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From the full version of Sunnyside's Lousy Book

It's about the last Christmas I had with my family, back in 1995

Happy Holidays

Christmas day that year confirmed my reasoning for not wanting to spend the holidays with my family anymore. The experience taught me what it’s like to be the freak in the family. It's my guess, the conspirators convinced my brother in-law to play into their game by using his secretes to blackmail him. It’s easy for me to believe their goal was to have Boob Head provide my family with a bunch of lies. And believe me—it’s not the first time my parents would believe my little sister’s man’s word – over mine.

Christmas started out as it usually does, that is with me being broke. I'd wish that I could have spent the money they’d spent on me, instead of them because I would have gotten what I really needed. Everything I want usually cost more than they’re willing to pay, so it isn't worth telling them what I want anyway. If the things I really wanted didn't cost so much, I would’ve already bought them myself. I did receive a new set of strings for my bass guitar, so that was good.
      Things started to appear strange when Boob Head and Motor went outside into the cold weather to have a talk in the front yard. I was sure they were talking about me because it looked and felt suspicious the way they stood in front of the picture window for no apparent reason. When they came back inside, I threw some feeler questions and statements at them and they reacted a little different towards me just as I anticipated. Later on Motor and I were in the back laundry room having a smoke and he ended up having some twisted knowledge about patent laws. His knowledge was mostly the common misconceptions. He was supportive about my truck, but I noticed he asked some of those trick questions I'd heard before. I even began to wonder if he had a bug planted in an empty soda pop can that had been sit-ting on the counter between us. Reason for the suspicion is that he took the can outside to discard it in a peculiar way. That is, all by itself, for no certain reason other than our conversation was pretty much at its end and onto other topics. And no, it wasn't the can he was drinking out of. He was drinking the hard stuff.
      Now days I’d be one who would find myself outside somehow, looking though empty pop cans; just to know for sure. Because I’d rather not have to say, maybe I was just imagining things.

It was real obvious when members of the family went into the kitchen to talk about me behind my back. And if I was in the kitchen; they would meet up in the front room to make comments on how I was doing and the thing that were generally heard on the street. I could tell they had been informed that I was a serious mental case, and if I said anything about my truck, I’d lose patent rights to it. I felt like the family was treating me like a mental case just because someone had told them so. They were looking for any signs of mental illness just as psychologist do. It wouldn’t be long after I’d wave my arms or raise my voice they would retreat to the other room and comment about it. That Christmas day was the second time my dad mentioned something about a mental illness that he had learned about it on television. He mentioned a mental illness disease is treatable, but it’s on going and can't be cured. He said that people who have the disease will eventually die from it. By the way he talked about it; it was obvious that he suspected I had the terminal disease. I had to wonder what even made him think he should even bring up the illness in the first place. I suspect Boob Head put the idea into his head, wouldn't you? If they thought I was on my death bed, was it the reason why they wouldn't help me with funding for a patent application?
      Once we were all in the front room together, they tried to tell me what I was going through, was all in my head and that I should sell my truck and forget about it. I got right down to the point. I said, “Hay, this truck of mine can pay for my retirement and I'm sure I'll make millions off it. I know it will be the work truck of the future.” I looked at each of the men in the room eye to eye, to see if they had a comment, but they didn't know what to say. “Can't you guys understand that?” They were speechless so I scanned the faces though out the room for anyone who might have a comment. “You all think I shouldn't let myself get stressed out about it and tell me to forget it, but I'm not that stupid! I'm not crazy and it’s not going to drive me crazy either!”
      They all looked at me speechless. As if I was full of nonsense and had no creditability what so ever.
      “You all think I need help and you say I should talk to someone who can help me. Well just talking about my problems to someone isn't going to solve a dam thing. Medication isn't going to solve anything either. Don’t any of you even realize what would help me?”
      They all looked at me with clueless eyes and dumbfounded looks on their faces. Without an answer from any of them, I could tell they were waiting for me to get load and violent. They gave each other the kind of look that say's: Is this what happens when a person goes crazy? I could tell they had been preconditioned to expect some kind of display of craziness and no matter what I would say or do, they’d just consider it to be just that.
      “I'll tell you how you can help me. You can all help me if you all scrape together five thousand dollars so I can get my patent application filed. That would help me a lot because it would relieve the stress I have to live with every day. I’m sure it would put an end to a lot of these games they are playing on me.”
      They all said that they were broke and didn't have the money or else they would. I said, “Come on. A little ol $5,000.00, I'm sure if all of you pooled your money together, we could come up with it.”

They all started giving me reasons why they didn't have any money to loan me. If you’d ask me, I’d say it was just a bunch of bale outs. Eventually they figured out how to change the subject and my mother went into the kitchen and made a call to who must have been my aunt, Rosebud. Whether it was an effort to get money out of her or not, I’m not sure. But I’d have to say it was more likely my mother telling my aunt that she thought I was a mental case for sure. I heard my mom say, "He can't even go outside the door.”
      I think it’s safe to say that my family was well aware of the heat I had on my tail, and there’s a good possibility that the heat on my tail was something they were all afraid of.

The next chapter of Sunnyside's Lousy Book is:


Top Secrete, Confidential


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