Freddogg Off The Chain

The flipside of laughter is hostility like beware the one who isn’t laughing for they may be contemplating ways to hurt you.

What is left of my family non nuclear out to the sides has not only disowned me but there is a “living contract out” the next time I’m spotted at a family funeral. And all because they can’t take a joke which I admit ain’t funny if you represent let’s say an amphibian with developmental lag syndrome.

“Why did you let them get a copy of your book,” my brother asked about two weeks after Aunt Mary’s funeral in Absecon or Cosecant New Jersey. The Aunts and cousins told me to tell you not to ever show up at a family function which there hasn’t been any since the last time somebody died.



Fat Aunt Rose ain’t fat no more not that I cared I just needed her character. She didn’t like the reference of being buried elbow deep in a vat of potato salad her own 20 inch sweaty arms provoking her suggestion that it doesn’t need salt.

They also didn’t like reading that except for Little Joe who is now a 6’4” 260 pound bald headed drummer in a Jersey Shore Wholly Bully Band the rest looked like sea creatures or that Poppy called his own grandson Harry a Frogman. I even have images of cousins riding piggy back aboard mommy in an above ground pool sporting a juvenile erection beneath a Sears bathing suit and my brother looking at me and saying, ”Forget what you saw here today and don’t ever ay anything. You’re only eight years old.”

I thought they would be proud to have a writer in the family. I can’t even use real names here because of the random ion known as Google but a cousin recently died of flesh eating bacteria and my god what a horrible story which was later amended to drug overdose or maybe cancer and I felt really bad but his twin is 6’4” with red hair and drives a truck and has never forgiven me for nicknaming him “No Case” after he wiped out on his bike and slid sideways into our breezeway.

I am just stuck alone with no place to turn. Family functions involve my wife’s relatives who are moderately amusing if you like stories about other people’s vacations in Scotland or hearing of the humorous tales of Cricket the indoor/backyard Yorkie pain in the ass who drowned under the pool cover one winters day evoking no sympathy from me because I didn’t hate the dog just the never ending stories of the stupid assed yapping bitch.

There are all kinds of infirm individuals related to me to say nothing of a female schizophrenic cousin who lives in a trailer with the floor rotted out not because she has to but because it was free.


And so why can’t they give Cousin David some latitude for his behavior? Humor comes at a price which I extract from them whenever I get a chance. But I have been tossed from the tank. It's a good thing I am amphibious too.
Freddogg