Whose Brilliant Idea was this? Pit of Despair!

There is a crazy lady out there named Margaret Sanger who says that "The most merciful thing that a large family does to one of it younger infant members is to kill it." I hope nobody listens to her. Buried in this pit with cinder-blocks going up around me, I pray that my tribe hadn't been listening to her gobbledygook - if they had, then surely this was the means for my family to lovingly downsize.

The amused hippy clan was sweating and moving and stacking as they continued to build this concrete block Igloo of Death around me.  The only consolation I had was knowing that the Veloci-Rooster could no longer peck out my eyes if they released it from the chicken coop - at least that I was spared from.  With the bandanna around my mouth I couldn't scream for help and being buried up to my neck in this pit, I was completely defenseless and helpless.  In the words of Lee Dorsey, "Lord, I'm just so tired. How long will this go on?"

Little did they know that I was taking names, for if they murdered me, I would come back as a ghost and haunt each one of them.  Where do people come up with ideas like this?  Where in the world did Joseph's brothers (Joseph was a younger brother of a large family in the bible - he was the guy with the coat of many colors)... where did they come up with the idea of putting baby brother in a pit, making him out to be dead and then selling him off to the "Salton Sea-ites" (I think it was Salton Sea-ites - it was some people group like that).  WHY?  

Did the evil inspiration for this come from smoking the leaves of those "Mexican Tomato Plants" in those funny shaped cigarettes. Was it jealously?  Anger? I didn't do anything to them. Was it a feeling of powerlessness and the need to feel powerful so the Wolf Pack had to pick on the weakling of the bunch to feel that way?
I don't know.

The Devil?
I don't know.

The heart?
I don't know.

Some kind of insecurity?
I don't know.

Mass hysteria?
I don't know.

Agent Orange?
I don't know... Wait - this one I do know. Couldn't blame "agent orange" because none of these hippies ever went to Vietnam - they all burnt their draft cards - remember?

All I do know is that an 87-pound 12-year-old was no match for 15 long-hair draft-card-burning anarchist and that I'm stuck in a pit.  As I have said, I have survived being buried before, but this time - things were different. This time it was getting more and more out of control and getting more and more complicated with the ominous stacking of those nasty old blocks.

I just hoped that I had as many lives as that stupid cat, "Lazarus" who was inside the house watching my doom from the kitchen window - "lucky cat."



Around and up went the bricks - this was WORSE!

They were puffing on those hippie-cigarette thingies happy and evil. Working hard and enjoying every moment of it. With all the dirt that was piled up around me and with the pressure around my chest so great I could barley move my rib-cage every time I gagged (because of the rag over my mouth) and when my body convulsed in fear.

I was a Swede and I would not cry!  Though my insides ached from betrayal and from being cut out of the pack - (disowned, I guess) I was trained not to show weakness.  I was glad my eyes didn't leak, because I don't dare allow them to see me as a victim.  This would only make them happier!   No! I would not grant them that satisfaction... instead I was determined to die like Sir William Wallace - known to be Brave Heart.

I would let them murder me and though my inside person was a 12 year-old-boy desperately longing to find the meaning of love - disappointed, abandoned (once again), and betrayed by my own people - My outside person would die like a man!  I would not betray the Viking code...I would not cry!  I would not allow them that satisfaction.

HA! I win!

The next part of their evil  master-plan came in the form of a old yellow tarp!   A big piece of moldy plastic that was used to protect all the decaying boxes of National Geographic magazines from the seldom rain was now being proudly paraded around the backyard as a athlete would triumphantly display their country's flag after wining an Olympic gold medal.

I was deathly afraid of suffocation and thinking about what they might used this decrepit old yellow piece of plastic for, and it completely freaked me out.  It couldn't get any worse...right?  Well it did.  Little did I know how brilliant the Wolf pack was. Evil can be very brilliant, if you don't believe me - ask Hitler.

Could it get worse? I didn't think so, but it did. The yellow tarp was thrown over the top of the "Igloo of Death"  And that wasn't the end of the diabolically brilliant plan, there was more!  Much more!

"Lord, I'm tired and scared and hurt and was wondering if you can tell me how much longer this will go on?"