Freddogg Off The Chain

Sounds like a great punishment for a white socks wearing 14 year old wiseass with a Hollywood haircut. Throw him into a sea of young women his same age. Women in jumper school uniforms all sporting Toni Home Permanent hair styles right out of the box. Woman only at arms length and as far as the eye can see not to mention close enough to touch and to hear the static electricity as they sneakily run plastic combs through their hair.

Back in 1960, grammar school classrooms absolutely all looked the same. Boys were in the front half of the room and the girls in the back. The bad kids like me usually sat up front and to the sides where there were less temptations and less of an audience to contaminate. But I was a professional contaminator because chaos and comedy are always preferable to drudgery and routine. The very phase “daily routine” made me feel like a white shoed household black water bug was crawling over the nape of my naked neck which actually happened in my house because that early Black Flag take it back to the nest white powder was about as effective as smoking a banana for a reality alteration.

I was born paying attention to details for the purpose of twisting events. I have always heard voices even whispers and at this stage of my life if the cat walks across the bedroom carpet at 3 a.m. I begin to process his direction, destination and motivation. And if that Psycho Siamese meows just once I am up and after his ass to snare and toss into the wild where he can try his luck at annoying nocturnal creators like raccoons, opossums and screech owls, wild animals that would tear his face off at the first sound of that off an octave baby like cry.

I began to hate girls, all of them. I could see they were so devious, much worse than me and they never got caught. And when they talked to each other all I heard were S sounds. And I knew their bodies were changing like “werewuffs” in a Lon Chaney movie. There were two girls unrelated who looked like gypsies and I think one had a crush on me as in a 300 pound steamroller fatal attraction.

Another not exactly white skinned girl was nicknamed “Caveman” and in the circumspection of retrospection that certainly was cruel and became really strange when she became the girl friend of some big freckle faced poor white boy named Wood Odor. I have repressed the likelihood that I nicknamed and tormented these two but I did have that house cat on an injured field mouse trait as part of my matrix of aberrant behaviors back then.

I saw the world from the inside out never empathizing with the young women around me and never thinking or imaging what they were thinking and when I realized that some of them were thinking about illicit images where I was a major player I got really scared.

They would go up to the nun’s desk to get papers and on the way back past my fort would brush up against me. One time Caveman was on my arm like a stray dog rattling through the high heat cycle of nature’s wisdom. Then some cutesy nymph named Maryann told the nun that every time she passed my desk I hung my arm out into the aisle so she would run up against it.

“Would you like me to rub up against your arm ,”the nun asked me sarcastically in a private hallway shakedown but then she batted her eyes and I didn’t know what that meant because it couldn’t have possibly meant what I thought, I just had to be sick and twisted at least I hoped that was the explanation.

On The Next Montell: Cloistered and closeted arm humping nuns. Psychotropic drugs produce “delayed discovery” as a child of the Sixties now sixty himself recounts his bizarre and improbable story.

Peace Freddogg