaction spreads across her face.

INFERTILITY: Look love, you can’t go round me, you can’t tell me to leave, you can’t climb over me and you can’t punch your way through me. I am stronger than you and I am going to follow you around and annoy you for the rest of your life.

Betty looks up with a renewed sense of hatred for the repulsive, obnoxious being blocking her path.

BETTY: I am going to KILL YOU you stupid fat turd. I will make it my life’s mission to END YOU, even if it means spending ALL OF MY MONEY, and even if it costs me my SANITY I will BEAT YOU.

INFERTILITY: Good luck with that.

The End

BB xx

27 thoughts on “I swear that this is a true story

      1. jbella74

        Trust me!!! My sense of humor has definitely been altered in the last couple of years so I get it and you are speaking my language! LOL Don’t ever stop writing!

  1. missymakes

    I totally needed this at the end of a long day at work. You rock. I agree – never stop writing!

    Wait a minute – where are the illustrations? πŸ˜‰

    1. barrenbetty Post author

      Aww, thanks love! It started off in my head as a cartoon, but it would have been about 5000 pages, and I realised nobody apart from me would want read that!! I’ve been catching up with your blog this morning… Sounds like you a making good progress! Xxx

  2. Hippotobe

    I’m glad some one out there is going through the same path like me .I’m hoping that one day we will be blessed and our dreams come true

  3. Emz

    I’m not sure about the etiquet when commenting, is it OK to comment months after the fact? This story made me risk committing blogging faux paux. Pure dead brilliant (in the words of the Glaswegian contigency). Made me laugh and feel wee bit sick- not an easy combination of reactions to illicit- rock on. Just found your blog and catching up on your story from the start. Bugging my wife, WW with gigles. Love your writing (and cartooning) style!

  4. Pingback: How do you pee on yours? | barrenbetty

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