Demons Drinking In His Head

He was slumped over, the brass buckle coming to rest on the silver hair that covered his head.  The cracked wooden bar hung above a pile of shirts, stained with his blood from the failed attempt to cut deep enough.  The leather strap tied in a knot had broken in two from the strain, his dead weight pulling on it for days.  A black tee-shirt and grey gym shorts were all that covered him, as his body started to decompose, in the tiny closet of his small run down studio apartment.

He had been sober for over a year, a fact no one knew about until it was too late to tell him, “congratulations”.  The struggle with alcohol had been seen as a character defect in his ironically addicted filled family, with most of them cutting contact with him years ago.  He knew he was an alcoholic, and during that year of sobriety knew that one drink would be the start of the end.

His last year had been filled with  hope and a happy optimism for the chance to once again have the accomplishments he craved.  His ability to make something from nothing had been acquired from the success and many failures he had experienced in his 63 years.  Four years of struggling with homelessness and  a year of not drinking had changed his definition of what he considered success and what it meant to have it all.

No longer was a Porsche wanted, just anything that would get him to his destination. The dream of buying a condo with cash no longer mattered, just the peace of mind knowing his weekly rent was paid. Having enough quarters to wash the few clothes he owned had replaced the desire to pick from a sea of garments covered in plastic from the local dry cleaner.  The ability to pick up dinner from a hole in the wall Mexican food place once a week, would have been the icing on his chocolate cake.

Sadly, a summer that had started with such promise had turned into a fall with too many disappointments.  The many hurts, and too much suffering, had crushed his fight to “keep punching the bag “‘, as he liked to say.  The pain unbearable, he walked across the street, knowing the purchase he was about to make would be the beginning of his end.

Days following his first drink, had been filled with unsuccessful attempts to reach out to the family that had turn their backs.  E-mails written, never to be sent.  Phone calls made, never to be answered.  Misunderstandings clouded with stubbornness and greed would continue to linger, the guilt never to be lifted.  He would remain alone with the demons screaming in his head.

His heart had been kind and generous, always giving what he was able…money, time, advice, friendship, encouragement, laughter…He was loved greatly, and forever remembered by the ones he left behind.

The Old Man’s Destination

The old man stood under the street sign, His calloused dirty hand hitting the cold round metal knob over and over.  His blue eyes glaring up from under the faded blue and orange Denver Bronco hat, waiting impatiently for green to replace the red light that was keeping him from his destination across the busy intersection.
An off white smock hung low on his waist, the back dragging along the oil drenched pavement.  Words written in black marker down the middle…”WOLF”, “COYOTE”, “BEAR”….The meaning only known to him.  A pair of tall shiny black rain boots pulled up over his stained sagging jeans, looking out-of-place in the dry Mohave Desert.  A bright red cross covered the front of his dark shirt, a smaller one drawn on each sleeve barely noticeable in the fading rays of the sun.
His greasy black hair hung long and straight under the Bronco hat.  The over sized white headphones covered his ears, blocking out the world, the song only known to him.  As the light changed to green, his crystal blue eyes sparkled, the glaring look gone.  A smile appeared, a blaze of white teeth flashing across his leathery tan face.  Waving at the stopping cars, the music dancing his rubber rain boots all the way as he crossed to the other side…

Hit Delete,Butterfly’s Will Come…

Last Christmas my father told me about a wonderful invention called the delete button, and from my understanding it is on most keyboards.  Apparently if you get an e-mail that you believe will cause you distress, you can actually delete it before you open it and POOF, it never existed.  Time goes backwards, and the creator of this distressing e-mail is struck down by lightning, losing any recollection of why he even sat down at his computer.  Amazing!

I learned about this as my father’s brother was using me to try to develop his skills as a fictional writer.  I am all for creative writing, but writing fiction requires the ability to remember certain aspects of the story as you write.  If you do not have consistency, there is confusion and your creation will have no believability.  Especially if you are taking fact and twisting it into fiction.  If you cannot keep your story straight, you may want to rethink your plan.  Because when twisted fiction affects someone’s life outside your bubble of followers, it may not end like you want.

That being said, most of my family lives in a bubble. Too many of them like to hang out there, which results in brain damage from the lack of oxygen.  Common sense becomes non existent, and they lose the ability to understand that fact and fiction are not the same.  While fiction usually has some facts, the wanna be writer’s of my bubble family took fiction and passed it off as fact. This created such a frenzy, their demented crap leaked out of their bubble into the real world, my world.

When I asked my father to stop his brother from harassing me with his fictional e-mails, he put his beer down for a moment, and told me about the magical delete button. I could just touch that button, and butterfly’s would fill my room while his brother was hit by lightning.  All the e-mails that were sent to everyone saying I was a drug addict that steals from family, would go POOF, and rainbows would fill the sky.

I was astonished to find my delete button does not work like my father said, maybe because I do not live in a bubble.  I have since learned his retirement was getting boring, so he created some of his own fictional bullshit about me for my bubble family to enjoy.  They drank their Kool-Aid, and followed along like good little non-thinkers. Unfortunately for them, I do not like their Kool-Aide, it tastes funny. I do not follow anyone very well, and I could never live in a bubble full of bullshit.  However, I am just as stubborn and like him I do not back down easily when I think I am right.

People screw up, make their mistakes, and the universe has natural consequences that follow.  I have written e-mails that gave me a year long vacation from owning a gun.  A natural consequence I learned from.  I send the occasional e-mail into the world of my bubble family, letting them know I am not pleased about some of the things they have done lately.  It gets forwarded around the bubble and they talk about how horrible it is that I can type the word Fuc8, and that I need to move on and stop bringing it up.  They should know at this point, their acceptance is not really my concern, I know what kind of person I am.  Mistakes happened, natural consequences will follow, and life will go on.  As far as the irritating e-mails I send, they can hit their magic delete button, and watch the butterfly’s fill their bubble as my words fade away and go POOF!

Ignorance On Your Angry Chair


The idea to merge the camera and phone into one, is genius. I was able to take full advantage of it as I was texting on my way to our current domain. To “coexist” you have to acknowledge there is someone besides you trying to survive in this world.  When you ignore their existence because you do not like their faith, lifestyle choices or the way they express themselves, your ignorance can cost more than money.

I have used bad language a time or two through out my life. Some ghetto slang may even be spun into it depending on the situation.  I cannot say they are my proudest moments in life, but I am certainly not ashamed of them.  Some colorful F-Bombs are justified at their moment of birth.  Life stirs up some shit, conception takes place, and before you know it you are watching your baby F-Bomb grow into a giant as it hits your target.  It is at that moment, snowflakes of the ignorance turn into a blizzard, and you better take cover.

Most control their F-Bombs around certain people and situations.  Make it out of your thirty’s not having found yourself wearing the bracelets of a pissed off cop you met while running your mouth, you’re probably good.  Ignore someone’s existence by cutting them off in traffic, they might toss you a F-Bomb and go about their day. Have a crazy ex-husband who is not to be ignored on the road, and  the bombard of F-Bombs that bounce about might sting you. Watch the bounce evolve into idiots having a pissing contest with their side arms a few times, it will change your perception.  The F-Bomb wont kill you, the stray bullet might.

The poster child for true ignorance is the one who sits high up on their angry chair, filth dripping down his mouth from the afterbirth of racial slurs he creates.  His ears become born again virgins, his eyes suddenly blinded by the F-Bombs you throw trying to stop his storm of shit.  He rises higher fueled by that which he claims to despise.  His storm sucking your despair into his lungs, it has become his crack cocaine. You cease throwing, his crack gone, his angry chair full of pride and ignorance engulfing him as he screams for more.

Mental Song & Dance by Kult Kool-Aid



Plaintiffs, Dumb Shit and Kult Kool- Aid, hereon referred to as Kult Kool-Aid or KKA,  undersigned, hereby submits Plaintiff’s Exhibits (which are attached hereto) to be used at the Order of Protect Hearing scheduled for 2013.  These exhibits include the following:

  • Complete and undisputable proof of an invasion of privacy by the plaintiffs, KKA.
  • Complete and undisputable proof of a lack of integrity and veracity by the plaintiffs, KKA.
  • Proof the KKA should be ordered to cut back on the Kool-Aid.

When I typed out the words Welcome to Fu8k Fest 2012 in the subject line I had no idea King Shit would want to read it over and over in front of everyone.  He was very proud of my work, showing it to every police officer who got the unfortunate call to the land of Fu8k Fest.  I kind of felt like he was not giving me due credit, so I started carrying my copy to show them first. I am not sure why, but KS was upset about my doing that.  After I gave him the honor of reading it at our first, of what will be many, meetings at our new “club house”, he lost interest for a while.

His new “show and tell” did not quite have the shock value of my Fest, but would give us a chance to discuss topics such as, what exactly is Necessary Personal Belongings, and what a judge means when she says “it’s yours” while paperwork is being handed out. He showed it to a few police officers, but I do not think he got the same rush as when talking about the Fest.  So he started working on an entire new song and dance.  I was flattered with the amount of time and effort he was spending on us.  At this point KS and I could not have our heart to hearts without our police babysitters. So I had the pleasure of discussing life issues with All Knowing Ruler of KKA, King Punk instead.

Even though is was an honor each and every time KP sent a message by way of the electronic mail,  I had asked him several times to use the old fashion telephone.  However, just like the other king he insisted on the written word.  I should thank him for that.  There is nothing better than a written conversation about my SUV twelve hours before they call it in as abandoned. 

When it was Dumb Shit’s turn to go to our new club house for a meeting, it was apparent she wanted this FU8KFEST she started to end, she kept saying she wanted it to be over.  Sorry DS, but but once a member of KKA, always a member.  The Kool-Aid fuses all member’s minds together.  They lose the ability to think for themselves, but gain the special gift to look someone in the eye and lie under oath. They also learn how to write fiction to submit in court.  Consideration for consistency in their submitted fiction needs to be discussed at their next gathering, as there is none.

At this meeting I knew what the chain of command in KKA was.  From the top… King Punk (not present for this meeting)  King Shit,  anyone who thought we needed to spend Christmas in a half way house without our son while his dogs go to the pound, and then Dumb Shit.  King Shit must have spent days working on the new song and dance for DS’s initiation into our new club.  I did not really care about the ban against contact, we were not planning on having lunch with her.  We were there to see the new and exciting show KKA was performing that day, starring King Shit.  They never disappoint..

Actual list of exhibits attempted by KKA to have admitted as evidence.

  1. Email from Defendant dated 12/26/12.  (Fu8k Fest)
  2. Photographs of 93 needles and syringes in the Defendants’ belongings.  (Yes, they are correct.  The DEFENDANT’S belongings, not the KKA’s, so I am not sure what they are trying to prove with those.  I thought we had one hundred, not ninety-three. Sticky fingers seem to go along with their very dirty hands.
  3. Various emails with threats by Defendants against Plaintiff.  ( One of my favorite parts is getting the big pack of evidence they put together so carefully. The very first sentence KS highlights every time from my Fu8k Fest is…King Shit do you understand how bad it is to slander someone to the police?  Someday I am going to have to ask him why he highlights that, but I am guessing it is not because he knows the answer. )
  4. Documents found in Defendants’ possession regarding profit and loss summary of illegal drug sales.

I am not sure if KKA ‘s paralegal really looked at the words of that sentence.  This was not found in our belongings they stole, but in Defendants’ POSSESSION.  I believe we would have noticed them taking it off our possession.  However, since they submitted them to a court as facts of profit and loss summary of illegal drug sales, and on our possession they must know something I do not. They may need to prove this one, as I am growing tired of the libel and slander. I remember exactly where that 22-year-old drug document was, so KKA’s invasion of privacy is becoming a problem.  I keep saying they need to cut back on the Kool-Aide.  But then again, we are all big boys and girls with free will, so to each their own.


Boss shows his face publicly for the first time in twenty years in the photo at the top.  He is old school Mexican Mafia looking to step on the Cartels drug trade in the southwest.  Our son met him about five years ago while running heroin through the prison system in northern Cali.  They struck up a friendship in a biker bar after Boss stepped to a punk who was disrespecting.  They have had each other’s back ever since. The documents KKA submitted are from his youth in Chihuahua, Mexico.  He is uncertain as to why his numbers are that hard to decipher and was going to explain.  However, the defendants are long out of FU*KS to give about what KKA thinks.

Boss will be making future appearances in

Deflection to Reflection

So much in life is taken for granted.  If you can take a breath and a step you are already ahead of many.  If you live in a county like the United States, even in an economic downturn with morality flying out the window, be thankful.  There are people  trying every second to get into this country who would trade places with your shit life in a second. There is someone out there who has it worse off than you do.  That being said, your shit life is still yours to deal with.  You are going through it and there is no one else that can fully understand.

I believe the more shit you go through the more empathy you have for others.  We were walking out of Wal-Mart a few weeks ago when this “kid” (I do not know when I became old enough to call a mid 20-year-old a kid) walked up to us.  Pointing to a car, he explained that he and his girlfriend were trying to rent a hotel room.  They had nowhere to go, and it was getting colder.  I watched as my husband talked to the kid.  After about a minute he made eye contact with me, and I just smiled.  He reached into his pocket pulling out the last twenty we had and handed it to him.  We had food, a roof for the night, and gas in the car, and at that moment we did not need anything else.

The kid could have been full of shit. We might have been his millionth mark.  Maybe he took it, and went straight their dealers house, I do not know.  Their shit was their’s and they were dealing with it the best way they knew how.  He could have put a gun in our face, or anyone else’s to get what he needed.  Personally, I think it takes some balls to walk up to strangers at midnight asking if they have any change.  I would not have wanted my husband to handle it any other way.

If King Punk had the kid’s phone number he would have warned him months ago not to talk to us.  He knows we need someone to help our son run some Heroin out of Afghanistan and Coke out of Columbia.  The human trafficking business we run has slowed a bit, so we are short-handed. Which when you are competing with the Mexican Cartel for the Meth trade in the US, things can get a little sketchy without the proper help.

I was about to post this, and I thought I better put a disclaimer about that last paragraph. It is not true.  My family would actually print it and take it to the police thinking “off to prison they go”.  After the theft and publishing of our personal journals and documents it would not surprise me in the least.  When you frantically deflect because you do not want to deal with your own shit life, the mirror I hold up is going to start reflect back… Wear your sunglasses…

The Mental Email of Wisdom

When I opened the door the day after I emailed the F-fest to King Shit I was not surprised to see a cop standing there.  As I was served the Order of Protection I smiled, and thought KS must have really enjoyed my present to him.  A tiny part of his heart must have been crushed when the court would not give him one on the 6′ 4′ 240 pound ghetto husband of his 100 pound niece.  Sorry my King Shit, but you cannot have everything. Santa has other boys and girls to think of too.

Three days before the OOP was served, KS had sent the start of email conversation between him and myself, that I both love and hate. He is a complete asshole and needs to learn to keep my son’s name out of his mouth.  On the other hand, the arrogant ignorance is so outrageous I have to laugh at times.

He starts by saying… “Please don’t make any plans for coming over Christmas Eve day, or on Christmas day.  Thanks”.  To this day, I think that is one of the most telling statements written.  The disconnect from the reality of what is happening that jumps out of that sentence is crystal clear.

I responded to him with, “You really must be insane if you even thought for a second that I wanted to step foot on that property.  The fact you took the time to send an email speaks volumes…Priceless”.

King Shit replies with a long email that starts with…”Well, I guess now that you don’t want to step foot on this property you don’t want any of your stuff….Blah are such cowards..Blah Blah…I do let Gram read all the emails you send, boy is she ever proud of you…Blah Blah.. Don’t even plan on coming over on Christmas Day Eve day, or Christmas day.  We are going to have a wonderful Christmas here, and we don’t want any interruptions”.

Did I not just say I would not step foot on the property in response to your first “No Christmas for You” demand?  Thank you for making that clear, our dog was confused.  You said Christmas Eve day, so I am guessing you are good with Christmas Eve night.   As far as not wanting my stuff, I believe I do.  I bought back few of my things that you so generously gave to goodwill, you piece of shit.

King Shit continues on and in general says..” I found something’s you were planning on stealing still on my property blah blah blah” Then he says…” Hmmm, imagine that, you not only steal from Dumb Shit, now we have to go through everything to make sure you haven’t taken anything else.  Your cousin did the same thing, so I spose I’ll find other things missing when I look for them.”

Mr. Idiot, you are looking on your own property for your things.  How was I taking anything when it was on YOUR property? What about my 52 inch flat screen you stole, and hid in the back of someone’s garage covered up?  I think that went past the planning stage Mr. Sticky Finger’s.  I should have pressed charges when the cop asked.  I did not because of the word “family” and I am not an asshole like everyone else in this F*ck Fest.

He continues on, telling me what horrible parents we are…”You know in only a few years he is going to wonder why my parents don’t work, why do we move around so much, why were they mad at everyone and everyone was so mean to us”.

Your mentality is that of a very slow ten-year-old girl. Which makes this hard for you to understand, but my son is VERY clear as to why we are pissed off.  Also, when you know you are being mean like you say you are, it is called intentional infliction of emotional distress. I know, such big words. No worries, you will catch up one day.
King Shit ends his mental email of wisdom with the following…” I hope your proud of what you’re doing to your mom.  Keep it up and I don’t think she will be around very long.  I have never seen her so hurt, all because of your selfishness, jealousy, and since of entitlement…Get some help and quit playing this stupid little game, all you’re doing is dragging yourself deeper and deeper.  If you feel the need to contact anybody else, go ahead, everyone already knows the story.  All you are doing is proving how dumb you really are”.

When this started I wanted so much to believe that if my parents knew everything that was going on they would slow KS’s crazy train down.  Nope, I was wrong.  My father, Asshole King Punk, was the one hanging out the locomotive window yelling,  “Come on everyone, grab that Kool-Aide, we have lives to F*ck with.  One is a twelve-year-old, so if you start to “feel” this may be wrong,  just DRINK UP! ”