Dead Men Tell No Tales

I cannot conceive of people committing suicide.

I am completely and utterly unable to understand WHY someone would take their own life.

It does not compute.

I will give you my very unpopular opinion on suicide, then I will explore it with this blog to try & understand….

1) Suicide is the most selfish act a human can commit.

2) There is NO REASON to kill oneself

3) A person is always in control of themselves. They can change things at any time.

OK, that’s pretty much my opinion on suicide.

Do you know why people hang themselves, shoot themselves, cut their wrist, suck car exhaust or other ways?

To be found, discovered that way.

To hurt, shock, punish; to lash out one last time. A final “Look what you made me do” or “Fuck you”

See me…

See me…

I have no concept of suicide.

Admittedly, I do not refrain from killing myself because it is a sin, as much as I was raised to believe, I do not kill myself because I know….have known….all of my life that it is not an option.

I know that it is the cowards way out.

There is no excuse other than painful terminal illness and I’m gray on that.

There is always the next moment. There is always tomorrow. There is always rock bottom.

There is always hope.

Meaning, it can only get so bad. You can sink no lower than rock bottom. If you get any lower, it’s because you dug the hole yourself but, Dammit, there’s still a bottom

You can change things in an instant.

This is a fact.

There are too many avenues these days to get help for suicidal thoughts or intentions.

There is absolutely NO REASON TO KILL ONESELF.

I don’t care how bad your life feels like it’s spiraling out of control and the world would be a better place for it, if you would just hurry up and blow your fucking brains out all over the nice bathroom mirror.

I guarantee the fact that there are millions of other people on this planet that have it much worse; that would kill you to have your life, that would love to have your problems instead of theirs. Would call you blessed…. If even for a moment…they could be you.

There are people that fight for their life every day.

They fight through agonizing pain and the knowledge of unavoidable, inevitable, early death.

They fight until they quit breathing.

And some people kill themselves because life is too hard….?

They can’t see a way out.

There is no hope, they think.

There is no other way, they think.

It’s all about…..Them.

They’re positive.

Oh. My. God.

Fuck your family.

Fuck your friends.

Fuck your co-workers.

Fuck, the world.

My life is too painful.

Everyone will be better off when I’m gone.

I cannot understand this.

It’s stupid.

It’s illogical.

It goes against human nature.

Humans are the only species that commit suicide while every other species on this planet; plant or animal, fight for survival; actual survival, every moment of everyday.

But, your life is too painful to go on living?

Mental illness, you say?

My opinion is that suicide has nothing to do with mental illness.

I’m mentally ill….according to my doctors.

I have been diagnosed with depression, as anti-social and with borderline personality disorder.

Evidently, I am 2 clicks from being a sociopath.

I have the papers to prove it.

I have lived in the gutter.

I was a stereotypical trench coat wearing, brown bag guzzling, sidewalk stumbling drunk.

I was homeless.

I dug thru trash bins behind food joints looking for something to eat.

For a long time, the only money I had was from donating plasma.

I rode city buses for hours; riding for days on end because I felt I had nothing else to do or anywhere to go.

I felt useless. I felt worthless.

I wanted to kill myself.

But, I didn’t.

……I wouldn’t.

It wasn’t an option.

I’m not going to do it.

Anthony Bourdain, did.

I am/was/are a huge fan.

As long as I have his audiobooks, which he narrated himself, his series’ on Netflix, videos on YouTube and many other outlets of which I haven’t discovered yet, I will always be a fan.

He chose to end his life.

From my eyes, A man beloved by millions, a man with a cult following, an excellent TV gig, an employer, a recovered addict, a chef, a father….

Hangs himself in a French hotel room.

Alone.

I cannot understand this.

“I am alone in a room full of people.”

There is only one way out.

It breaks my heart about Anthony.

Here was a guy I actually looked forward to watching his stuff on TV; reading his books, following him on social media.

I have (had) 2 TV heroes that I wholeheartedly believed in 100%; in their honesty, their quirkiness, their irreverence towards “The Man” and no BS attitude.

One is Mike Rowe, the other is/was Anthony Bourdain.

When I saw anything they were involved with, everything they said or posted, I believed. I knew it would be honest and real.

But, I am also a realist.

I do believe that you can never know what’s in someone else’s mind.

You cannot see the monsters.

You cannot hear the voices.

You cannot feel their pain.

As much as I cannot fathom the prospect of killing myself or why anyone would do that to themselves and put their friends, family and colleagues through so much anguish, I understand that I am not that person.

I know that these individuals leave behind people close to them, that love them asking “Why?”

“Why didn’t he call me?”

“Why didn’t he tell me what he was feeling?”

“I would’ve been there in a flash, if I’d ONLY KNOWN

Anthony Bourdain was not alone in France.

His best friend was nearby.

A hotel full of people, were there.

As far as I know, he still has relatives in France.

All he had to do was say “Help me”

SAY SOMETHING!

It makes me sad for his daughter, whom he claimed to love and cherish.

It makes me sad for his friend Eric; the best friend that found him dead.

It makes me sad for his friends and family that Anthony believed that he had no alternative but to kill himself.

“Why didn’t he just call me?”

It makes me angry that he was so selfish.

He only cared about himself.

No regard or thoughts of what he would leave behind.

No qualms of guilt in how his death would affect others.

No concern on leaving an 11 year old girl to face this cruel world without her dad.

How can I say these mean things about Anthony Bourdain?

I do not, did not, could not know the man or his problems.

What I do know is that he killed himself.

Which means, he did not give a FUCK about anyone else but Anthony Bourdain.

Suicide is real.

Suicide is terrible.

Suicide is selfish.

Suicide is the cowards way out.

There is always hope.

There is always tomorrow.

There is ALWAYS help….

Don’t be an asshole.

Stay alive.

Anthony Bourdain

1956-2018

You cheated us out of you…

Get Help

Dumpster Diver-sion

This actually happened, 15
minutes ago.

What a world.

No argument there.

I think I met an angel in disguise this morning,or maybe he was just a poor, crazy old guy.

I bumped into the old man digging thru the garbage at a Carl’s Jr this morning.

image

I asked him if he was hungry(brilliant, ain’t I?)offered to buy him breakfast and some coffee.

I felt magnanimous and I was in a good mood.

He held up a half wrapped, half eaten burger and said “I’m good”

I silently thanked God for my blessings and remembered how my life had derailed at one time and how close I am, any of us really are, to being destitute, desperate and displaced.

Closer than you know…

How the cards can fall…
How the dice land…
Black, red; odd or even…

I offered him $10 and he reached inside a dirty, stuffed pillow case, dug out $2, I guessed, and said “I’m good”.

Pride…? Relief?

image

Then out of “know” where he asked me, in a quizzical tone “Why do we need guns, anyways, 7,326 deaths last year?”

I swear to God that’s what he asked.

ME, being the type of person you all know me to be replied “To protect ourselves and our families”

Rational, sensical…PC

He thought for a second and said “Why do you suppose we have to protect ourselves?”

image

Good lord, he’s crazy…
Shame on me.

He shrugged at his own question, tied up his pillow, told me to go to hell and leave him alone and walked off with his bike.

I wasn’t mad or insulted by his parting adieu; I was thinking about what he’d said.

“Why do you suppose we have to protect ourselves?”

The only rationale my clever, informed brain could muster, pre-coffee?

Because, that’s just how it is, old man; that’s just how it fucking is.

Sucks ass…

Sad, ain’t it?

Now, I’m depressed.

image

Thanks for bringing me back to reality Mr. Homeless Philosopher.

I kinda hope you choke on your hamburger.

Shame on me.

3 Inch Nipple Hair and Boners

I wonder if there is a medical term, for the ever present condition of hard nipples on a man….

Now that I have your attention, you bunch of sick bastards; I wanna talk about real life sex things, after the age of 50.

Sex things, you ask?

I'm being serious this time...
I’m being serious this time…

”Hmmmm, oh yeah, baby, now he’s talking….” you moan….

Y’all make me sick…

……repent ye

Anywho

I am a prude.

I get embarrassed watching people smooch. On Tv or live…

I can’t watch soft porn, hard porn or naked people on TV, ask my wife!

I get all red in the face and say something like “I can’t believe they put that shit on TV where kids can see it”

Then I turn  the channel to a nice family show or a bible study channel and ask God to punish all of the dirty filthy sex fiends….

But, I also remember that I was 13 years old, once and I too, was a dirty filthy sex fiend.

I guess I am like most men or I should say, most men that are not currently incarcerated in a local penal facility for illegal expressions or applications of a carnal nature. (Ha ha, I said “penal”)

When I was 13, the most important thing in my life was a single 3 inch hair on my left nipple.

The next most important thing was that I had an all consuming, burning desire to stick my pecker into anything that didn’t contain broken glass, bees, venomous reptiles or first cousins.

Well, the first cousins part is a little shady.

I mean, it’s in the Bible that you can marry a cousin, I think…so….

All I can say now as a grown man, looking back; Thank God my family isn’t from Kentucky and all of my first cousins, that are female, are ugly.

I had some third cousins though, that I woulda….Grrrrrrr.

They were from Alabama and y’all know how those Alabama girl cousins are…..

I’m getting side-tracked again…

Anywho…

1012400_327514874087185_5381873385758747239_nWhen I was 13 I cursed God for giving me 2 hands and accompanying arms, long enough to help said hands reach my pubic area.

If idle hands are truly the devils workshop then, when I was 13 I was going straight to heaven, baby!

Let’s just say that I was devout…..

Unexpected Boners:

  • English class/ 8th grade/ Ms Fitzgerald: Red hair/Female/pouty lips
  • Biology class/ 8th grade/ Ms Mulkey: dressed like an Amish woman/ female/ Sex-Ed/ pictures in books
  • P.E/ boys showers/ 8th grade/ Coach Jaworski/ male/ girls playing volleyball and basketball; both games involve lots of jumping and running, which causes boobs to bounce; hence the perfectly natural result of the embarrassing situation jutting within my flimsy gym shorts/ girls squealing and laughing in their shower right next to the boys shower, separated by an impenetrable and unbreachable, 8 inch thick, cinder block wall, dammit!

Man, I think that’s when I developed my overactive and very descriptive imagination….

We boys knew that the wanton strumpets on the other side of the wall were necked; they’d be bouncing around under that hot, steamy water covered in soapy soap suds, wrestling with each other, pinching each others boobs, smacking each other on the butts, wet hair flying around….….

Never mind….I’m getting light headed all of a sudden…DSCF0687a

I’m glad I don’t think about that perverted stuff, anymore.

Back to unexpected boners:

  • Hallway/ 8th thru 12th grade/ bumping into girls/ smelling girls perfume/ smelling girls hair/ girls bending over looking in their locker/ girls dropping something on the floor/ girls reaching high for a book in the library/ girls bending over to tie their shoe/ girls eating a banana very slowly or using utensils very slowly, in the lunch room/ the sweaty cleavage women in the cafeteria serving us our food/ cheerleaders in skirts kicking their legs high and wide into the air/ girls breathing/ girls looking at me/ girls smiling at me/ girls breathing……

Yeah….they wanted it.

What was I saying again?

Oh, my 3 inch nipple hair.

When I was 13 years old I wanted to be Paul Stanley, the lead singer for the band KISS.kiss

Well, I wanted Paul’s hairy chest and Gene Simmons tongue but, let’s not go down that road….

God, I was a little pervert!

You know what?! Now that I think about it, if I’d had a son like me, I’d give him a year supply of hand lotion, dirty books and pizza pockets; lock him in his room for the year, pipe the music of Air Supply, Mozart or Yani into the room and take him out once a week, put him in plow harness, plow 40 acres of turnips and taters until he couldn’t walk anymore, then beat him with a knobby stick for an hour and tell him that girls have cooties and that Jesus hates you when you pull on your pud and think dirty thoughts about Ms Mulkey, the neighbor girl and/or his third cousins….

That’s the ticket.

Anywho…what’s with me today? I keep getting side tracked…

My 3 inch nipple hair….

I was so proud when it popped out; the hair I mean.

I was a man.

I had some new hair already….you know, down there….but now, I had a “hairy” chest, too!

FINALLY!!!

I probably looked up at my Loni Anderson poster that hung on the wall beside my bed and whispered “You know you want it baby” then I probably ended up pulling on my pud with great vigor and dedication until I felt guilty and had an overwhelming urge to confess to a priest, regardless of the fact that I had never really met a priest or that we tended to hang Catholics in my part of the state…..

Loni....
Loni….

I wonder if all 13 year old boys are dirty little bastards….

Probably not….

I remember tugging on my 3 inch nipple hair to make sure it was rooted properly and wouldn’t rub off or break when I put my shirt on.

When I tugged on it, the hair, not my pud; I was quite surprised that it was attached, internally, to my spine, toes and finger-tips….weird.

Quick observation for y’all, since I like to report on real time things while I’m talking to you…

I’m sitting here in my big rig looking out the windows as I think of these witty things to write and wonder why people stare at their dogs while they go poop…..

Speaking of dogs….

Two guys watching a dog lick himself…

One guy says “Man, I wish I could do that”

Other guy says “Dude…..that dog would bite the shit out of you”

Both dudes nod their heads, speculatively.

Ha ha! Here’s another one….

So…I got a new pair of black Speedos a little while back

One sunny day, I went down to the beach and asked my ugly buddy how he was always surrounded by so many beautiful girls.

This is not, me...
This is not, me…

“Ancient Chinese secret” he laughed…”I take a potato and shove it into my trunks and they come a running”!

I was impressed at the simplicity of it, but dubious…I retorted, “Hell, That’s no secret, but when I did it they kicked me in the cahoonas and sprayed me in the eyes with mace”…

My friend said “It’d probably work better if you put the tater in the front of your trunks”

Ohhhhh….

Okay, I’m tired of messing with y’all, I gotta go to work.

I don’t know why I was thinking about boners and my 3 inch nipple hair this morning…

Hmmm…I just thought of something;

Now that I’m 50 years old, I don’t get that excited about new hairs that much.

They’re everywhere…

My 3 inch nipple hair has moved to my ears and comes out gray….

It ain’t attached to nothing….

Not my Pud...
Not my Pud…

Well, unless someone else LIKE MY WIFE!  JERKS IT OUT BECAUSE SHE THINKS ITS UGLY AND I WOULD APPRECIATE HER TENDING TO THAT IRKSOME HAIR FOR ME!!!!

Y’all have a good Sunday now, ya hear….and why ain’t you in church?

Sinners….

The Night Was Long

I wanted to reclarify something.
This is real.
This is not a story.
This is hell.
This is right now.
This is happening as I speak.
Somewhere….
Amongst us….

*A sniffle*

Whaddya mean you’re leaving me?

I drink too much?
Whaddya mean, I fucking drink too much!?
Oh, this is rich!
I hardly drink at all!

Oh, I get it….
Here we fucking go again!
“You drink too much”
“You gamble too much”
Over and over and over!
You just can’t leave me the FUCK alone, can you?!

Don’t give me that tired shit…
You never meant anything you ever said, did you?
Oh, that’s right…Blame me for this bullshit!

So what if I might drink too much sometimes, lots of people do.
That don’t mean they’re alcoholics!
That don’t make me an alcoholic!

If you wanna see a fucking alcoholic, look at my old man!  Now… Dear old dad was a fucking alcoholic!

This is great… My mom bitched at him about everything too, just like you…
She wouldn’t shut up either…

You love me and still do but, you can’t watch me… What?… What!?
Die drunk?!
I’m not killing myself!
So I drink sometimes…big fucking deal!

You have to do what is best for you and the kids, but what about me dammit!?

It’s been hard lately, I can’t catch a break.
It doesn’t matter….
You have to go…?
Because I’m an…..alcoholic!?
Because I gamble a little?
Have you lost your fucking mind!?

You are afraid I might hurt “my” children? You think so, do you? 
I’ll show you, hurt…

Just remember, it was you that quit on us, not me!

You, pulled the plug. You, killed the switch. You, jumped the gun. You’re the one that gave up….
I didn’t give up…
I’m still here, ain’t I!?
Whaddayou mean, barely?
I don’t see the big deal, I just have a few beers every now and again and bet on a game, no biggie!
Everybody does it!

*slap* *slap*
*pity pot*

I don’t blame you for giving up on me, I guess I’d do the same “if” I was really an alcoholic, but I’m NOT!

I knew you was a whore when I married you…

I’m at my best with you, baby…
Don’t do this..
I’m sorry, honey…

You’re weak…..
You should have never given up.
I burned for you!
I ached for you!
I worked my fingers to the bone!
I couldn’t stop thinking about you!
And you don’t even care!
It’s, it’s…
Because, you think I’m an alcoholic…?!

It’s not my fault I goth laid off!
That son of a bitch just didn’t like me!
I couldn’t help that I was sick a lot!
Drinking don’t make me sick!

Go ahead, go to your mother’s; that bitch! Go and let her feed you and your fucker kids!

Shut the hell, up! Me and your mom ain’t fighting!

Whaddya mean she already does and has been for a long time!?
I gave you all my money!
Yes, hell I do!
I don’t gamble that much!

*slap*

I’ll do better, baby…
Don’t do this..
I’m sorry, honey…

I can’t help that it’s hard to find a job where people ain’t a buncha fuckers trying to take all the credit for my stuff!

*slap*
Don’t Fucking look at me like that… I ain’t your fucking mama…

You should have believed every word I said, forever.
I mean it as much now as I did then…
Well, things are harder now…
I know it’s not just me here…!

If you cared as much as you said you did, it wouldn’t matter what I was or what I was doing as long as I ain’t hurt anyone.
I ain’t hurting you!

Isaiidd… Shut the FUCK up, we ain’t fighting!!

*crack* *crack*

What was you saying, slut?
I told you to shut the FUCK up!
I’m fucking talking now…
LOOK AT ME!
Don’t slap my hand, bitch!
I’m tired of your same old bullshit!

You never care what I say!
Oh, I…have issues?! They’re only scratch tickets!
I can’t stay focused?
Oh, I’mmm the bad guy, I suppose?
And yoouuu don’t see anything getting better…
Because, you think…I’m an alcoholic and I gamble a little….

Oh, shut up!

I do it all for you and the kids, baby…
Don’t do this… I promise….
I’m sorry, honey…

Nobody gives a shit about me around here!
Fucking Daddy Bucks!
Gimme, gimme, need, want!
I gotta do everything myself!
Everybody is always all up in my business!
My freaking wife don’t even give a shit what she’s making me do!

*choke* *choke*

*die……

I told you to quit bitching at me…
You ain’t saying much now, are you?!

*sob* *pity*

Oh my god…
What have I done?
I’ll…. I’ll…. just tell ’em I was drunk, I didn’t know what I was doing…

No, mommy is just sleepy!
Put a blanket on her then if she fucking feels cold!

Christ sakes, shut up! I got a headache!

Stupid bitch….

It’s your fault you’re knocked the fuck out, not mine!

Ain’t nobody going no where…
This is your fucking home…
I’m your fucking husband!

You shouldn’t mess with me like that when I…. just got home….
You knew better…
It didn’t matter how many times I set your ass straight, you kept on and on…
…running that fucking mouth.

I’m trying, baby…
Don’t do this…
I’m sorry, honey…I promise I’ll do better…

Anyway, It’s your fault you wouldn’t shut up…
See what you made me do?

What about the kids…?

Come on, baby… Wake up.

…. Wake up.

*cough* *stir*

Thank God….

Honey, you fell down again…
Thank Jesus I was here.
Thank Jesus….

*slurp* *drink*

Repeat.

Hunting Ground

I am not the soap box type…

I don’t like writing about politics, organized religion, social stigmas or tennis.20131025_085810

But there are some things that I see during my day that strikes me deep and I feel moved to say something about it and bring it to the attention of my blog following.

My thinking is this; I don’t know what my followers do for a living, well maybe a couple, but I don’t know if there is a famous person, a learned person or a influential person keeping an innocuous profile amongst the ranks of my horde that any of my inane posts may touch in a particular way, that they have the ability to either do something about it or know people that can make changes, real changes on our little blue marble hanging in space.

That’s my point, I guess…

I don’t know the person on the other end of my online string.

There are terrible people amongst us.

Monsters….

I read a news story yesterday that shocked me.

I live on this planet with the rest of you, I have to listen to the same media outlets and hear about atrocities the world over, every day…

Day after day, month after month, year…after year…for years.

Atrocities that, the majority of the time, can be prevented.

We have all become numb to it.

We are beaten about the head and shoulders with this crap.

Driven to our knees by evil….

We are hardly ever shocked anymore, if ever, really.

It’s hard to tell.

I know one thing…

We are used to it.

We expect the worse before we dream of the best.

I know most of us want to make a difference; to protect people, to feed people, to live in safety….

But alas; C’est la vie….

The Internet….

The ultimate hunting ground.

The ultimate camouflage…

In one of our most perceived “wholesome” states here in the U.S, Wisconsin; associated with fat, milk fed babies, green fields covered with spotted cows, bright red barns, cheese, and big, tall handsome blonde people named Sven or Helga….

They found two murdered women stuffed in suitcases.

Murdered, by a former police officer that met these women on Craigslist, thru a sadomasochistic, deviant forum.

I am not blaming Craigslist, I am admonishing them.

The internet must be controlled more aggressively in these cases.

The passivity, or unconcern for its patrons, is shameful….No….horrifying.

Porn, deviant sites, racial hate forums, con artists, should be illegal.

Not restricted…not moderated…

VERBOTEN!

They should be punished with death.

The deviants have a very rich hunting ground thru the internet.

They stalk the lonely.

They stalk the weak.

They stalk the old and desperate…

The poor and hungry…

It is personal freedom, you may say.

It is their right, you may say…

Fine…I’ll give you that.

I agree with you to some extent, but if you put meat in front of a predator or scavenger, it will get eaten.

Scavengers….

Predators….

We must protect our weaker brethren from the hunters of souls.

How can we turn this innocence into perversion?
How can we turn this innocence into perversion?

I am not ignorant enough to think that humans aren’t flawed.

Each human is unique, has different “tastes” “interests” “desires”.

But if we continue to keep serving up these hunters with their favorite dishes, they will continue to feed.

They can’t help themselves.

BULLSHIT! Says I…

 

You can control yourself; it is in our DNA to know what is right and what is wrong.

We are not animals, animals don’t kill for pleasure.

Destroy their hunting ground…

Destroy it all….

If you are a child predator, a porn deviant, an online hunter of women or men, a malicious murderer or a manipulator of vulnerable, trusting people, you should die…

Think about it….

If I owned a website, a search engine….there is no expense I would not spare to protect the children from the monsters among us.

I would spare no expense to protect the innocent, or protect monsters from themselves.

It is my duty as a human being, a citizen of our world, to protect…to defend….to watch over my brother.

There is a difference between mentally ill and evil…

Evil must be destroyed.

How can we continue to allow this?

These women were killed and stuffed into suitcases!

Porn is evil….

Sadly, this case is not unique.

I can’t wrap my mind around it….that people get off hurting someone for the “so-called” sexual pleasure they derive from it….

It may be hard to believe, but I have had sex before…

I have seen a naked woman, without having to beat her unconscious first…

Not once! Did I think “Man, I’d love to stuff a rubber ball in her mouth, tie her up and beat the shit out of her and put it on the internet…I wonder how much I can charge for it!”

Or this….”Man, that 8 year old is sexy as hell”

Makes me sick….

I know, you know, that “Snuff porn” is illegal, child porn and beastiality, just a few examples mind you, is aggressively prosecuted, but get this;

People are still buying it!

There is a market for it!

The internet has allowed these sites to explode, or the people behind them have…

Who does this?

Do they have a wife….kids….grand-parents?

Do they go to work each morning, guilt free?

What are they missing in their souls?

Should we let them exists on our planet?

How can they breathe the same air as me and not choke to death on their own bile?

I don’t understand how we let this happen…

The internet is a vehicle, but who are we giving a license to drive said vehicle?

What is a deviant?

I don’t have to explain it….

We all know.

Responsibility, people!

All of these hunters, purveyors of human filth should be destroyed!

We may not be able to completely kill the cancer, but we can slow its spread.

Our society is scarred from these cancerous lesions, and it’s spreading to our vitals.

What is great is that a few good people keep our hopes alive for the future, and do their best to fight the monsters that hunt among us.

We must all hunt them right back…

Make the hunted…hunted.

Think about how disgusting child porn is….

Think about how sexual deviance makes you cringe…

I’m not saying, smacking your wife on the fannie while the big nasty is going down or making your husband dance around naked in your high heels in the privacy of your own home is deviant.

Perverts…LOL!

Y’all know what I mean.

Think about the people that peddle it…

Hunt them….

Destroy their industry…

Ha!…..”Industry….”

Prosecute them BEYOND the limits of the law.

QUIT SERVING THEM WHAT THEY WANT!

Are we all enablers!??

I’m sorry I ranted.

P.S  Open plea to the “hacker” group “Anonymous”

vendetta-guy-fawkes-mask-on-black-88003

If you wanna do something worthwhile, expose all of these perverts.

Destroy them.

I will be hunting them too.

My internet safari…

I will tattle….

I will tell….

 

 

Do your part, I beg you…

Here’s how: Hunting License

The Session Begins

20131105_214200b-picsay

The reason I started this blog was to explore my mind, to put thoughts down….experiences….to explore my life.

I had a rough childhood, but lot’s better than millions of other sad children…and adults of my era.

I am not looking for sympathy or pity.

I think I’ve turned out okay, and I believe that this blog has helped me tremendously, more than you can know.

But y’all all know that I am honest and self-deprecating about my life. I do not have an embarrassed or ashamed bone in my body.

I write about the abuse I suffered as a child and my lost years of alcoholism with the intent that it is a healing process.

I put it out there for the world to see because keeping it inside only makes it rot.

I am only a man searching for more answers with few remaining questions.

There are millions of people that have it much worse than I and suffer daily, more atrocities than i can fathom.

But it happened to me…….

I thought it was bad enough at the time….

Now…..Our session begins……

I am lying on a couch in Dr. Freud’s office again….

I had another uh…..episode.

[Session begins…Tape starts recording]

Dr. F – “Are you comfortable?”

Me – “Yeah”

Dr. F – “I want to get into this new uh…episode that you have experienced recently”

Me – “Okay….”

Dr. F – “Where did you grow up?”

Me – “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Dr. F – stern look

Me – “Shiloh, Georgia” [scratches nose][fidgets on couch]

Dr. F – “That’s in the southern United States, right?”

Me – blank look [looks at exit door]

Dr. F – “Didn’t you tell me you grew up on a farm?”

Me – “Yes sir”

Dr. F – “What kind of farm was it?”

Me – “A hog farm”

Dr. F – “Did you like living on a hog farm?”

Me – “It was okay…I mean….It was alright….”

Dr. F – “How old were you when your father left you alone to tend the farm….the hogs?”

Me – “He had to go, he worked on the road in construction”

Dr. F – “….How old were you, when he left you and your mother on the farm?”

Me – “ 7…?”

Dr. F – “That’s kind of young don’t you think now?”

Me – “I don’t know……I guess…..but times were different back then. Dad had to go work”

Dr. F – “How many hogs were there on this farm?”

Me – [scratches nose] “…Oh….5-700 at any given time”

Dr. F – [making a note on his pad, scratches his bearded chin] “That seems like a lot for a 7 year old boy to take care of alone”.

Me – [shrugs indifferently] “Dad had to go to work….”

Dr. F – “Didn’t you have any friends, neighbors or family members to help you?”

Me – “Yeah, but no one had to help me. It was my job and they was busy”

Dr. F – “Did you have a best friend?”

Me – “Yes sir…[fidgets]….Ricky Moore….he lived at the end of our dirt road”

Dr. F – “How old was he….7 also?”

Me – “Oh no….he was like 12 or 13”

Dr. F – [looks at me with a puzzled glance] “That’s kind of old to be a best friend for someone your age?

Me – “Maybe….but him and Trent was the only boys close by that I could play with’ [scratches thigh]

Dr. F – “Trent….? He wasn’t a best friend?”

Me – “No sir…..He couldn’t because he was a nigger”

Dr. F – [fidgets][scribble scribble]  “Who told you he was a….Negro?”

Me – [puzzled look] “He was black….You could see he was a nigger, I ain’t had nobody to tell me.”

Dr. F – “How old was Trent?”

Me – “I don’t know, same age as Ricky….but not as big as Ricky”

Dr. F – “What did you 3 do for fun?”

Me – [rolls onto right side and pulls knees up to chest and starts tracing lines on the floor with a finger]

Dr. F – “Didn’t you guys have fun?”

Me – “Well…..I guess we did sometimes….swimming and stuff”

Dr. F – “You don’t look like you had much fun….”

Me – [stares at finger tip stopped, starts retracing lines in reverse]

Dr. F – “Well…..?’

Me – [says just above a whisper] “They used to hold me down and make me suck their… You know…”

Dr. F –  blank stare [regains focus, scribble scribble]

Me – “They said they’d kill Toby my dawg if I said anything”

Dr. F – [scribble scribble scratch brush away scratch]

Me – [tracing big circles] “They was too big, Ricky could hit real hard”

Dr. F – [looks up] “You fought back?”

Me – “I tried to, but they was too big”

Dr. F – “How long did they make you…..perform this act?”

Me – “Until they…. Was…. You know…. Until they… finished”

Dr. F – [pauses, looks up with a grimace] “I meant, how long in days….”

Me – “I was 11 when we moved”

Dr. F – “So…..It lasted about 3 years.” [scribble]

Dr. F – [hard stare scribble hard stare scribble scribble]

Me – “Trent said I was gonna have a baby one day and Ricky hit me in the stomach and made me puke then he say “No he ain’t”

Dr. F – [lips moving, wipes sweat from eyebrow scribble scribble]

Dr. F – [looks up] “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”  “Why didn’t you tell your father or mother?”

Me – “Because I promised…..and they said they was gonna kill Toby”

Dr. F – “Don’t you think your father would have stopped them?”

Me – [looks at doctor as if though he had lost his mind] “I couldn’t tell him that stuff…!”

Dr. F – “Why not…?”

Me – “Cuz he was always mad when he came home ‘cause he said he couldn’t save no money having to send it all home to us all the time”

Dr. F – “He was mad all the time…?”

Me – “Yessir, when he come home he’d count the slices of baloney and put a pen mark on the milk jug to make sure we didn’t drink none while he was gone”

Dr. F – [long stare…then, scribble scribble]

Dr. F – “What about your mother?”

Me – [rolls back onto his back and stares at the ceiling fan….spinning….spinning]

Me – “She just laid on the couch most of the time and yelled about us cleaning up or getting out of her house”

Dr. F – “What do you think about …Ricky?          “….And this Trent now that you’re a grown man?”

Me – “Ricky got killed in prison I heard, I ain’t got no idea about Trent”

[Pause in audio, pen scribbling, fan spinning] woop woop woop

Me – “I don’t think I’m mad, it was different back then, nobody said anything about mess like that, besides, I don’t remember much about it anymore” [corner of mouth twitches, scratches nose, scratches thigh]

Dr. F – “Are you angry towards them….your parents”

Me – [looks at doctor] “Why’d I be mad at them?”

Dr. F – “Because they didn’t stop those 2 boys from hurting you”

Me – “They was busy all the time, they didn’t want us coming in and out all damn day long crying about a skint ass knee….”

Dr. F – “Didn’t you think your father could stop Ricky and Trent, didn’t you think he was “BIG” enough?”

Me – [Wide eyes] “Oh hell yeah, Daddy could beat the hell outta them! ”

[Whispering]

“He made me bleed all the time….”

[Session concludes as tape ends]

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