Invention of the "REVERSE MOHAWK"

This next story happened on the same Sunday that Jeff snorted cups-full of gangling, thick-green boogers at the altar which activated my Super-Powers in a volcanic eruption of  vomit that ended up all over Ricky and on the feet of the Priest and over the front of Saint Mark's Church - but thankfully missing Jesus who was being help up high over the head of Father Bond in the form of the consecrated Eucharist.

Ulrich had decided that shaming my family in front of the entire Catholic Universe and almost being excommunicated...used as bad example in a sermon homily, having to say a quadrillion "Our Fathers" and put on Altar Boy Suspension - apparently wasn't enough punishment for me. He had other plans in store, but I guess God must have seen things differently.

We had move up from the old handheld can opener to a wall mount, not because we were "keeping up with the Jones" which happened to be the Blasers next door - but because if something wasn't screwed down in our house you just couldn't find it.  Many a Thursday "basketti night" (spaghetti night) ended up as hamburger helper without the hamburger with all kinds of leftovers and some of expired food Frank Nargie brought home from the Safeway Food-Bank (and occasional dumpster) all tossed in and missed into a meatless "Helper Goulash" YUKE (superpowers)!

                       We went from this                         to                  this  (now we were "uptown")

So the good news was that now we had a can opener attached to wall that couldn't be buried under stacks of National Geographic magazines, newspapers and the mountainous pile of debris conjured up daily by the 72 inmates who lived in our house. If you drove a small car into our living room it could get lost by the end of the day.
And now we could actually have tomato sauce in our "basketti" ("spaghetti" for all you people that don't speak "broken-12-year-old").

Android users: The Thing Song

Anyway, it was one of those days that the flip-had-switched in Ulrich's head and he decided he wanted to kill me for throwing up at Mass and bringing shame on our family or because I had grown a little and was just an inch shorter than him. I was short twelve-year-old and already catching Urich in height who was a 10th grader in High School.

Ulrich set a ambush and hid behind the cage of fouled-mouthed Mynah bird in the entry. When I came through the front door smelling like this mornings warm-oatmeal-and-sour/powered-milk-concoction-mixed with-bile the "dirty" bird squawked off a curse word  (not acceptable in a Catholic home by-the-way... purgatory was too good for this bird)... the monkey in the living room jumped and it scared the whits out of me and I flinched (remember my childhood PTSD) at the exact second Ulrich jumped out at me in surprise and caught my freaked out flying hand RIGHT IN THE CHOPS!  Yep, I had just busted Urich in the mouth...now I was really in for it. He had something more than just the usual beating in mind...A hamper (blog 6/5/13), an electrocution (blog 4/26/13), hung out a window, buried in a pit(blog 2/27/14), or perhaps smothered under a mattress, all I knew was that I had better run and run quick!  Ulrich had a broom in his hand and promised I was going to die.  What was Sister Edith's Prayer? Do I dare say it again? Have I over used it? Maybe I deserve this for what I did at Mass (last post)...Running... running... running for my life...oh well, here goes, "Dear Lord I love you, forgive me for my sins" Yep, it tasted like captain crunch tearing up the roof of my mouth.

Wrong turn into the kitchen! Trapped with  nowhere to go - for sure this was going to end in death.  GUESS WHAT I SAW?

You know what? I'll leave you in suspense until next time...and tell you exactly how I invented the "Reverse Mohawk" And I guess I should also tell you that it was a fad that did not catch on.  Oh well, If I have a moral for this part of the story - don't bring home boxes with thumping things inside and for "Pete's Sake" whatever you do - don't throw up at Mass all over the Priest!

Big Mistake Hutch! Come on Baby Light my Fire!

First, let me apologize for all the "throw-up" talk. It might be grossing some of you out, but you have to understand - that is where I lived. I practically threw-up every single day. A lot of it came by way of Wolf-Pack terrorism and some just because...

Just because... someone "cut the cheese" or spit a gross loogie - BAM there it was...heaving - gagging and vomit! (You think I liked that, NO! It will eventually add to my Arrested Development - Hey, that might make a good name for some demented TV show- ah...who knows). 

It wasn't like I planned it...I'd be the first to admit it wasn't pretty, but it just happened. So I apologize if you feel there has been too much description and detail, but I am trying to be accurate in my reporting to you THE HISTORY OF THE 60'S ACCORDING to Markie D.


I can't make this stuff up! This was true... plus or minus ten percent.


Anyway... Gherhing and Great and I had sprayed each other off with a hose and were back at my house ready to "rock and roll" with the rest of the crew.  Gherhing always wanted to be right in the middle of things - NOT ME!

Yeah us... that we didn't smell like pee or vomit! Could you just image how much fun the Wolf Pack would have had with that? We would have been unmercifully bullied by the older boys, stripped or used in some devious prank. 

Everyone was laughing when we walked in, as Gustav was recounting how he outran and outfoxed the Venice Police Department.

Remember no adults were home.

 Mom and Jerry "TT" had taken poor Chewy to the hospital. I could still hear his string of pain-filled "Ave...Maria" ringing in my head as they lifted him into the Dodge station wagon and drove off down the street! 

The jumper cables had been taken off the "fire-pole" to eliminate the evidence that his fall from the pole (at the second floor level) was precipitated by the surge of electricity, switched on by my conniving, ingenious, and scheming older brothers (not-so-affectionately know as the Wolf-Pack).

The little old lady next door had a brother named Hutch, who came to her house every Saturday night drinking from a bottle concealed in a brown paper bag. Hutch was as mean and cantankerous as she was and the boys figured, they had time left before it got completely dark to pull off one prank that would be a grand "twofer."  Never mind messing with her precious car, this time...they figured they could make this  one up-close and personal.

Dooh-Dooh Pants had scooped up a big, warm pile of dog-dooie and put it in a brown-paper lunch-bag.  I knew what was up and was smart enough to know that if I were within 20 feet - it would be a "three-fer." I had nothing left in my stomach to give to this newest enterprise and scrammed. I climbed out the second story window and scaled the valley of the steep roof and watched all the excitement from the top of the roof. I figured that from that distance, I was safe from the awful smell.

Just as Hutch was rounding the corner by the Lennon Sister's house (where they were gathered in their living-room practicing for Mass on Sunday), Ulrich and the band of angry little men placed the paper bag and it's contents on poor Edna's front porch and lit the paper sack on fire.

It was a pretty substantial blaze by the time Hutch reached his sister's front Porch. She came out screaming and hollering and threatening the call Police... and Hutch figured he'd be the hero and stomp out the fire!

Big Mistake Hutch...as he stomped on the flaming bag, poochie's pooh-pooh went spraying in a million different directions. He stomped that dookie all over the place and even got some on 'O Edna herself. She grabbed her garden hose and began spraying him off (I could identify). He was yelling and screaming... she was yelling and screaming as she sprayed off her porch and then just stood blaring out threats as though she were the siren on top of a police car and sprayed her hose into the air in the hope of dousing at least one member of the ornery Wolf Pack! 

                                                            She was fit to be tied!  

If my mom was home...we'd probably, all be under the "Pain of Mortal Sin!" 

FIRE!      

That was it... Gustav had a brilliant idea. 

In this case, however, he had no contingency plan - should things go terribly wrong! 

What could possibly go wrong...go wrong...go wrong...go wrong...go wrong... the record player below began to skip... come on baby light my fire...fire...fire...fire...fire..fire...

I think it was an omen.

 Tune in next time to catch the incredible end to a very long day.