Names that Need Characters to go with Them

Who is:

Wheedle Distromb

Offerlo Spitrip

Sister “Sweetie” Beetiara

Doonuts Rebarb

Klobflots Flabos

26 responses to “Names that Need Characters to go with Them

  1. Wheedle Distromb: Slightly plump evocator who runs a support group for displaced eskimos in Waco, Texas. His greatest accomplishment was fathering twelve children by twelve different women within a year in a small village in central Mexico.

    Offerlo Spitrip: Eighty year old Flamingo dancer, whom once dated Grace Kelly. His once famous saying about dancing, “Try not to spit when you let it rip”, was featured in the movie “Last Tango In Paris”.

    Sister “Sweetie” Beetiara: Everyone who meets Beetiara, feels they are in the presence of their grandmother. Her dirty little secret is when she’s alone, Sister Sweetie is the voice of “Delectable Darcel” at 1-800-callme phone sex line.

    Doonuts Rebarb: A mentally challenged ex-professional wrestler, he imagines himself living in Thomas Magnum’s guest cottage, whereas he really lives in a van by the river. He gets up every morning and drives his red Ferrari, really a red Fiero, to work at Dunkin’ Donuts.

    Klobflots Flabos: Trainer of the stars, he developed a routine that tones and shapes in 10 minutes a day. Only thing is, his wife, whom was Miss USA in 1986, now tips the scale at 310 lbs. Her exercise routine has a greater following, walking into Dunkin’ Donuts to sample Doonuts Rebarb’s work.

    • Your descriptions of your characters was very entertaining. I got tickled at several of them. I loved the displaced Eskimos support group although I think he needed another kind of support group. 🙂

    • I’m still trying to figure out what an evocator is. Also, I tried that 800 number, but the only person who answered was a machine for a company called Hot Friction Ball Bearings, Inc. I think we all need a support group.

      • Hi I am trying to send Ann Linquist an email, but cannot find any contact info to do so. If this actually makes it to someone who could send me the information. Thank You

      • Hi Karen,
        I don’t give out my email, but you can reach me here. –Ann

      • Thank you for the response, I understand about no giving out an email address, my question is when you teach your beginners writing course on ed2go are you a hands on instructor, or is it your assistants who respond and students deal with? That doesn’t sound nice, but I’d like to know before I sign up. Thank You.

    • Hi I am trying to send Ann Linquist an email, but cannot find any contact info to do so. If this actually makes it to someone who could send me the information. Thank You

  2. Wheedle Distromb, a fifty-eight year old proprietor of Distrombs Body Repair Shop, is rarely seen wearing anything other than blue jean overalls. He has been known to make exceptions for funeral home visitations. Lately, Wheedle has become dependent on the cash flow that Mayor Flabos provides, in exchange, for keeping quiet about his indiscretions. It has become a burden considering the shady characters that Distromb is forced to do business with.

    Offerlo Spitrip and Wheedle Distromb’s swear that they have been friends since first grade. Most days, Offerlo occupies his time at Distromb’s Body Shop. From time to time, he offers his opinion on what’s wrong with each vehicle. It can be a very lengthy opinion. Most people in town know to stand at least two feet back from Offerlo when he’s talking. He doesn’t have an inside voice.
    When he’s not at the body shop, he’s fishing or hunting (even when it’s not season). Word is around town that the game warden’s freezer is full of white perch and venison. The boys at the shop give Offerlo a hard time about never getting fined by Wildlife and Fishery.

    Klobflots Flabos is the forty-five year old mayor of Holly Springs. The only thing the Mayor loves more than being the Mayor is Mable. Mable is his blue, 1974 Fleetwood Cadillac Convertible. Mayor Flabos is often seen in Mable prowling around town with a new lady friend. Now, if he could figure out what to do with Junnerbug Flabos, his ex-wife. She is a constant thorn in his side.

    Sister “Sweetie” Beetiara can be found every Sunday morning talking with congregational members about their prayer request. She saunters down each aisle, wounding many a soul with her extravagant headpieces. Whenever confronted about her “gossip”, she makes it clear that she would not dare do such a thing. Wheedle Distromb has his doubts. He has overheard her on more than one occasion, whispering others’ “prayer request” to some the busy bodies in church.

    Doonut Rebarb is always having to push his black, framed bifocals up the bridge of his nose. The forty year old scientist carries a notepad with him at all times. He never knows when an idea might enlighten him. Though, the ideas and inventions had been tugging less frequently of late. Chartreuse Rebarb, his wife, left him three weeks ago. He has heard the rumors about Mayor Flabos, but chooses not to believe them. Mayor Flabos is a upstanding man in his opinion. Besides, Chartreuse has been submerging herself in her design company for the last three months. There is no way that she has had time for an affair. Sweetie Beetiara says that Doonut is a fool for love.

  3. It’s great how you wove them all together into a small town. I want that car! Great fun reading what your imagination can do.

  4. The town of Flatbread was but a drop of spit on a map. It’s population crested in the ‘50s at a thousand or so but today teeters at 400 residents. Including five Smiths. Five John Smiths.

    John Smith – the plumber – sat amidst his fellow Smiths at the picnic table at the town square for their Saturday morning Scrabble game. He cleared his throat, inhaled deeply, and made an announcement.

    “I am damn tired of being John Smith,” he proclaimed. The other Smiths looked at him to see where this was going.

    John Smith – the peanut farmer – replied, “Oh, yea? Maybe you want to change your name to Jones. There’s only one other Jones in town.”

    Two of the other Smiths joined in with a round of scoffing. John Smith – the retired Army colonel – was silent for a moment . He looked at his fellow Smiths and said, “John, that’s not a bad idea. We could use a bit of change in our lives. At least I could.”

    It didn’t take long for the group of Smiths to start nodding their heads in agreement. “So, how do we do this?” one Smith asked.

    The colonel, the only one with any such title and authority, started turning the Scrabble tiles letter-face down. “We’ll draw letters, and what we draw is our new names.”

    He began swirling the tiles around trying to ensure a good mix and drew one. He picked the letter “B.”

    The others began drawing tiles, in clockwise order, one at a time until they were all selected.

    “Do we have to use ALL the letters?” John Smith – the retired teacher – asked. The Smiths reached a consensus that this wasn’t required.

    As the five arranged their letters in front of them a chorus of chuckles began to rise.

    “I’ve got my new name,” announced “Offerlo Spitrip.”

    “Me too,” said “Wheedle Distromb,” barely able to contain his glee.

    “You may now address me as “Doonuts Rebarb,” chimed a third.

    Attention turned to the fourth Smith as he moved his letter tiles one last time. “There! I am now “Klobflots Flabos.” ”

    Attention turned to the Colonel. “Best I can come up with is, “Sweetie Beetiara,” he announced. “My luck to draw so many vowels.”

    Doonuts paused. “Colonel,” he offered with a bit of hesitation. “Isn’t there a Sweetie Beetiara who worked at the café before it closed?”

    “Damn, “Doonuts,” you’re right.” With that he picked a tile or two from each of his friends and added a word to his new name.

    “Sister?” they questioned out loud almost in unison “Sister Sweetie Beetiara?”

    “Yes, “Sister,” said the new “Sweetie” as he unbuttoned his starched shirt to reveal a floral camisole instead of a T-shirt. There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you guys.”

  5. Hollywood Herculaneum

    IV – Greek Love

    In the spring of 1924, young Klobflots Flabos, three thousand miles from Ellis Island and a million miles from anything he might call familiar, found work as a bouncer in the all-too-trendy Chiffon Club in West Hollywood. It was there, one booze-soaked morning, he was “discovered” by Henry Stillwell, an up-and-comer in the set design department at Warner. Henry, it seemed, had an eye for male talent and immediately saw to it that Klobflots Flabos, following a trip to the dentist, should become Simon LeFarve.

    The advent of talkies, ironic poison to some considered the Royalty of the silent era, actually helped the unwashed Klobflots, as his often pitiful attempts at speaking English sounded to middle-America, who largely didn’t know the difference between spaghetti and perciatelli, as though it came directly from the mouth of the Count of Monte Cristo himself. The Count, it should be noted while on the subject of irony, was very much like LeFarve. Both were purely imaginary.

    The young Simon, real enough for the LA vice squad, had his first brush with the law following a party held at the swank Burbank mansion of Peter Clemson. Pete, as he was known to the very few people who thought of him as something other than a low-life backstabber, had bet big on an East Coast musical with a Spanish flavor he was able to convince Jack Warner to make on the cheap. The $50,000 investment had made a cool mil for Warner and positioned Pete as a rising star at the studio. Simon, given a thankfully small speaking part in the production, had naturally been invited to the celebration. After a few minutes of semi-social small talk, and hours of heavy drinking, Simon LeFarve wound up in a fountain, a trip his rented tuxedo apparently did not make, with several male dancers who guests later claimed had been invited to provide the evenings entertainment.

    When someone called the cops, as “someone” always seems to do, the loyal studio staff were able to get things cleaned up to the point that only two dancers were hauled before a judge. The more important talent were free to go (there were plenty of rumors that LeFarve had not been the only star swimmer that night) but the studio was not about to be blind-sided by the cops or a public that would have been content to see even the most popular stars transformed into pillars of salt had they even an inkling of the goings-on in that fountain.

    A week later the papers began to pick up stories, all the creation of the studio PR department, that LeFarve had for some time been romantically involved with Ida Alleto, a “B” movie actress under contract to Warner, and that the two were shopping for a suitable home in which to begin a life together. The message was clear, any rumors of gay swimmers in fountain pools were just that, rumors, and nothing should be made of them.

    Rumors however, especially the ones that turn out to be true, have a life of their own, and the next time it would take much more than a Hollywood romance story to make them go away.

    The “next time” arrived in the summer of 1930. LeFarve, who by now had made fourteen pictures and had been nominated for an acting award, met a Marine on his first day of shore leave while visiting the pier in Santa Monica. The young fellow, fresh off the farm and new to the big city, enjoyed three nights in the Adelphia suite at the Beverly Hilton until a guest, complaining of “loud noises” coming from the room, called hotel security, who, without knowing the names of the people inside, referred the matter to the police. The Pansy Patrol, as they were unaffectionately known in film circles, found reefer, pills, and illegal alcohol. The evidence was logged before the evening edition went to press.

    The movie career of Simon LeFarve ended the next day before a judge in a Los Angeles County courtroom. A year in the slammer and a stack of unpaid bills were all that was left of LeFarve’s fifteen minutes of fame. All, however, turned out to be almost all, as the former Klobflots Flabos, rehabilitated by time and a parade of fresh Hollywood scandals, would ultimately use his many connections to start a company that did casting work for the major studios. In the 1950’s, he died in 1978 at the age of 70, Simon LeFarve returned to acting through guest appearances on numerous popular television shows including Gunsmoke, I Love Lucy, and the Texaco Star Theatre. He was typically cast as an aristocratic Latin, the role Hollywood had created him to play.

  6. I wake up this morning at ten o’clock and make myself a cup of coffee and sit down at the computer and check in with Facebook, Cowbird, Groupbox and my Creative Writing Teacher’s Blog, as I always do. Not a whole lot going on. However, the old gang from high school is going down to Florida for a class reunion, the skinny people, I think, and someone else on Facebook just got a new car. That’s enough.

    I finish up my coffee and go back to bed.

    I wake up again at two, to the smell of spareribs and potatoes cooking on the stove. Jim. I roll out of bed and make myself a plate of ribs and a smashed potato with gobs of butter and pop open a cold beer. Once again, I sit down at the computer and check in with the usual suspects. A good friend, Waldo, is off to Hatteras and prefers to eat his ribs alone, in the woods, with a beer and this makes me smile.

    I finish up my ribs and decide I’ll try to write a story about five ridiculous characters named Wheedle Distromb, Offerlo Spitrip, Sister “Sweetie” Beetiara, Doonuts Rebarb and Klobflots Flabos. Why? Because my old creative writing teacher posted the challenge on her blog so I figured, why not, what else do I have to do? (Besides clean the house and hem some curtains for a friend as I promised I would this weekend.) Cleverly, I decide I’m going to assign each character a role as one of the seven deadly sins. You know, lust, greed, gluttony, sloth, envy, pride and wrath. A subject that is heavy on my mind as I differentiate the nuances between gluttony and sloth when someone knocks on my front door. Ironic, I think, as I catch a glimpse of myself, Doonuts Rebarb, hereself, in the mirror. I am still wearing my wrinkled pajamas, my hair is unkempt and there is rib juice dripping down my chin. Sloth. I wipe the grease from my chin and open the front door.

    Looking rapt and radiant, it’s my old friend, Karen, with her husband, John. I have known Karen since Kindergarten and John is my ex-husband’s brother. Their children call me ‘Aunt Olivia’ and to my children they are known as ‘Aunt Karen’ and ‘Uncle John’. These are people who know me, really know me, and love me despite, well, me. I look around the house and apologize for the mess. I apologize for my own appearance and I even apologize for my fat dog but they each give me a big hug and lovingly tell me to shut up. Jim and I sit with them for several hours as we reminisce about the good old days. We even make plans, firm plans, to have dinner out together next Friday night. I make a reservation and everything.

    When they leave, little do they know, that they saved me from myself. If only for half a day. I go back to bed; I’ll do the dirty dishes tomorrow, I promise. And maybe I’ll write that story.

  7. oliviascarlett

    I wake up this morning at ten o’clock and make myself a cup of coffee and sit down at the computer and check in with Facebook, Cowbird and Groupbox, as I always do. Not a whole lot going on. However, the old gang from high school is going down to Florida for a class reunion, the skinny people, I think, and someone else on Facebook just got a new car. That’s enough.

    I finish up my coffee and go back to bed.

    I wake up again at two, to the smell of spareribs and potatoes cooking on the stove. Jim. I roll out of bed and make myself a plate of ribs and a smashed potato with gobs of butter and pop open a cold beer. Once again, I sit down at the computer and check in with the usual suspects. A good friend, Waldo, is off to Hatteras and prefers to eat his ribs alone, in the woods, with a beer and this makes me smile.

    I finish up my ribs and decide I’ll try to write a story about five ridiculous characters named Wheedle Distromb, Offerlo Spitrip, Sister “Sweetie” Beetiara, Doonuts Rebarb and Klobflots Flabos. Why? Because my old creative writing teacher posted the challenge on her blog so I figured, why not, what else do I have to do? (Besides clean the house and hem some curtains for a friend as I promised I would this weekend.) Cleverly, I decide I’m going to assign each character a role as one of the seven deadly sins. You know, lust, greed, gluttony, sloth, envy, pride and wrath. A subject that is heavy on my mind as I differentiate the nuances between gluttony and sloth when someone knocks on my front door. Ironic, I think, as I catch a glimpse of myself, Doonuts Rebarb, hereself, in the mirror. I am still wearing my wrinkled pajamas, my hair is unkempt and there is rib juice dripping down my chin. Sloth. I wipe the grease from my chin and open the front door.

    Looking rapt and radiant, it’s my old friend, Karen, with her husband, John. I have known Karen since Kindergarten and John is my ex-husband’s brother. Their children call me ‘Aunt Olivia’ and to my children they are known as ‘Aunt Karen’ and ‘Uncle John’. These are people who know me, really know me, and love me despite, well, me. I look around the house and apologize for the mess. I apologize for my own appearance and I even apologize for my fat dog but they each give me a big hug and lovingly tell me to shut up. Jim and I sit with them for several hours as we reminisce about the good old days. We even make plans, firm plans, to have dinner out together next Friday night. I make a reservation and everything.

    When they leave, little do they know, that they saved me from myself. If only for half a day. I go back to bed; I’ll do the dirty dishes tomorrow, I promise. And maybe I’ll write that story.

  8. oliviascarlett

    Sorry for the typo, hereself….what do expect from a sloth?

  9. oliviascarlett

    Thank you!

  10. oliviascarlett

    Thanks, Jeff, 101 Word Stories has published two of my stories and a third will be published 4/30. My real name is Mary Mack: http://www.101words.org/scream/

  11. OK, Ann. I know I made the town of Flatbread sound irresistable and that you are hiding out there under the name John Smith, but you are busted. Now, get your a&& back here. Jeff

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