Walking Along the Edge of Satire
I walk a dangerous path. I am on stage these days saying all sorts of outrageous things that people can take any way they choose. Some will get pissed. Some will get grossed out. Some will get offended. My intention is to deliver a message with some humor, but not everyone appreciates the same sort of humor.
Satire can be taken as dead serious, or ridiculously extreme. so as to be impossible to BE serious. Like Jonathan Swift and his “Modest Proposal.” Eating babies as a way to fix the hunger problem by reducing the number of people while feeding them at the same time? Ludicrous.
We bought the lie and then bit into it. I have eight children. I am dead. I lost custody of them while trying to save my life twice over, while some force out there beyond me was trying to eliminate me more than twice over. All within one year’s time. My entire body is still reeling from that period of having a machine gun of trauma targeting me. Society says I deserved it, caused it, had it coming, should know how to deal with it, cope with it, get back to work and give them a bunch of money to figure it all out so they can all plan their own future goals and take their vacations.
I wasn’t raised with vacations. I am a workhorse. I am a tired workhorse, I am a furious workhorse. I can type 6,000 words in one sitting and then talk faster than I type now. My brain is on fire while I try and fix a situation that the broken social system in Oregon, the Lane County Courthouses, the legal laws that serve those in power who can hire cut-throat attorneys who work in cahoots with each other (birds of a feather DO flock together…I know about Chaucer’s Parliament of Fowls) over those who have less agency (red-headed witches and creative spirits), and every single person in my past who has had some part of their finger in my family’s pie that has brought us to today.
According to Ralph Bradley, former attorney of mine here in Eugene, Oregon, Mindy Wekselblatt informed him that I was in the hospital trying to commit suicide. I guess since my hysterectomy to fix a pre-cancerous condition didn’t end in my demise, I commanded my body to have a complete bowel obstruction ten days later requiring a second surgery. It must have been successful. I am now dead. I am not able to have any contact with my children unless it is at the tune of $400.00 for two hours paid to Sara Rich, the ONLY supervisor my children’s father, Robert John Jones and his partner and mother of his NINTH child, Shannon Slaughter, will approve of to watch me as I try and engage with my children who miss me, but may not know how to stand up to their VERY controlling father. The man who terrorized, abused, and eventually raped me while I was married to him for twenty years!
But, I guess, I allowed it to happen because I believed I was trapped and held hostage by my LOVE for him and the belief that someday he might CHANGE. I was taught to believe that the ONLY thing that could release me from my marriage was adultery, and when I found him in a relationship with a young woman named Amber, who worked night crew with him at Safeway, on Hwy 101 in Florence, Oregon, I had had enough! I am not so certain of that Christian belief system anymore taught by my former pastors,Robert and Diana Medlin, of Florence Christian Fellowship back when Robert and I were Children’s Church teachers. I kept quiet about the abuse because we all were trained to do as Daddy said, and don’t question him. He also employed cheating and lying to pull strings and get what he wanted. He is now teaching our children to do the same thing. Lie to adults to get what you want. Steal if needed. Disrespect your mother, because she deserves it..she is a liar and a slut, a drunk and a psychologically imbalanced woman with erratic behavior.
Their dad is a control freak who is afraid of germs and going to the bathroom in public restrooms. He will not show affection in public and rarely in private unless he wants something, if you know what I mean. He rarely hugged our children when they were little and used an entire box of wipes to change one diaper. He threw lettuce in our daughter’s face because she wasn’t doing the dishes fast enough. She now has a weight issue, just like her replacement mommy. He held his fist over our second oldest daughter’s face because she wouldn’t get him a dollar so he could go get a Big Mac meal with ice cubes in it. That was after wrestling her all over the living room in a scuffle. My oldest daughter didn’t want anything to do with her father right at first and wanted him dead. My counselor, Theresa Faillace, told me it was healthiest for children to have a relationship with both parents. Maybe she should have examined their dad first. She was the one who informed me that I was an abused woman. I denied it. Then, due to “No Fault” laws and still being terrorized by what my ex-husband was capable of doing to our family from the threats he told me, I did not speak up against him. I was still somehow trying to protect him and believe the best of him. I am no longer doing that whatsoever. Send me to prison. Sue me. Use me. I am a scapegoat. I am the SHE-Jesus, being slaughtered in court. I am THE Anti-Christ and I can prove it in court. I did some gas lighting and the Bible says, “Let your light shine before men, that they might see your good deeds.”
I also know that good deeds are like filthy rags before the Lord. It doesn’t matter what I do, it has turned out to result in my losing custody of the children I gave birth to. It is an INJUSTICE in the extreme!
I WANT JUSTICE! I DEMAND JUSTICE! I WANT TO GIVE MY CHILDREN’S FATHER A HUG AND FORGIVE HIM! I WANT TO ASK FOR MY CHILDREN’S FORGIVENESS FOR NOT BEING A BETTER, STRONGER, MORE LOVING MOTHER!
And while I live in purgatory, dead and not allowed to die, there are days when I want to kill every last person on this planet, including your sweet little old grandma, your sweet little children, and your sacred religions…there are days when I want to resurrect every single last living organism and just annihilate all of it, and then attack the Creator of the ENTIRE universe of existence and kill him, her, them, or whatever force even allowed us to be aware of existing at all! Then, I allow that intense rage to pass like a wave of the ocean and not do a single thing about it. I can out evil anything in my mind. I just need to combine Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Godspell, Jesus Christ Superstar, Hair, Harold and Maude, Animal House, Barney, Lambchops, and Silence of the Lambs and then have ME star in it! That would just be evil on any planet.
My heart and my spirit have been damaged, and it is a good thing I am generally a pacifist like Jesus and my Dad. But, I WILL kick your nose up into your forehead with my heel if you try and attack me while I walk down a dark street. I WILL bite your nose or balls off with my sharp teeth if you try and rape me and I am unable to dig your eyeballs out with my fingers. Generally, I just threaten to send in my drones, along with the Paparazzi, the Illuminati, Tom Hanks and his sexy Android dolls with the built-in Guillotines and then call the police to identify any leftover body parts…that is a powerful spell and I use it very carefully.
I usually just give out socks to people who are stuck on the street and educate them about boot rot and give them a hug, acknowledge their value as a fellow human being, stuck on this planet doing the best with what tools they have been given. I have learned to be careful with bringing home stray cats attached to people. One might get a better understanding of living with mental disorders like schizophrenia and autism. One might end up with three dents in their fridge and some bizarre, new, human beings to care about, even though they are diametrically opposed to almost everything in which you believe. You might end up saving their lives, or at least changing it for the better. Satan and his sweetie are now in their own place in an Opportunity Village house, here in Eugene. Satan told me to keep up the good work when I last talked to him right before Christmas. Satan just wants to get some sleep in a quiet place with minimal stress. He also likes to smoke a ton of pot and solve the world’s problems while he waits for his dragon realm to arise. His sweetie likes to shop, bake, and watch South Park. They had been on the streets for six years before my partner and I helped them have a chance to get off of it.
I hope they do better in life than what life gave to them to work with before we met them. I cannot live with them again. Like my former “Satan,” a Silver-white Persian cat, who I wrote a poem for years ago, they are too high maintenance for me to take care of and be able to feel free in my own home. Renovation does not help those with autism who also have an adjustment disorder. Things must get rearranged in order to change and grow. Sometimes when someone doesn’t want to change, or doesn’t know how to change, they may try and prevent others from doing the thing that they fear the most.
I have studied enough history and patterns of behaviors now, and unfortunately, my children’s father fits the profile of an abusive pedophile, just like his now dead step-father, Jackie Charles Jones who went to prison for molesting his own daughter, Hazel Dietrich. She now lives in Switzerland and my former mother-in-law, Margaret Donathan Jones, now lives in England..back where she belongs. They left behind a mess of wreckage in MY life…I guess the boombox J.C. brought to my wedding did play, “Another One Bites the Dust.” That became our wedding song and now when it comes on, I sing and dance it to myself…then to my snake-like enemy who will also bite the dust someday. Once married, always married, especially when a snake forces a mother’s hand to sign custody over under duress of financial and emotional stress and trauma. What a bastard. And, I only mean that legally.
Now, after a day of weathering through my emotional roller-coaster life. My partner is going to go dance Zumba, I am going to go to a couple of events that address hypocrisy in sports. “Super Bowl Unveiled: How the Big Game Fails Fans, Scores for Sponsors & Always Win the Ratings Game” at the Downtown Athletic Club; then a lecture at my old stomping ground on the University of Oregon campus in Lillis Hall with a journalist named George Packar. He’s delivering a speech called, “American Identity in the Age of Trump;” right before I do a couple of open mics of stand-up comedy.
This is my life now. What a literal fucking joke.