Fornits

Fornits Home for Wayward Web Fora
An open discussion about the troubled parent industry

What a difference a year makes...............unless your name is Beth.
Still living out of a piece of shit Toyota Van.  Still under the control of 4 quadriped superior mammals that she collects feces samples from.  Still under the delusion that there are people in these trying times that actually can afford to take the time and effort to "stalk" her.  Stalking Beth would be about as fun to me as watching paint dry.
I for one have given up on her.  Fuck it, I really tried though, but she insists on throwing a monkey wrench into even the most well thought out and well intentioned plans.                                            

So Beth, go ahead and call me okay?  I am gonna put you on goddamn call block.  That is something I consider to be rude, cruel, and unneccessary, but I will be goddamned if I listen to anymore of your chickenshit excuses and listen to you badmouth one of the few regions of the country left that is willing to deal with Batshit crazy fuckin bitches like yourself and actually provide you with the ways and means to flourish and actually lead a meaningful life.  GO AWAY AND STAY THERE.  You do not deserve any empathy or sensitivity.  Not anymore.  You done wore that shit out.  Call me again and I will trace the source and bring tidings of comfort and joy that would make Steven King wince, got it?

I wonder what went through your head Woof, the night you saw me on the unit at PEMHS that blustery October night back in 1988.  T----sa thought it best to break up the "reunion," because it was awkward as hell and probably for the best, clinic rules and all.

I went through my own period of rage and blaming society for my own shortcomings and it was not until a diesel tanker collided with a barge in the late spring of 1993 that I was thrust into the position of healing others and putting what I had learned through my own bad experiences to use in an effort to right the wrong and make a difference.  The Pinellas beaches suffered from the resulting oil spill and tourism abruptly ended for the season.  I was working the field crew for Advertising Air Force, a banner towing service at the time and was laid off indefineatly.  Out of sheer desperation, I took a job driving a van part time for a run down Day Care in the poor part of town near the yet to be used for baseball Tropicana Field.
I would ride my bike to work, load up the kids and make two runs each morning to 4 or 5 area elementary schools.  One of the schools was Azalea Elementary, just down the road from the Morgan Yacht Building, so I was constantly reminded each day of Straight.  I even used the turn around road off 30th Avenue that went under Tyrone and came out next to the mall as a short cut to save time and get the kids to school early enough for breakfast.

To this day, I think it was all a part of God's Plan.  The kids that went to this before and after school care came from poor, yet well meaning families, while others came from better homes, but their own behavior got them kicked out of the "primo" programs like the Y or Salvation Army.  Once I had gained the trust of the owners, they gave me more hours and duties.  In Service days were the best.  I would load up my 16 passenger van with toys, ice chest and kids, and head to a county park and just go nuts until about 2 p.m. when we went back to the center for parent pick up.  I had next to no training, and had to rely on common sense, which I had very little of in some areas.  I'll never forget the time I foolishly handed out super soakers at Sand Key Park without really knowing the layout of the place.  As the kids were busy reloading in the public restroom sinks, a Park Ranger stepped in and started admonishing the kids for making a mess.  These inner city scamps were without fear, and proceeeded to waste the poor guy with water cannons.

He came to me soaking wet, thanked Camp Rascals for "donating" 10 dollars to the parking meters and informed me we still had a 5 minute head start on the sheriff's deputy who was stuck behind the Clearwater Pass drawbridge.  Needless to say, I was a little pissed, but we had no choice but to load up and get the hell out of dodge.  We wound up at the little used North Shore Beach near where I lived in northeast St. Pete and finished the day there.  In the months that followed, I went to night school to earn credits in Child Development, spent the summer as a chaperone, and gained the love and admiration of some of the most hardcore, toughest kids any caregiver would ever want to deal with.  Most of these kids had an invisible stamp on their foreheads that said "NO FUTURE" the day I met them, but by working together, we turned things around for the better.  I went on to become the first bipolar bus driver for the Pinellas County Schools due in part to what I had learned on that job.  As the years went on, I was approached my many young teens and young adults who remembered me from their childhood and thanked me for being there and making a difference.  

Back then there was no Fornits, no protests, Straight was just a bad memory hardly ever talked about.  Sembler was'nt even around much, and while I may have not closed down any second generation programs, I kept about 23 kids hand picked by God from becoming second generation casualties in the "War on Drugs."
Does that make me special?  No, it just makes me Bob Patterson,  Morgan Yacht stepped August 24th 1979.           Later...........

This video blew my fuckin head man!    
http://www.kontraband.com/show/show.asp?ID=6081  

This lady is just as twisted as Ms. Pete on her best day.  The scary thing is, this shit is probably for real.  Scary shit, I mean it's funny, but damn, what the hell is it like to be one of those kids?

Enjoy  :roll:  :rofl:

It looks like Richard Bradbury wearing the "American Holocaust" t-shirt and I can clearly hear the voice of K-pickle, but it looks as if the camera was forced downward by someones hand at the last second.  The building looks like downtown St. Pete somewhere bordering a one way street perhaps near MLK  (9th Street) and I guess 1st Ave North. Does Fica stand for Federal Insurance Corporation of America?  Just curious is all.

Thanks S.K., its weird how that name just snaps into place once it is mentioned.  All these years I thought she was the daughter of Laura Morgan, the treasurer.  There was also a chick named Kathy on staff when I first came in.  She looked like an anorexic Milton Burle in drag.  She was so ugly, and looked so bad, every time she pulled out her lighter, I thought she was gonna fire up a joint.  I remember how they used to let everyone smoke in group.

Were you in the program prior to June '78?  I heard that the 4th phasers (5th had not yet been invented) brought in plastic wiffle bats and would put some stank in it hitting people upside the head for not paying attention.  I remember Jimmy Cassidy talking about it in a rap and Liz screaming at him to shut up about it.  I heard it stung like hell and they quit doing it after a newcomer left his seat and broke a chair over the 4th phaser that popped him one.

Damn, this is a weird one.  I remember shortly after getting 4th phase, my 3rd day or so and get to stand at the back of the guys side for the first time.  I'm in the Morgan Yacht Building and I'm posted nearest to the water fountain at the back of the Guys Side.
This was an important position because it was also nearest to the door leading to Staff Offices.  We were basically trained to react instantly to anyone coming out of that door, in case it was someone trying to help break someone out of the program or whatnot, or in case they were bringing in an unruly Newcomer and needed assistance.  In other words, they wanted you to be on your toes.
Well, I'm standing there one Monday afternoon, a few hours before Open Meeting, and lo and behold, the door opens and it's Carrie Hoepner escorting the mother of one of my ex-newcomers.  He had a sister still living away from home.  The woman motioned me over.  She handed me a box that looked like it came from a jewelry store.  She asked that I give it to her daughter.  "Ms. Arneau," I said, "First phase girls are not allowed to have jewelry, not even a watch."  Sean's mom blushed and said, "This is her bridgework, it's a dental appliance, I hope it helps build her confidence."

I'll be damned, I looked in the box and it contained a wire and porcelain device that allowed the poor girl to transform her appearance from that of a fucked up second grade girl in a teenager's body, to that of a nice looking young woman with a full set of teeth.  Sean burst into tears when I handed it to her.  She made a complete turnaround in the days that followed.  Even Dr. Ross quit fucking with her about "All she wants for Christmas is her two front teeth."  I heard she later went on to become staff, I guess the teeth helped.  All I know is that I made someones day and turned a situation that could have been devastatingly ugly if placed in the wrong hands into something kind and meaningful.

You made some pretty good points *pop*  (600mg Lithium Carbonate)  *gulp* (pretty good coffee with half & half and sugar)
*pop*  multi-symptom allergy crap w ibuprofen, and made me really look at just what was making me feel that way.  Well after a lot of thought, I discovered that my line of thinking was personal and purely One Dementional.  The real deal is that no one has noticed the really fucked up thing about ME and ever mentioned it.  You actually danced on the tip of the iceberg and for that I give you a big thumbs up.  Perhaps it is your own "programing" that prevented you from delving further.  

Straight basically made me what I am today.  When I went in the program, my name was Bob Newman, my name meant nothing to me.  My last name was the product of an abusive step father who thought it would be cute to "adopt" me and my sister after years of abusing us and take a lump sum payment from the State of Florida for "enriching our lives."  One of the main reasons my first phase lasted so long was that Straight had to get my mom out of the picture and it took over 2 and a half months.  From the inside, I could sense that no matter what I did, staff was not prepared to let me advance, so I became a jerk.  What the hell else was I supposed to do?  I was too young to take care of myself, and too old for the Foster Care System.  I figured I would see what steps my dad would take to clear up the mess.  It took some major string pulling to get me transfered to Dixie Hollins.  Because I transfered from an Elective School to a Comprehensive School, my grade point average got all fucked up and I did not recieve credit for taking honors courses from Pinellas Park High.  

I am getting off the track a little here, I guess, but as you can see, there was a whole lot of ways I was cheated out of a fair shake because of my involvement with Straight.  Nobody ever talked about it, nobody ever asked me how I felt, and quite honestly I was too busy finding unhealthy ways to hold the anger in to try to talk about any of it myself.  Very few people knew what I was going through and those that did kept their distance.  The most common response from people that saw the conditions I had to live under, always playing second fiddle to a couple of underachieving 'mama's boys' that were my stepbrothers, finding out my dad was a pussywhipped coward hiding behind the "Weekend Warrior" guise of the Florida National Guard were all a pretty fuckin big pill to swallow at the tender age of 15, leaving most of my friends to ask me "Why do you put up with it?"  I guess the answer to that would be because killiing them all and setting the house on fire to make it look like an accident would'nt have solved anything,

So yeah, to sum it up, while I would WELCOME someone stepping forth and naming names and bringing to light some of the many ways and unfair situations Straight made a mess of my life, there are other people that would rather not think about it, be reminded of it, or be invited to talk about it.  Just because this forum used to be a valuable tool in helping others reach closure does not mean it is now.  Anyone climbing aboard Fornits after around late 2004 is pretty much left out in the cold.  The meaningful posters have long since departed.  I am not saying that I am the only one, or that I am even special in any sense.  I really don't give much of a fuck about people on these boards anymore.  Straight Survivors has become a sick and twisted little Mickey Mouse Club and I have come to realize that I don't fit in anymore.   So be it.  The only reason I frequent this forum is for the slim to none chance that I am able to meet and help those who need it, and maybe reunite with what few friends I managed to garner through that hellatious experience.  That night on the Skyway was a turning point for all who were there.  If you are going after snook, try to catch some yellowtail or pinfish first and keep them alive in a bait well with an aerator pump.  I used to hook em through the dorsal and bloody them up with a knife.  You'll know you hooked a snook on it pretty easy, cause they'll just about yank the pole from from your hands, but for some reason, the fuckers will shy back if you use anything thicker than 14 pound test.  Good Luck,   see ya later, and thanks for the advice, really........Bob

Holy shit, Dick Tracy!!!  I actually got so caught up on my soapbox speech that I actually called the forum by it's former name of Straight Survivors, which only goes to show how fucked up things have gotten around here.  The name was changed to Straight Inc. Veterans after everything went to shit.  You can see how much the name change helped make this such a nice and friendly place.......my bad ops:  ops:  ops: