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Topics - 85 Day Jerk

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Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / An Unsettling Discovery
« on: March 24, 2007, 01:42:53 AM »
My sister loaned me a christian type book written by a former Army Doctor of the Soviet Union.  It dealt with weapons of mass destruction, and the shit that is just lying around waiting for the highest bidder in the new Russian Federation.

One of the things that came out of the Patriot Act, following 9/11 was some emergency provisions dealing with Bio-Terrorism.  The Executive order gave Governors of states broad sweeping powers in the event of a Biological Threat.  Interestingly enough, the only damn state that actually ratified this insane shit was the State of Florida, and we all know who's little brother is Governor.  The provisions of this crazyness give the Govenor the power to close off and quaranteen entire cities, seize property, and if necessary, burn contaminated buildings without due process of law, or retribution of liability laws.  In essence, the State of Florida could deem downtown St. Petersburg "unfit" and bulldoze historic buildings and later allow the construction of condominiums or what-not for the ultra rich.  I'm glad I am out.  For what it is worth, ya all pay attention to any bullshit health stuff in this upcoming election year.  I think that the goddamn Republicans may try to start some kind of Health Scare Bullshit in order to press forth their twisted agenda.  I am ready for it and am just glad that I was a part of Lyndon Johnson's  "Great Society" and was innoculated against most fucking diseases including Small Pox.

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Night Shift Revelations
« on: March 05, 2007, 12:32:08 AM »
My part time job takes me 19 miles to the northwest corner of the county two nights a week.  It is there that I provide security/maintenance for the local gas station mini-mart.  It stands as an oasis of sorts bordered by 3 different counties.  From within the warm and friendly confines, you can blow your paycheck on more than 30 varieties of scratch off lottery tickets, take your chance playing coffeepot roulette on coffee that holds a close second to freshly cooked Meth, or enjoy one of the many culinary delights that emerge from the talented cashier's skills in the back kitchen grill area.  I wholeheartedly recommend the Cheeseburger Plate with a generous helping of Homemade Coleslaw at only $4.95
and if you order it before 2:30 a.m., you still have time to grab a six pack on your way out the door.

The station is surprisingly busy for Tuesday and Wednesday nights.
I am amazed at what passes for nightlife here in southeastern Tennessee.  We have a countryfied version of "The Fast & The Furious."  These country boys fell into that movie shit hook line and sinker and will take a junk Honda or Nissan from the local yards and dump half their annual salaries into the damn things tricking them out.  Most of the time all they wind up accomplishing is becoming a magnet for the local law enforcement who tirelessly dog the hell out of these poor idiots because they stand out like a turd in a punchbowl.  We have a crew of 4 or 5 guys who pull into the station to stock up on Mountain Dew, Slim Jims and Red Bull and they actually display their most recent traffic tickets to the cashier girl like they are valuable trophies, then when they are through flirting and such, they head up to Rabbit Valley Road for some more drag racing.  About 10 minutes later, me and Kayla see 3 or 4 cruisers rip around the intersection of Highway 58 and tear ass up Rt. 60 to apprehend them.

During one of her smoke breaks outside, I asked her about 9-11, and what it had been like for her.  Kayla is just 19, so she was in middle school when it happened.  What she told me kind of freaked me out.  Her principle got on the P.A. and ordered all teachers to stop the curiculum and turn the televisions to whatever channel and the rest of the school day was pretty much watching the media circus of the planes hitting the towers,  the towers falling, and all the other stuff that went with it.

Call me a hermit, but up until that conversation, I had no idea that 9-11 was part of the classroom experience for any children.  I don't know, I think it was messed up that a school administrator would willingly expose the children to that sort of chaos.  She told me that a lot of parents were really pissed off that their kids were forced to watch that shit, but that the principle had gotten his orders from the highest levels of the Board of Education.  That is some fucked up shit man.  That would be like me and my classmates having to watch live footage of a platoon of American soldiers get their arms and legs blown off in a surprise ambush in Vietnam back in the seventies.  What purpose did it serve?  Geesh, no wonder kids these days act the way they do.  They have been desensitized to the point of total numbness.  Well, all I can say is that it became the basis of the start of a very strange and insightful friendship.

We have'nt really got around to talking about drugs and drug abuse issues, but she points out truckers that she knows are on pills and shit.  A lot of times it's pretty obvious, cause they'll get so cranked up, they forget to turn off their Jake Brake after leaving the mountains and flames and shit pop out of their stacks when they get caught at the only light for miles around.  I never thought a simple part time job at a gas station could be so damn entertaining, but it is.

It was the fall of 1978, October to be exact, and I had been home for almost two solid weeks.  I did not like my living arrangement at all.  Twice I had tried to talk alone with my dad and twice had been rudely interrupted by my goddamn stepbrother for one cockamamie thing or another.

The first encounter was on my third night home.  My father had just started getting into reasons for divorcing my mom all those years ago when Michael pounds on my dad's bedroom door that one of the newcomers is gonna try to split if we don't do something.  It was M. Bell, a 6-1 Georgia boy that looked like a cross between Jan Micheal Vincent and Mike Nesmith of the Monkees.  This was one newcomer that nobody fucked with.  Mike leads me down the hall, then shoves me in the room and locks the door from outside and blurts out "Try-to-calm-him-down-while-I-get-Steveoverhere!"  Steve being Steve Howe, Junior Staff and only 7 or 8 blocks away from us.

Mark was pacing the room like a caged lion and the other newcomers were huddled together by the closet visibly upset.  Turns out Mike had decided to snatch Mark's M.I. book and read some shit that Mark had mistakenly felt was private.  It also turned out that the lazy fucker had simply had his newcomers read their M.I.'s to him from their mattress instead of going over them the way Staff wanted us to.  Shit, half the time he fell asleep and the newcomers would shut off the damn light.  By the time Steve got there I had calmed Mark down by talking about various places in Georgia that I had visited and it turned out we knew several of the same areas and what not and had formed a bond of sorts.  From that point on things were never the same between him and Mike.

So anyway, where does Bohemian Rhapsody fit in?  Well, since I was on second phase and asshole stepbrother was on fourth, guess who got saddled with 90% of the responsabilities around the infamous "Patterson Horizons?"  The constant vigilence, the Tampa Screw-UP and 2a.m. Open Meetings that followed, and fucking unbelievable sleep deprivation all took it's toll.  I remember me and Mark were in the kitchen making french toast and I said to him rather non-chalantly, "If you make home, would you take me for a newcomer?"  He gave me that cowboy laugh of his and says, "What the hell you talking about?"  I peeked out to the dining room, nobody was paying us any mind. "I'm sick of this fuckin shit, I'm just a goddamn watch dog." "I have'nt talked one on one with my dad since I got here, now he's working 3 to 11, I do all the goddamn work, fuck it."  "Whatcha gonna do?"  "Get myself taken away from home."

I figured that if staff thought an oldcomer had lost his fuckin mind, they would take him from home and put him back in foster care.  This way I might be able to get back into my old school and pick up where I had left off.  That was my plan at least.

It was a Tuesday Morning the rap was being led by Dave Searcy, Chris Casselor, and I think either Jenny Sykes or Mary Collette, hell maybe all four.  Anyway I can't for the life of me remember what the topic was, just that right after I was called on, a stiff, cold breeze blew through the open garage doors and the whole group came alive.  It was destiny, it was my chance, go for broke.

"Is this the real life, Is this just fantasy, caught in a landslide no escape from reality."  "Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see"........    I really am a poor boy, but since my mom stopped coming to open meetings ya'll think I'm a rich boy at Patterson Horizons,  well BULLSHIT!!!  I do all the fuckin work while Mike sits on his ass in the living room watching t.v. every night working on the "family relationship."    Then I snapped right back into the song, told them I needed no sympathy cuz anyway the wind blows it does'nt really matter to me.  I think I may have even started singing at this point.  What I do remember was the look on everyones faces.
First they are hit with a cold blast of air from outside, and now this fucking lunatic is narrating one of their favorite "druggy songs" and somehow it is all making sense.  He really has something to say and this is the only way he can do it.  It was brilliant.

I really do not know what went on in staff offices that week, but thursday, my father sits me down alone at the kitchen table with my school records from Pinellas Park High, has a bunch of course descriptions from Dixie Hollins High, and is going over what classes I was gonna take, and I was'nt even on third phase yet.  Friday Open Meeting, KAWHAMMO!!! Third Phase just like that!  By Wednesday of the following week, I was walking the halls of Dixie Hollins and got used to a new thing.  I would actually witness my mind leave me and then come spirilling back like a yo-yo on a continuing basis that did'nt let up until a third of the way thru 4th phase.  I also noticed my dad look at me funny.  It was the kind of look a farmer gives his dog when he's lost one chicken too many and he's looking for a stray feather stuck to it's muzzle.

I caved.  A trip to the library during lunch, and some research led me to the realization that most of my problems were due to lack of privacy, and lack of sleep.  I formed an alliance with several teachers who would either let me sleep through class, or give me hall passes to sleep in the library while pretending to read by simply holding my head in my hands and looking down.  After about 3 weeks I reached a state of equilibrium and around the middle of November, Executive Staff pulled their heads out of their ass with a resounding *pop* and Open Meetings went back to their normal routine.  This is how I dealt with one of the darker periods of my Straight Experience.  I am just glad that no one really held it against me that I actually stood up and recited a damn rock song word for word in Big Group and was not led out the building in a strait jacket.

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / DANGER WILL ROBINSON!!!
« on: January 21, 2007, 05:49:57 PM »
I clicked onto the WEDU link at the start of the new protest thread and picked up a Trojan Virus that attacks firewalls and browser settings along with a Ghost Trojan that does god knows what.

The attacks occurred between 2pm eastern time and 5:30 pm

I just simply advise people to run a check through their systems is all, nothing to get worked up over.  If you right click on MY COMPUTER, left click on properties, go up and left click on performance and have a reading of less than 81% then there is a good chance you picked up the bug off of that thread.  This sort of thing has happened before.

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Locust Street
« on: January 20, 2007, 10:08:21 PM »
The nightmare was over.  I closed the door and threw the deadbolt and just stood there with my forehead against the door and let the previous week float through my head uninterrupted.  The sound of keys jingling startled me and I jolted up straight.  Holy Christ!  It was my neighbor Jaime coming home from work.  I noticed that my apartment was pretty dark too.  It was now around a quarter to seven and I had been standing there in one spot for over three hours.  Part of me wanted to knock on Jaime's door and tell her how I had been dropped by the compound, how I had failed, how I was no longer a school bus driver, but I could hear her through the wall talking on the phone to a friend and making plans for dinner, her laughter spattering and sticking to my invisible shield of hate and negativity like birdshit.  To knock on her door would be an excersise in futility and I was powerless to change my emotions to more closely match hers.  I turned on the t.v. to catch the national news and that is when I noticed the light blinking on my answering machine.  Feeling like a sponge diver covered with lead weights, I rose to my feet and walked across the room and thumbed the button.  

It was my union representative expressing her sorrow and disbelief at the outcome of my "evaluation."  She told me that it was an illegal action that the compound director had taken, yet there WERE witnesses to the day that I threw a chair at him.  Even though he took no action on that day, what I had done was clearly a terminable offense even though I was provoked into doing so.  No matter what I did or said, he had me and he knew it.  I was touched that she had called me.  I slowly began to realize that my being there had made much more of a difference and impact on things than I had ever really thought about.  

I tried to call her back, but there was no answer, and I remembered that it was Wednesday, so she would be busy with church related activities.  I had even been invited to attend her church services.  That was a little too much for me to handle at the time.  A white man bicycling his way into the South Side of St. Pete to sit next to a young black grandmother of 47 in a predominatley black church.  I lacked the courage and maturity to realize the scope of the honor that had been bestowed upon me.  At the time, I thought Shirley was just playing with me.  What I did instead, was to draw inside of myself, hating the whole world and everything in it.  I dragged my futon matress into the closet, made myself a soundproof cocoon for later, drank myself into oblivion in front of the t.v. then prepared for the big sleep.  I put 3 tablespoons of Epson Salt into a glass of hot water.  Before Dave Letterman could get through the Top 10, my guts rumbled like a volcano and I hit the bathroom.  After losing what felt like 5 pounds easy, I wrote a letter to the landlady, saying that I was going to be staying with my grandfather for a few days and went down and placed it in her box.

I shook 5 visterils into my hand and downed them with my last beer then watched an old episode of the X-Files and waited for them to kick in.  Taking that last piss was like wading through molasses.  I unplugged everything except the fridge then crawled into my cocoon not caring if I lived or died.  I slept for 3 and a half days and the dreams that I had were extremely vivid, and life changing.  In the time I was away, every little petty thing that I had blamed my unhappiness and bad fortune on had simply melted away.  People in my building remarked on how fresh I looked and how being with my grandfather had done a lot of good for me.  A day later, my downstairs neighbor Missy whom I had shared a love/hate friendship with for the past 5 years, offered me her car for $300 dollars.  From then on, things started going right for me for a change.  I am not one to say whether it was right or wrong to tempt suicide the way I did, and I can't say whether or not something wrong inside of me actually DID die those 4 days I spent feeling sorry for myself in that closet wrapped up inside 90 pounds of cotton, but all I do know now is that this is MY goddamn life, and it is up to ME to do something with it.  

The previous events happened in February of 1996.

:peace:  :peace:  :peace:

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Let's Do It For Joe Mama!
« on: December 07, 2006, 07:46:39 AM »
I think by now that we all know who "Joe Mama" really is.  I started the thread as a joke, and well continue this thread as a joke.  Joe Mama has made my ass hurt more than any BMX experience I ever had as a youngster and for that I salute her.

Feel free to vent your feelings and thoughts toward Joe Mama with riddles, jokes, photo's or valid medical records obtained by breaking into her old shrinks office.  I don't care anymore.  I gave, ................I gave at the office, but that was'nt good enough, so I'm gonna keep on having fun at Joe Mama's expense.  This aint no ego thing either.  Joe Mama would have to live to be One Hundred and Thirty before we even caught up to the "I Just" thread.

Well I'll be rollin down the highway doing 90, but it won't be on a motorcycle.  As far as I know I have everything buttoned up and taken care of and an extra supply of meds until I work my way into the Tennessee Mental Health Community.

It has been a real pain in the butt having to break down everything and box it up, but by the grace of god, there is only a strong cold front happening and absolutely zero chance of precipitation.  I am still debating whether or not to take my piece of crap kayak along or not.  I should be completely moved in and unpacked by Halloween.

It looks like I may even attend the Memorial Service for the Virginia program if all goes well.  It should prove interesting to finally meet people that I have only known electronically.  It would be nice if folks could cease and dissist with all the name bashing and bad mouthing of people that they don't even know.  There are a few posters in the forum that I don't particularly care for, so I just do the mature thing, I ignore them, or I simply quit making posts until the forum gets it's shit back together.  I am sorry that I have'nt been the old Jerk that everyone came to know and love, but this place became far to hateful and retarted awhile back so I just stopped giving a shit.

For all the people who are still kind of new to this stuff, good luck.  This is an awful lot to take in and it is normal if you feel your head spin by the experience of all those memories coming back.  There are even those of you who think you are in danger of going crazy.
Well, what's so fucking terrible about that?  Can you remember the first time you ever jumped off of a swingset?  You had know idea what would happen, you just did it.  It was fucking great too was'nt it?  Jumping off that swing was crazy, but you did it and nothing bad happened and even if you did skin your knee, or tear your clothes, or lose a shoe, it was worth it.   Don't worry what people think so much.  It's what I think of that dude who could shed 40 pounds that looks back at me every time that I shave that matters, everything else is just background noise that lets me know I am awake and not dreaming all this shit up.         see ya later,   no longer in St. Pete, Bob

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Moving Blues
« on: October 11, 2006, 05:28:21 PM »
After over 4 years of nagging, I have finally decided to move out of Florida.  I grew up in Pinellas County and spent my whole life here.
The political climate here is perfect for allowing places like Straight to start up and thrive.  This area has become so densly populated that 5 Straights could be up and running right now, and nobody would really be able to tell.  I was the last one of my family to still hold on to the Straight doctrines and values.  This made me a freak and something had to be done, so I was ostricised and basically kicked out of the family.  I've spent a great deal of my life living alone and maintaining my own domicile with nothing little to show for it.  
But guess what?  That's life!  That is how it works and I don't feel bad about it not one bit.  Sure I could stay down here and give guided Air Boat Tours through Cross Bayou and Bay Pines looking for Jerry Vancil's skeleton for Halloween, but what's in it for me?

As it stands there is gonna simply be another small pickup truck on I-75 with a bed full of belongings and a small Macaw riding shot-gun up front heading north to a new life.  I don't know how many CD's I will go through to reach Tennessee, but I hope less than 14.  I could use some helpful suggestions as far as time of day to travel from St.Pete to Chattanooga.  I hear Atlanta is a real mother scratcher to drive through when it is busy.  I am thinking maybe leaving here around 7pm and busting straight on up til I get there.  

My main concern is gonna be getting Charo off the road as soon as possible.  I don't wanna stress her out as well as running the risk of some psycho asshole trying to steal her.  I want to let her get used to her new surroundings and what not before the weather gets too cold.  I think it will be cool to live up there.  I spent a great deal of time each summer from '74 to '77  in the scouts camping and hiking up there so I know the area from back then.  I just hope it has not changed too much.  It will also be easier to visit other Survivors from a more centrally located state too.  Part of me is sad to go, and the other part is as nervous as a whore in church but w'ell se e how it goes

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Wha Hell?
« on: July 11, 2006, 02:07:00 PM »
Someone has managed to bump a persons browser over to and that is pretty freaky.  This forum has gotten pretty stupid lately, but also in a way quite a few of us have reached closure of what our experience in Straight did to us as individuals.  I got alot of help just from having a place to get the stuff out.  It was a blessing to have a safe place to write about the incredible experience of being a part of a gov't approved brainwashing and behavior modification experiment.  You just can't tell people in everyday society what it was like.  They can't fathom it.  I just want to say that I am grateful for all that this board has done for us over the last four years and before that even.  It is a damn shame that it is such a litter filled vacant lot full of bullshit now.  I feel confidant that it will change back sooner or later.  For now I can only be patient and let the crap run it's course.

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Something Different........
« on: June 08, 2006, 08:44:00 PM »
The Fog comes creeping in on little cat feet.
It settles silent over warehouses and expensive waterfront property that was paid for with the tears and fears of thousands of teens whose lives were held in suspended animation, and over the lives of those still living in animation.
On silent haunches............and then moves on.

Carl Sandwich

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Mike McCaan / Jeff Coakley
« on: May 08, 2006, 08:35:00 PM »
I remember Mike McCaan pretty good.  For those of you that were fans of the t.v. show Ed, Mike looked just like the guy, minus the brains.  He suffered from tinitus, from one loud rock concert too many and squandered all his money on a 1973 Camaro.  He lived in Lutz, I believe and the space and numerous stoplights and "Big City" atmosphere of Pinellas County really put the zap on his head.  To ride in his car was quite simply a journey in terror.  The dude was a competent staff member, but a terrible driver.  He had an almost supernatural faith in the mechanical abilities of his car that it was scary.  I remember coming home from fishing and riding along with him, because my brother was an even worse driver.  We were on Pasadena Avenue about to hit thrill hill going Northeast Bound when Mike just fuckin punches it and next thing I know we hit the hill doing goddamn 85 miles an hour and go airborne through the entire intersection, pan out bottom on the WRONG side of the road and wind up in a church parking lot with him laughing like a nitrous oxide addicted hyena.  He burned Robert and Marcine Wards dad for like $800 dollars in parts and labor on his car following that one.  When crack cocaine hit the streets of Pasco County, I guess he fell for it in a big way.  I saw him in Pinellas County Jail in 1985 when I did a stint for violation of probation.  He was in with the Felons, and I would see him in the mess hall, but could never get his attention, because someone had busted his hearing aid.  It is hard to say if he ever made anything of himself, but that Thrill Hill Stunt went down in the record books for sure!

Jeff Coakley had a pretty good job in construction and would drive all the way down alone for seven step raps down a fucked up US 19 with the sun in his eyes for the whole time, only to have some freshly squirted 5th phaser punk tell himm they had bad feelings because his eyes were red.  I remember one rap where one of the Khune brothers started laying into Jeff, and I just stood up, folded the chair beside me, held it up and said something to Koonie Boy like, "One more word, and its upside your fucking head asshole."  I defended Jeff told everyone to kiss my ass and then invited everyone to the movies at Pinellas Square and left disgusted.  To my relief, half the kids followed me out to the parking lot, got in their cars and left with me.

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Marnie Sykes then &now...............
« on: April 09, 2006, 03:02:00 PM »
I last saw Marnie at an outside 7 step rap held at the old Morgan Yacht Building.  It was the first week of January 1980.  I had been 'stepped' since August of the previous summer.  It was so weird that while we were finally equals, we would never quite be on the same level.  I saw this in her and sensed that she somehow was lost inside herself and incomplete as a person.  I pretty much felt that I knew who I was and what I wanted out of life.  I had put the program behind me and pretty much lived in the now.

I had made a moneyclip out of nickel silver in a jewelry class in highschool the previous year and had meant to give it to Marnie then, but the program being the way it was pretty much prevented it from happening.  So here was my chance.  I had even gotten a fancy jewelry box from a store at Tyrone Mall to put it in.  I walked across the cold parking lot and the wind picked up a little, as if to help get her attention, and held the box out to her.  She took it from me and opened it and kind of let out a gasp.  The moneyclip shined like a mirror, and was a miniature football helmet of the Dallas Cowboys.  I had put alot of work into it, even got an A-plus and it was obvious to anyone paying attention that she really appreciated it as a late Christmas gift.  Most of us went on to Sambo's for a bite to eat, and then to the movies at Tyrone.  I can't remember what movie it was that we all saw, but I think it was "The Rose" with Bett Midler.  I never saw Marnie after that.

October 2005-

I finally got a day off, the weather was right, my nerves were fine, got enough sleep and everything and had finally located a copy of Replicant Night by K.R. Jeter the day before.  It was now or never.  I stopped and got a liter bottle of Mountain Dew and then drove to the Skyway bridge.  I paid my toll and rolled on through to my destination.  I was listening to Pink Floyd, Animals on CD and really enjoying the ride.  I was coming unannounced, yet since I had brought along three rare novels that make the Bladerunner Trilogy, and a box of chocolates.  It was about time.  Our mutual silence had gone on for long enough.  
    I was so nervous, that I actually drove past where she works.  I turned around and went back.  Walking in the place was really weird.  I quickly looked around for Marnie, yet only saw an old guy with a beard, and a lady with slightly greying hair who looked like a librarian.  Shit!, maybe she did'nt even work here anymore.  The old guy asked me if he could help me and I stammered out that I was there to see Marnie Sykes.  The lady at the computer turned and looked at me with eyes that were so  enlarged by the lenses of the glasses she wore that she resembled an owl.  Holy Jesus, so this was Marnie.  It was a cool visit.

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / SLEEP DISORDERS / Feeling Grateful
« on: January 03, 2006, 03:47:00 PM »
Well, it is official:  I suffer from Sleep Apnea.
I went to the doctors a little before Christmas because I was shooting blood out my tonsils every time I coughed hard.  The LNP that saw me was very thorough and scheduled me to see an Ear Nose and Throat Doctor.  

I went today, and she examined my sinuses with a thing that looked like it came straight outta the X-files.  She shoved this scope thing about 8 inches into my head through my left nostril.  It felt freaky as hell and I damn near had a panic attack.  From there I went to the nearby hospital and had my very first Cat Scan.  They had to run an isotopic dye through my bloodstream and it took the technicians about 25 minutes to finally pop in an I.V.  The machine sounds like a damn jet engine or something and when they let the dye drip rip, I had the sensation that I was flying down a water slide on my back and pissing my pants at the same time.  

The tech let me look at the results on the computer and my nasal passages look like a damn rollercoaster.  It's no wonder that I snore and sleep shitty.  On top of that, it looks like I may have stones in my saliva glands.  All in all, a whole lot got done today and now that I am on Medicare, I only have to pay for 20% of it.  I am very grateful for this.  I have'nt slept well for years and the nights I don't breathe right certainly have an effect on how I feel the next day.  It looks like I will be going in for surgery, and I look forward to it.  I want to get back to my old self and be full of energy.

Straight, Inc. and Derivatives / Belated Thanksgiving Memory from 1972
« on: November 28, 2005, 08:28:00 PM »
It was 1972 and I was nine years old.  My best friend's mom took us to a turkey farm in Seminole to get herself a custom ordered turkey. Me and my friend wanted to see a turkey get it's head cut off and run around, but nothing doin, his mom would'nt let us.

There was a Kodak 110 camera in his mom's purse, and my friend fished it out when she was'nt looking.  After going in the barn and picking out her turkey, she came back to the car to get her checkbook, then went inside the office.  That was our chance!  We snuck around the side of the barn hoping to get a glimpse of some real Thanksgiving Mayhem.  Sure enough, this tall lanky guy comes walking out of the barn with a turkey that had a sack over it's head.  He walked it over to a big tree stump, picked up an axe and WHAM!!!!  The blood must of squirted a good six feet up and the turkey starts jumping and flapping all over the place.  It was cool as hell, and my friend kept clicking and sliding picture after picture.  Finally the guy picked up the still twitching turkey and started to turn towards us.  We hauled ass back to the Cadillac and he frantically jammed the camera back in the purse.  Shortly thereafter, his mom came back and we drove home.  Being 9 and 10 year old boys, after a few days we forgot all about it, especially the part about the camera.

His mom used up the rest of the film taking shots of her family at thanksgiving and what not and in the middle of December, I was once again on an outing with them and she stops off at Eckerd Drugs and picks up the pictures.  It was then that our memory kicked in, and we dreaded the moment when she peeled open the envelope and started looking at all the blood and gore.  As fate would have it, she waited until we were going through a car wash before she pulled out the pictures and started looking through them.  Her jaw dropped open and I knew there would'nt be any ice cream for us in the near future.  After the car wash, she was so pissed, she drove straight to her husbands business to show him the pictures.  Luckily, he was in a good mood and thought the pictures were funny as hell, be he led on like he was really pissed and made us go around the outside of the warehouse picking up trash until she left.  Those pictures stayed on the wall of his office for probably 10 years.

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