Fornits

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An open discussion about the troubled parent industry

Good Lord...I haven't thought about the escorts in a long time.  Two greasy bastards, as I remember.  One of the guys was somewhat portly, and I seem to remember him having a mottled mess of short, dirty, very curly hair.  He reminded me of some guy who is a fixture at the local dog track, trying to play up all the angles in a wry manner...but showering far too infrequently to be a succesul con man.  I remember, and this was hilarious to me, when we got into whatever California airport we landed at he knew some woman at a newpaper/magazine kiosk in the middle of the airport.  And he when he saw her, he kinda shifted his gait and started strutting, and at the same time he instantly changed the tone in his voice.  He started speaking very loud and aggressive...and this woman, (who was actually very attractive,) was CLEARLY distressed at the site of the guy.  It was great...because I had nothing on these guys...they both owned my ass, and there was nowhere to fucking run...but for that moment I watched this douchebag who bullies frightened juveniles for a living crash and burn in the worst way imaginable.  It was so bad, it was almost uncomfortable.  The space she was standing in behind the counter was tiny, but she managed to squeeze as far back into the corner as she could as soon as we got close.  And then, after we left the horrible awkwardness of his pathetic attempt to charm this girl into banging him, he started bragging to me about how this is "his airport,"  and, "everybody knows me around here."  I said something like, "oh yeah man, I can see that.  That chick was REAL excited to see you."  And I kinda scoffed.  It wasn't much...but at the time it felt like a minor victory.  This pompous jackass, who made such a display of his firm control over me when I first met him, was trying to impress me with total fucking bullshit.  And I just smirked at him. He knew I was laughing at him behind my eyes.  Yeah...they won.  I ended up at CEDU.  But it was great watching a Hall of Fame masturbater strike out miserably.

They didn't come to my house.  The police came to my school and arrested me because I showed up on the first day at my Alternative School running on pure vodka fumes.  I sliced my hand wide open the night before when I dropped a 40 on concrete and then, in a futile effort to catch the bottle as it fell, ended up toppling over myself.  I put my hands out to brace myself for the fall, and landed right on top of the shards of my bottle.  It wasn't a horrible cut, but I'm sure most of you have had a decent sized cut on your hand at some point in your life, and those injuries bleed like crazy.  Add in the copious amounts of booze, plus the fact that I refused to go to the hospital for 3 or 4 hours, and you can understand how fucked up I was.  I lost enough blood to get woozy, but I kept boozing the whole time, so my mental and physical state was less then exemplary.  After I left the ER with a fresh batch of stiches in the same hand that I had just had stiches REMOVED from 5 days earlier (I was in a car that flipped) I went back out, and pounded down a good half a 1/5 of vodka.  I stumbled home at 6:30 in the morning.  My parents woke me up at 8:00 for school.  Bad, bad, bad fucking scene at the house.  I'll spare the details...but they sent 3 cops to remove me from school immediately after I was dropped off.

So I went to an impatient ward at the hospital.  They were searching for someplace to send me for an extended period of time. I was there a week and a half, and then the morning finally arrived when these so-called "escorts" were due to take me to the place that would fix me forever.  

There was this long hallway in the ward, and at the end of it was a locked, video monitored door that was the only entrance/exit for that particular room of fools and derelicts, and lunatics too.  Every morning they would always play a local oldies station on the radio while we ate our hospital breakfast o champions.  Usually, typical harmless fare from the 50's and 60's...Crimson and Clover, sappy Beatles tunes about holding hands, that kinda thing.  

So I'm staring at the door...all the way down that long fucking hallway, waiting nervously, pacing, irritable.  Suddenly, and I swear to God this is exactly what happened, I saw the door swing open, saw two guys who undoubtably were my promised captors...and a song came on the radio. I heard it immediately...gripping my awareness firmly.  It was The House of the Rising Sun.  I see these two lumbering Neanderthals making there way down this obscenely long hallway, and I'm rigid as all hell...tense.  And it's taking them forever, as I'm waiting for them to box me up and deliver me into some fresh nightmare that I don't even want to begin to imagine...and in the backround, like Tarantino himself selected it, I hear-

There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know I'm one

I'll never forget it.  I have always loved that song...I was a huge Doors fan since I first played my dad's vinyl of their first release on my old Fischer Price record player when I was no more then 3. I always loved Ray Manzarek on the keyboards.  And the House of the Rising Sun has this great keyboard solo in the middle of the song.  They got to me right about when it started.  This haunting, foreboding kind of sound dancing in my ears as these two brutish thugs make a big display of handcuffing my wrists...you know, to protect themselves from my towering, terrifying 5'7" frame...and then they had me all set.  Pointed me towards the hallway.  Just as the keyboard solo ended.  And I started the long march towards an unknown that promised nothing but discomfort...and I looked back over my shoulder at my mom and dad standing behind me.  My dad's eyes and my own both locked for a solid two seconds as I was being walked away like some kind of fucking rapist or murderer, and then the first chorus following the keyboard solo played-

Oh mother tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your lives in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun

It was unreal.  And perfectly suited to my emotions at the time.  And I hear that song, every now and then.  And I think about those fucking escorts, and Ascent, and CEDU, and how eventually they just declared bankruptcy and ran to the hills as fast as they fucking could.  I think about you guys, too.  I always bet that you guys have similiar shadows that obscure a year, two years of your lives.  Cuase you can't effectively explain the experience to anyone who didn't live through it themselves.  I listen to the lyrics of that song, and how gritty it is, and full of insinuations about the darker sides of human nature.  I equate that phantom house in the city of sin to CEDU in a way.

On 2006-02-28 01:25:00, Anonymous wrote:

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On 2006-02-20 17:35:00, Anonymous wrote:


"I think snopes is right, sadly.





Unless it is presented on one of the news channels, Oprah, or the like.





Congress only votes to stay elected and to follow the party line.





The President ... who the fuck knows?





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I have heard an email, including your address, if in the district of the politician is counted. No long emails necessary, just a: Yes, on ###, or no ... with the constituants address in the body.





Also, instead of a letter, just print the email, and fax it to the politician.





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Other than that the only way to pursuad a politician is to donate money to their campaign, or through a lobbyist, of some type of super influence."

The politicians of today, particularly the current administration of our fearless president, could not care any less about the average American citizen if they tried.  This is evident in the way they, and by they I mean from Bush on down through Rumsfeld, Ashcroft, and especially Dick Cheney, have treated the media as a nuisance that is bordering on a threat.  The atmosphere now is such that any sort of dissent or even the tiniest murmuring of discomfort in America is tantamount to treason.  This includes all of us, who were essentially incarcerated ('Cause a place that you despise and yet are powerless to leave sounds like prison to me,) in an institution whose makeup was essentially a contrasting reality- Or, the way the outside world, and your parents in particular, perceived the activities and structure of the "school," and of course, the way it actually operated.  Taken on face value, these schools cannot be defended.  I say that only because they are geared towards profit.  In and of itself, the fact that they are striving to generate profit leads any intuitive outside examiner to the inevitable economic conclusion that they are not operating with rapid reversal and correction of a young person's deficiencies in mind.  As a business man, that makes no sense.  That would be correlative to a record label owner, who has a wildly popular group whose image is sharply dictated by their famously promiscuous proclivities convincing his contracted artists to become devout Christians and take up monogamy.  It is an outlandish Endeavour on the part of the label owner, because if his act does shed their image entirely and completely changes their persona from one of reckless hedonism into one of devout piety, then it is almost guaranteed that he will lose a significant influx of revenue.



Much the same exists in these programs.  To discharge a student means to lose a monthly stipend, one that is sizeable and eye catching, I might add.  Therefore, "students," or "patients," or however they want to classify those enrolled are not human beings in the eyes of those that run these places.  They are black and white numbers on an accounting summary.  They don't want kids to be healthy, and redirected towards a positive and healthy direction in life.  At least not in a timely fashion.  Because to "heal" someone means to lose a payment.  Period.



And politicians, on the most part, are disinterested in this kind of hidden sickness that occurs in American society.  And why?  Well, with Bush at least, he is thoroughly unfamiliar with undue and undeserved mistreatment at the hands of vultures preying on easily persuaded individuals.  Unlike all of us, Jr. never had any real consequences arise from his many documented indiscretions.  On the contrary, he lived with a recurring validation of himself, even while he was behaving in a manner that would get the rest of us either fired, beaten into a coma, or imprisoned.  He is a recipient of the privileged benefits of nepotism to the highest degree, and the likelihood that he or anyone else affiliated with his political doctrine would take a personal and invested interest in our uniquely troubling experiences is next to none.  No, it seems that these swindlers are quite confident that their activities will remain above the scope of public scrutiny.  And really, nothing has occurred yet to imply otherwise.

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