16 May 2010


Since I had these blogs already written for a month or so, I haven't been looking for anything to bitch about. I think the last newsy thing that I seen or even heard about was that volcano in Iceland. Which, by the way, I didn't notice the world rushing to save their ass. What about it, world? White people not worth saving but the Negroes of Haiti are? In who's life?

So this week, I thought that I would entertain you with a few anecdotes from my own life. It'll be fun, you'll see.

I think that I started my life as a baby being born. Now before you get pissed off let me explain. There is not a lot of evidence of this. No one has ever said "I remember when you were a baby and did so and so..." There are a couple of pictures of my Mom and Dad holding a baby.

They are black and white, mostly white and you can recognize my folks and they are holding something. I'll give you that. A baby.... maybe. But... I had a waterhead brother who was born just nine months behind me and it might be him. I mean, I'm sure they didn't know that he was a waterhead right away. He probably got to live at home a while before they said, This kid is a waterhead! Get him out of here!" The picture is not labeled so it could be him. He turned out to be a real waterhead, not the kind you can keep at home for a pet.

I went to look at him once in the nuthouse where he was kept and he was curled up on the floor with big scabs all over his head. Needless to say, he never got any more visits from me. I know, you're thinking. Enough about the waterhead brother!

Now there is a photo of me when I must have been about two or three. My grandmother, who everyone hated except me, was holding me. She was my dad's mom and even he doesn't have anything nice to say about her to this day. She had a stroke when I was in the second grade and I found her laying on the floor in her house. But the years that I remember having her around, she was always nice to me so I was sad when she died.

All of these people that I am telling you about so far are dead. So they aren't able to sue me for unauthorized use of their lives.

I had another brother, a half brother, really. He was seven years older than me and meaner than hell. He was a bully in every sense of the word. He's also dead now. But when I was about four years old, he would take me down and forcibly remove a tooth or two so he could get some money out of them. Or maybe he just did it to hear me scream and get me a beating. Yes. Him pulling my teeth got me a beating.

Let me explain. My Mom was washing clothes and she was outside hanging the washed clothes on a clothesline. Some of you folks might not understand this but just look it up on Wickipedia and maybe they will explain it. Anyway, he had me down and I was not giving those teeth up easily. I was kicking and yelling and..... my Mom had this fancy glass dish that she kept apples in sitting on something in the area where my dentistry was going on and it fell to the floor and broke. Well. Needless to say, when she came back in the house my brother was standing there with his hands in his pockets looking like, "Aw, shucks, Mom." And I was standing there blubbering and not able to talk so he told her that I was running around and broke the dish and I was crying because I knew that I was in trouble and... I got a beating!

So much for right is might or whatever it is supposed to be. This same mean little brat one time when I got a brand new tricycle for Christmas or my birthday, they were close together so I don't remember which one it was. It's not important to the damn story anyway! He coaxed me and my tricycle out of sight of the house and then he took it away from me and stood on the back of it and bent the handlebars up and down until they broke off. Then he ran away and left me to get my broken tricycle home by myself where I got in trouble for breaking my brand new tricycle and when I tried to snitch him off, no one believed me because he was nowhere around. Imagine that.

I never got a beating for that one but I never receive a brand new any kind of cycle for a gift the rest of my days. Many years later an old guy gave me his granddaughter's bicycle or I would have never had one. It was a girl's bike so it was humiliating to ride, but it was a lot better than nothing. I later traded it to a friend, who, looking back on it was probably a Jew. For an English Racer. It was supposed to have hand brakes, but it didn't so I had to rub my foot on the back tire to stop it and wore a hole in my shoe and got in trouble again!

Let me know how you like this and I might give you some more someday.

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