Hell Hath no Fury...Veloci-Rooster Conclusion.

(Continued from last blog posting)

Around the corner from us was this single-mother, who was probably way ahead of her time. She lived in a small house that was sandwiched between the "Fraternity" house at the corner of our street and just before the convent which was across the street form Saint Marks Catholic School. (A convent is a place where all the Sisters of The Holy Names of Jesus and Mary live).

 
Everyday, for the sake of educating her two young children, this lady brought them over to our house for a lesson in science and biology.  Where else could you expect to find a giant 20-year-old frog (the size of a beagle) named, "Grandpa," swallowing baby chickens whole and wrestling rats like they were mere crickets.

Where else in the city could you expect find tortoises cavorting or rabbits mating on any given day.  With the infestation of guinea pigs and rabbits along with the snakes and all the other critters, we had a veritable zoo in our backyard. This is not to mention the long-haired hippies who belonged in the Zoo right next to their primate relatives. With our plethora of animals and the per diem enterprise of procreation on prominent display, what a brilliant way to teach your children about nature and sex education. 


As Catholics, we were not allow to talk about those kinds of things but I'm sure Darwin would be pleased with this lady's progressive approach to home-education. 

These field trips with her 4-year-old and stroller-bound infant had become routine. She was as regular as the Milk Man, the Post Man or the Helms Bakery Man (even though Herbie the Helms Man was mad at us for stealing his eclairs - Harding Avenue was still on his route (Blog Post 8/3/13).

Her children especially loved the chickens and would spend considerable time staring though the chicken wire at the hens in our crudely built hen-house. Her 18-month-old would stand in the stroller, giggling, gawking, and ecstatically drooling down her bib while her 4-year-old jumped up and down, enthusiastically waving his hands in an awkward way, as if he broken chicken wings, while making attempts at chicken sounds. He had very thick glasses and looked special and this only helped to reinforce our assumptions.  

The way I looked at it (keeping my family in mind - who managed to find the worst in people and christian that with an awful nickname), I figured that this lady was probably lucky to have such a tame nickname like "The Chicken Lady."   Seriously, it could have been a whole lot worse!  She had learned to let herself in through the side gate and usually showed up unannounced.

MIND YOU - I was up in bed with my leg sutured in a million places AND COULD NOT WARN HER!

She had absolutely no idea that the delicate laws of the universe had been change last night when the group of angry small man and hippies climbed over the fence (fell really) and brought home:

THE BEAST!

EL POLLO LOCO!

 VELOCI-ROOSTER!

THE TERROR OF VENICE!

Unfortunately, understanding the new rules that governed the universe came with a terrible price tag. One that would required a bloody and protracted learning curve for anyone and anything that entered our backyard, including the herbal-smoking-perpetrators of this latest fowl kidnapping.  

This bird was definitely related to its dinosaur ancestor, the Veloci-Raptor. Though it had the brain the size of a pistachio nut it was a devious and cunning predator. (Speaking of gray matter, my dad said my brother's brains were not more than the size of a walnut. Which made them slightly more intelligent and more capable in their diabolical scheming.)

Anyway, the calculating beast let the poor Chicken Lady push her stroller all the way back to the chicken coop.   The kid squawked, the baby drooled and the rooster from hell stealthily moved in behind them to seal off the exit path.


This unprovoked attack by the raptor of prey, would be its revenge for the kidnapping the night before.

Talons blazing...up, up, up flew El Pollo Loco! In a rear assault as the Veloci-Rooster struck the lady in the derriere time and time again like something out of a Hitchcock horror movie.

                              "Hell has no fury like a mother scorned"

Under siege, the mother pushed the baby down into the stroller and closed her in the bonnet. She protected the 4-year-old by shielding him with her body. There was only one way out of the primordial graveyard of old car parts, decaying boats, and travel trailers —that had no "travel" left in them. She could not navigate her baby stroller over the decaying remains of prehistoric washing machines and outboard motors that haven’t had pistons in them for ten years. She had no other option, but to go through the BEAST! 

Ramming the rooster with the stroller and beating it off with a trashcan lid, she eventually managed to escape the ravages of the taloned-beast with only 16 bloody puncture wounds. The poor woman moved from Venice and was never heard from again. As for the crazy-eye'd rooster, the Chicken Lady had only managed to wound the bird's pride thus making it meaner than it ever was.

Venice - Harding - Dahlins - Marijuana Thieves BEWARE! 

Four Eyes sneaked in past the foul-mouthed mynah bird in the entry to visit me in my room so he could inform me of all the details of today's events (I was sad that I couldn't be there to protect the Chicken Lady and her two children). Four Eyes pulled a pen and notepad out of his pocket and began writing notes. While writing, he droned on about how in the future they should make a movie about Veloci-raptors. He said that because of our rooster, someone in Hollywood should portray the raptor as a close relative and make it have the cunning ability to hunt its prey. I hit him in the head and said, "You're so dumb! For real! Four-Eyes. No one would ever be stupid enough to believe something like that! Not ever! 

A minute later, I heard some of the hippies in the backyard screaming bloody murder. Apparently they had been back at Wall Drug and they had been trapped by Veloci-Rooster.  I giggled thinking this was divine payback. Four Eyes left and I could go to sleep on with something positive on my mind :)

Next the Big Fire and the scandalous tightie-whities.

You Just Picked the WRONG DAY Billy!

It is still the first week of fifth grade and it has been about a bazillion years since anything seemed to go right for the poor little fellow.  Having been left behind at Salton Sea; lured, deceived, betrayed, Mark was stuffed in a diaper pail and shoved under the old grouches' car next door and was involuntarily subjected to community shock therapy by the Wolf Pack.

The older boys were slowly evolving into full fledged hippys and Markie D felt like an outsider looking in. He just wanted to feel like he was a part of his own family, but was too young - too helpless - and too much of a target. As the omega male he was easy prey.

Conked, swatted, kicked, tricked, tied, carried, shoved, shot, shocked, humiliated, dipped, bounced, the little guy was this "passive-aggressive" blob of explosive jello.

"Class," Sister Godzilla shrieked. "What percent of the earth's water can be used for drinking?"

Ernestine, who sat in the desk just across from Markie D (a good arms length away), shot her hand up in the air to answer the question. Thinking it was a fist coming in his direction Markie D reacted to the perceived threat -covered his head with both arms and leaned away - thusly falling out of his chair!  

That's probably not the best thing to do in fifth grade (or in brother Michael's class in ninth grade). Fifth graders can be a pretty mean species.  

 

Richard pointed!

The class laughed! 

Mark pretended to be on the ground looking for a lost pencil. No one was buying it. 

How do you spell humiliation!   m a r k i e d. 

 

Sr. Godzilla pinched his ear, yanked him from the floor and dragged him off to Sister Superior's office. 

Markie didn't know who he should be mad at...someone he figured! Sister Godzilla? Ernestine? Richard? His brothers for giving him Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome? His parents, for not protecting him? Himself for being an idiot? God? No, he wasn't mad at God, but boy... all those pent up emotions were brewing and stewing inside and someone was liable to get punched in the face. By the end of school, the little volcano was about to explode - Watch out world! To be fair to the unsuspecting masses that lived on Harding Ave, Markie d should have had a sign around his neck with a big warning: PLEASE DO NOT PUSH ANY OF MY BUTTONS TODAY!

(Please excuse the literary license as I shift to first person)

I will use a pseudonym for my my next oldest brother - in order to protect the innocent or the GUILTY! Ulrich, who was about 4 years older than me, had begun to gather his own crew of angry short people. All of whom suffered from a personality disorder referred to as a "Napoleon Complex" and assembleD them into a club. Their one grand purpose in life was to roam about and beat up unsuspecting little brothers and anyone they felt they could intimidate and subject to their rule by force. Who better than me! Why not? On the way home from school I was often ambushed by attacks from his motley crew who would cleverly be hidden behind cars or in trees.
 TODAY WAS NOT THE DAY!
 Obviously, they didn't get the memo (please don't push any of my buttons) and Billy Lennon picked the wrong day to wonder off the confines of the Lennon compound!

The Lennons (for many good reasons), played only in their backyard (if they chose to go out into the sun and do activities that normal children do)!  The Lennon Sisters at this time, were indeed, quite famous and had stalkers and gawkers who parked outside their house seeking autographs and hoping to catch glimpses of this celebrity Venice family.  Mr. Lennon was no patsy! This guy could fight and could stand his ground in a boxing ring with just about anybody. For some reason, however, he didn't give boxing lessons to his kids. Oh, and another good reason for them not to wonder off the premises is that the DAHLINS LIVED ACROSS THE STREET.


"Warning! Danger, Will Robinson Danger" 

Danger, Wolf Pack, Danger!

Danger, Mini-Napoleons, danger!

Danger, Billy Lennon, Danger!

Today was not the Day!

Billy caught up to Ulrich where the angry, small-man congress had been lying in wait behind the Steadman's Cadillac to pounce on me.  Mrs. Steadman peered out from behind the blinds and yelled to Mr. Steadman..."The Wolf Pack in on the move, honey. Get ready to call the police! My, oh my"

Urich and his punitive jamboree of "no-gooders" jumped out from behind the big white Cadillac - startling me like Ernestine did earlier. Only this time it was intentional and I wildly swung hoping to take out one of the beligerent predators.

ONLY!

Only, it was poor Billy who I cold-cocked in the face. He was an innocent bystander and the only one of them that didn't deserve it.

The angry little-men scattered! Billy gave chase. I ran into the house slammed the door and hid in my room.

50 some years later, poor Billy is still wondering why I slugged him in the face. When you see him, someone please tell him it had something to do the the electrocutions, with the hamper, with Salton Sea.... with the"Pee-pee incident" in third grade and Mrs. Simpson's alligators (that I swear were real), with Ernestine's hand, with Ulrich and his wretched ambushes or with Sister Godzilla. 

Someone tell Billy I'm sorry and warn him that it just might be safer in their own backyard. As for now, I just hope he dosen't send his dad down the street the settle the score.Mea Culpa. Mea Culpa. Mea Maxi Culpa!

Turns out it was Ulrich who inspired the lyrics to Randy Newman's song; Short People which he recorded years and years later.

Oh, and someone should warn Michael C. about tomorrow regarding "THE TOAST INCIDENT" of 1966, obviously he didn't get the memo either.