Some people have a fairy godmother. Klugg is my swamp monster god-uncle.
Klugg can’t fly like other fairies but he claims to be fifty percent crawdad. I think that’s a lie — he looks more like eighty.
When I wished for a fairy on my ninth birthday I got Klugg: The Bayou Swamp King. He climbed out a dumpster behind Mama’s favorite Red Lobster and followed me home, running. He spent the first month asking whether I could make his room (my closet) any more dark and damp. He spent the second month asking if his room (my room) could be Big Pig Central.
Jambalaya, fan boats, molting parties, voodoo teeth, spicy, Mardi Gras Katrina BBQ, and Klugg. Each of them in my backyard. “Hey, baby boo. That a sweet mump mump.” — Klugg
Klugg’s always granting me wishes for mud tubs I don’t want. He gets all happy and wooshy when I say he can use it cause it’s the one thing that helps his “Gumbo Skin.” Gumbo Skin happens when your shrimps eat too many taters off your tummy. It’s not contagious, so Klugg lets me touch.
Klugg’s swamp buds are Guzer, Rub Rub, Ying Bing, and Rooff, and Hetler. Those old boys know how to chug bead buckets. Klugg’s best at it cause when he chugs beads it’s like “Oh mama, Klugg chug like goose milk yum.”
And one day, just as grungle as he appeared, Klugg was gone. I miss him sometimes. He left all his stuff — Skum Scoop, swamp bud Hetler, Bone Rug, The Unsolvable Rat Tail Knot, Oyster pie, Bird Sex: the film, nice frogs, Gumbo Skin and all.
