My Diseased Mind

Judge Orders Monkey Returned to Bipolar Owner in Fort Worth

First off, this is a great headline.

Second off, I don’t know which is the insult, or which is the injury. On the one hand, the monkey is being sent back to the roller coaster ride of living with, and relying on, a bipolar person. Every day will be punctuated by the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, bouts of uphoria offset by agonizing despair.

On the other hand, it’s Fort Worth. Ouch.

And no, I didn’t read the story; the headline and picture combo were enough for me.

Posted in Mugshot, News, Texas | No Comments »

I Was An Elementary School Drunkard

It’s been amply demonstrated in the past that my dad was a father of the century candidate. Granted, he did finish near the bottom with Marvin Gaye Sr. and Bing Crosby, but the participation ribbon holds a place of honor in his trophy case. As you can no doubt surmise from the title, this blog entry covers my formative years, hanging with Drew Barrymore. Oh, right; this blog entry is about a time that my dad inexplicably avoided going to jail.

On this particular night, mom was (clearly) out of town with my sister. Dad, after apparently suffering a traumatic brain injury, decides to go out drinking with his son. The problem is, the son was still 7 years old at the time. It turns out that in Texas in the early 80s, this is not a problem. Hell, the beer joint we hit sold candy and had video games. So while Dad was getting lit, I was eating Kit Kats and playing Space Invaders. Everything was grand.

As the evening progressed, Dad made big plans. He and a friend decided that they had some drunk driving to do, and before I knew it, I was riding bitch on the second most ill-advised drive of all time (first place), oblivious to anything but my sudden lack of Kit Kats and Space Invaders. Dad had snagged a bottle of homemade wine from the house, and he and his buddy were actually passing the bottle back and forth while Dad drove us around. What can I say? It was a simpler time.

Evenutally, the bottle started making stops at me on its way across the truck. I was encouraged to drink. In hindsight, I guess it was one of those, “Hey, let’s get the cat high” situations. We’ve all done it; there’s really no reason to judge. While the immediate effect of the wine was to make me think that everything was funny, it wasn’t long before I tipped over, lying on the seat of the truck, praying for death. Turns out I was a lightweight in 2nd grade. You show me a man who says Kit Kats can’t do backflips, and I’ll punch him in the face. Dad’s friend began to enthusiastically discuss his skill at barbecuing goat, which oddly enough wasn’t helping matters. This night marks the first time of many that I have actively prayed for death.

Mercifully, the night ended, which marks the beginning of the consequences for Dad. Mom returned, and strangely, was supremely pissed. Throw in the fact that the bottle of wine we drained was actually a gift for her, and Dad was summarily shitlisted. For weeks afterward, my spelling sentences included at least one statement of my love of getting drunk on grape wine on Saturdays with my dad. It’s amazing that I didn’t become a foster child.

Posted in Even in His Youth, Texas, The Family | No Comments »

This Dog Don’t Hunt

Living in the Texas Hill Country, the changing leaves and brisk 80-degree afternoons signal a shift in our attentions. The days of weekly(hah!) lawn mowing, lazy summer afternoons watching baseball, weekends at the Gulf coast, and barbecue have given way to the days of raking, football, weekends at kids’ soccer games, and hunting.

However, as you rascally title readers may have inferred, I don’t hunt. It’s not that I have some deep-seated love for animals or the sanctity of life. I’m like every other red-blooded Texan in that regard. In the immortal words of Denis Leary, meat tastes like murder, and murder tastes pretty goddamn good. I have no compunction about eating an animal, whether it be cow, deer, rabbit, squid, lamb, dolphin, or baby seal. I just won’t shoot ‘em.

When I was five, my dad came home from work one day and asked me I’d like to go with him to kill a deer he’d found caught in a fence. Considering that attention from my dad usually ranged from exasperation to rarely-concealed rage, this was a pretty sweet deal. I broke land speed records enroute to the truck. A short drive later, we encountered the unfortunate beast. It was a medium-sized doe stuck in a barbed-wire fence. As soon as she caught sight of my dad, she started kicking furiously. It seems that word gets around. Dad headed over to the tool box in the bed of his truck. I knew that he kept a pistol in there, and didn’t give it a second thought.

Only he came back with a hammer. Yeah, a hammer. A few brief moments of struggling and screaming (the deer, not me) later, Dad was tossing the carcass over his shoulder and carrying it back to the truck. On the way home, I didn’t say a word. Back at the house, he hung it up in the garage and began to clean it. Mom, who was a little perturbed, watched as I took it all in. It was then that I made my only comment on the matter:

“Now you’re just being mean to it.”

Mom was satisfied that he hadn’t completely transformed me into a serial killer. Dad was satisfied that mom was done yelling at him, and hey, free deer. I had brought peace to the household. That’s right; I’m the chosen one.

Posted in Even in His Youth, Texas | 2 Comments »

Texas Means ‘Friendship’

Can’t say this surprises me. We are nothing here if not overly polite.

FORTH WORTH, TX — A Family Dollar clerk in Forth Worth, Texas was charged with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon after police said he used a crowbar to club a deaf customer. Cody Goodnight, 30, has been deaf since before the age of 2 and uses sign language to communicate.

I had no idea that they carried crowbars at Family Dollar. I now know where to go for all of my crowbar needs.

When Goodnight tried to pay for two bottles of Sprite with a $5 bill he was assaulted by the store clerk. Investigators said the clerk, 20-year-old Ricky Young told them he thought Goodnight was being rude by not talking to him and hit him in the head with a crowbar.

First, nice job by the reporter to flesh out all the details. I spent 20 minutes re-reading the above paragraph to try and determine exactly why it’s important for us to know that he used a $5 bill. Turns out it’s not. Also, how much do you think The Coca Cola Company paid for the product placement in the deaf guy/crowbar story. I’m guessing low 5 figures. And yeah, the fact that the guy’s name is Goodnight is hilarious. It’s just too easy; I’m not going to make that joke.

However, I will point out that hey, at least Goodnight wasn’t knocked deaf. So hey, glass half full…

Goodnight said he is still scared to return to the store or any other place alone. The clerk faces years in prison if convicted, authorities said.

He’ll eventually get to the point where he’ll go to libraries and tractor pulls (remember, Texas) again, but I think it’s safe to say that here and here are out.

A spokesman for Family Dollar said the store is conducting its own internal investigation into the incident.

Uh oh, the Family Dollar investigators are on it! I hear they’ve almost found Hoffa something like 6 times! That guy is fucked.

Posted in News, Texas | 1 Comment »

Well, It Was Some Kind Of Education

In 8th grade, I had Coach S. for history. He was sometimes out on days that had major sporting events (a fairly common occurrence in a Texas junior high) scheduled, in order to prepare, or whatever they had to do. We had a substitute who was not unfamiliar to us. For some ridiculous reason, she decided she was going to teach us, and proceeded to deliver a lecture on American History (pre-Reconstruction). We were all a little skeptical, and a little cheesed off, because a substitute means an hour of paid vacation for the students. She was violating the order of things, committing a sin against nature. Alfredo was ready; he knew what he had to do. The first time she asked if we had any questions, his hand shot up. The whole class did a kind of synchronized double-take. When called upon, he very clearly and he very loudly, asked, “What’s a clit?”

Boom, Alfredo’s on his way to the office, but his head was high. He’d done a noble thing, and preserved a way of life. There would be no history learned that day, no dangerous precedents set. The substitute was broken, and spent the rest of the class sitting at the desk, glaring at us.

She never did tell us what a clit is.

Posted in Even in His Youth, Texas | No Comments »