Stupid Mexican Tomato Plants

"HELP!" I screamed as the yellow plastic tarp went over the top of my concrete block enclosure. I could see through the space between the bricks and could tell that the hippy-chicks weren't exactly too happy about what the boys were doing, but not one of them came to my rescue. 'STUPID Mexican tomato plants,' I cursed silently in head. Smoking the leaves like they had been doing all morning, must have deadened the part of their brain cells that had to do with love or compassion.  I had no other theories as to why the girls would have allowed my older brothers and the other long-haired members of the Wolf Pack to torture me like this.    None of this made any sense.

Puke Breath - my brother who had a brain like Poindexter, pulled out his slide-rule and made some calculations as the motley crew laughed and stacked a couple more strategically placed blocks on the top edge of IGLOO over the yellow tarp in order to hold it in place over me.

Edna the grouch next door wouldn't save me, my dad was off selling Real Estate (which was a convenient escape) and Mom was probably up in her room watching Gun Smoke too far away for my cries for help to be heard).

The black scabby cat sat in the window as if mocking me and my older sister was off somewhere with her neighborhood minions, who were under her control.

As the 7th born and baby boy I was the least powerful member of my tribe, even though I had a sister three years younger than me.

The birth order was  Boy
                                Boy
                                Boy
                                Boy
                                Boy
                       First GIRL TQOTW  "THE QUEEN OF THE WORLD"  Made sense right?

For the first four years her feet didn't even touch the ground. With our long history of sibling torture, my Dad say that if one male offspring were to every laid even a single finger to one hair of her head  - then we were as good as dead (Section 106b of the Viking Code).   And that's the way it was.

       Then another   boy  that was me... nothing special. Just another boy. Had enough of them already and by the time I had a brain we had already added a couple other older boys to the mix... "strays" my dad called them.

So it went like this   Boy   1st born
                               Boy   2nd born
                      other Boy
                               Boy   3rd born
                    other   Boy              Pinky pictured to the right                                              
                               Boy   4th born
Several Stragglers:   males
                              Boy   5th born

   TQOTW    GIRL     (must have been an immaculate conception or something).

           Just another boy  That's me ... boring... yawn...
               Another GIRL     Couldn't touch her either- see Section 106b above.

I couldn't lay a finger on her under pain of death and mortal sin. 

So I was on the bottom of the rung...10 down or something like that and I was told that we had enough boys already... so if one (that's me) happened to mysteriously die - who would give a rip!  

I didn't even have power over my little sister...pretty sad right? I was the omega ωμέγα runt of the Wolf Pack completely powerless even over a girl 3 and a half years younger than me. And here I was - stuck in a pit in the backyard completely and utterly lost. Let me tell you, we were not the Lennons (who lived across the street) by any stretch of the imagination.
             

Kleghorn screwed the sprinkler onto the end of the hose.  Flea-Bait turned it on and Puke Breath carefully positioned it so that every time it sprayed in my direction - besides watering the inside of old boats - the tops of some rusted cars that had been cannibalized for parts, a couple old engine blocks and a stack of old tires it sprayed the top of the yellow tarp that had been draped over the open hole on top of the "Igloo of Death" held in place by well placed construction blocks.   

They left!  I didn't see much sense in the hose, and the sprinkler, and the water since they had put the plastic over the top, which was actually protecting me from the imitation rain. I though it was meant as a form of noise torture. You know, like the old Chinese "Water Drip" torture. It was maddening - I'll give that to the brilliant boys. I think the sound of that water hitting the plastic tarp some eight hundred thousand times might cause me to eat one of my arms off, but thankfully I had no access to eat my arm off, because all four of my appendages had been bound in an old itchy rope and buried in the pit.
  

The good news was I couldn't chew off one of my arms and the rooster they let out couldn't gouge my eyes out with his 4 inch razor sharp talons.  

Life isn't all bad.... I guess.

"Help!"  "HELP!"    Nothing.  I was alone and the universe didn't seem to care.  Live or not, I felt a little piece of me die inside...the part that cries and has feelings. I was becoming a less human and more of a unfeeling robot.  "Stop in the name of love"

I was going to die and nobody cared.  I was going to die and never truly know what it meant to love or be loved... I wanted to know. 

                                                                                 Android People  Stop in the Name of Love

The hippies troglodytes were talking about the Yellow Submarine and here I was stuck in my own yellow sub marine cave of death. Yet, I didn't realize how brilliant they were until I figured the whole madness out and realized just how bad it was about to get. Yes, it still got worst...