By all accounts, until recently, Bill “Bluto” Kenny was a horrible man. “I was the ‘go to’ bouncer for all the expensive parties and hi-profile clubs in New York,” he says. “And I was good at my job. It’s second nature to me. I’ve been beating the crap out of people since I was a kid.”

He remembers the first time he found his abilities. “I was always being called names when I was a kid, because I was bigger and beefier than most of the other students. They assumed I was stupid. One day, I just snapped during dodge ball. I sent 15 kids to the hospital. Then, the nuns came after me. I kicked their habits. That calmed me down, ironically.”

After high school, he found his physical girth could lead to high-paying gigs. “All of a sudden, I was a bouncer and I enjoyed it. If I could pummel and remove six drunks a night, I considered myself a success. It was also good exercise.”

He sighs. “There was just something so rewarding about breaking someone’s jaw.”

His worst job? “The bar-mitzvahs I worked when I was a teenager. Man, those kids were tough. You’d toss them around and they’d spring back up like Superballs. Plus, they threatened to sue.”


Recently, as he approached 30 years of age, Bluto started to re-think his life. “I knew I couldn’t keep bashing people’s heads in forever. And I was having back problems. I tried to evolve and grow houseplants. They all withered.

“One night, I’m in O’Drools’ Pub after a double shift, talking to the old bartender, telling him about my problems. He says to me, he says ‘You need more fertile ground.’ He pulls out a shoebox filled with dirt. ‘It’s from the Old Country. Put it in your plant pots, sprinkle it on your floor and all your worries will be over.’”

And that was what Bluto did. He awoke the next morning to find all his plants, and then some, blooming. Plus, at the foot of his bed fluttered two dozen pixies. Human-like, six inches tall, they fluttered their wings at him and chirped happy sounds.

“At first I thought I was hung-over, so I swatted at them. Big mistake. They kicked the crap out of me.”

Levitating Bluto, they gave him a makeover, trimming his beard and hair, conjuring less ‘Bubba’-ish clothes, dressing him and giving him a shock every time he cursed. Bluto was astounded when it was all over. “I’d been wanting to change my life but…pixies? Seriously?”


Over the next two weeks, with the pixies poking, prodding and zapping him, Bluto found himself re-thinking his life. When the pandemic hit and he was self-quarantined, he was happy to have the pixies with him. They taught him how to use his hands in other ways. He carved and played his first flute. He crafted furniture. The pixies provided the guidance and the wood. They also taught him interpretive dance.

“One day,” says Bluto. “I decided to put on my mask and gloves and go outside.”

He passed by a community farmer’s market that had faulty bins. “I found myself suddenly wearing a carpenter’s belt and I repaired everything. It felt good.”

Over the next week, he got out more and used his newfound carpentry skills and sheer bulk to interact with the community. With the pixies fluttering over him, he found himself driving people to grocery stores, doing food runs, doing heavy lifting and home repairs and, maybe most importantly, listening to people. “I was honored to hear their stories,” says Bluto.


How does he get along with the pixies, now? “I’ve learned how to understand their speech. They’re pretty kewl. I think this one pixie, Cassie, likes me. Man, she’s cute. I chatted up a babe at the market last week and Cassie appeared, grabbed me by the nuts and shrunk the whole package to postage stampville. So, I’m thinking…if she can shrink my package, maybe she can enlarge herself to my size.”

Bluto admits that his transition from being a brute to being someone open to new ideas has been a tough one. “For the first month or so, I’d go to construction sites and bash in girders with my head to let off steam. These days? I’m content smacking walnuts into my forehead. Two at the most.”

Bluto reflects on his newfound stability and his place in the community. “I have to tell you, it feels good. Now, when I clean someone’s clock I clean a real clock.”

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1 thought on “BRUTE TAMED BY PIXIES!”

  1. I once had an old bag of Miracle-Gro™ that had similar properties. The dastardly devils got all my hoes in trouble. Great story and thanks for the laughs! 😂


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