I found a recent photo of my former wife yesterday, and felt a stirring down below even though she in seventy-six. This is a beautiful and handsome woman, then and now. When you have made beautiful love to a woman, it stays with you – at least with me.
Mary Ann looks like she’s out of central casting. Here is the Celtic, or Nordic Grandmother of the Hero who has good intentions because he has formed a close bond with her after his mother was killed by the Bad Guy. If you did a DNA test of Mary Ann and Rena, you would find them kindred, because my ex descends from Eric the Red – and Oden! We are looking at the Daughters of Oden here, folks!
I have told several of my therapists;
“I have been in the middle of a lot of gun-play in my life.”
“Were any shots fired?”
“No! But, there was a lot of threats.”
One of these threats came from Robert Delano’s good buddy who went on a road trip in my Chrysler Newport, and flipped out. At my mother’s house he found a rifle in the closet, and ordered a young girl to get in my mother’s bedroom so he could rape her. Of course, I was elected by Robert and Keith to go save her.
“It’s your Mom’s house.”
I walked in and found this creep pointing a gun at the girl who was pulling off her jeans.
“You don’t want to do this.” I said calmly. And, he spotted a chess set – all ready to go.
“Do you play chess?” He asked.
“Sure. Do you want to play a game?”
He put the rifle down. The young girl pulled up her pants, and crept quietly into the living room. I had forty minutes to lose this chess game, before my mother came in the door from work to have her lunch – at high noon!
Robert was with us on the Road Trip to Winnemucca, where Rena, Robert, and James became afraid of me, I no longer being perceived as a Hero – as planned!
The strangest gun-play I was ever in, was when the judge in our child custody battle told me he jumped out on the roof of the courthouse to apprehend two criminals trying to escape by climbing down sheets. Boutillini got the drop on them with his revolver. He was my judge in my Mafia case in Boston. One could say I was, and still am ‘The Hippie James Bond’.
There are photos of my brother and I sitting on a horse with Tex Ritter who has his hands raised, because we are pointing a gun at him.
“You’re just a victim of circumstances?” Judge Boutillini said to me as he looked into my eyes, trying to discover what I was concealing.
On the advice of my wife’s attorney, I did not tell the Judge who oversaw the child custody case of Britt Thoraldson that he presided over the case in Boston, when I took the Mafia to court – and won! They lost because they sent two goons to kill me, and – they failed. I was alive, and in a room on Beacon Hill with Mafia attorneys – negotiating a deal. They hated my long hair, and the truth I looked just like Jesus.
Boutillini unlocked the handcuffs that the bailiff had put on me when I was held in contempt of court for not showing up for our last court date. I was trying to conceal from the court I was on Social Security for being mentally unsound, I no table to function properly after I died on LSD, I one of the Guinea Pigs of LSD manufacturer whom I knew personally. I was afraid my wife would lose her thirteen year old daughter who I drove across country in a 1979 Ford Thunderbird. And now it is revealed I am mad, a killer on the road – or something like that! How could this “mother” expose her daughter to a Manson wanna-be? Rather then risk that I asked Maryanne for a divorce. We had known each for a two months before we got married, and after he son Eric attacked my wife in front of me, the six month child custody battle had taken its toll.