What’s In The Bag – Psycho Goose?

Capturing Beauty

by

John Presco

Copyright 2019

Chapter Two

Psycho Food Abuse

When I attempt to describe the Food Abuse VW inflicted on his family, I do so in a humorous manner, because, if I did so after getting in touch with my Lost Child, I would be telling this Dark Tale – that rivals Hanzel and Gretal – with tears in my eyes.

Rosemary and VW fought a lot, and like crazy! Saturday was Fight Day. The four Presco Children would rise early and take refuge at our friends house. I came in from playing when we lived on 13th. I was seven. Through the service window, I saw my father rush at my mother, and in one motion, tore her clothes off. She stood their completely naked, screaming. This was the first naked woman I saw. When Belle and The Downtown Savages came after me, I had called off our modeling appointment. I wanted to render her as Venus.

Shortly after this, scene, Mark and I were sent away to live with our grandmothers for several months. VW had gone on a work strike. He threatened to desert his family unless we did things his way. When my brother and I were allowed to come home, VW made an example of us. He got out mother to believe in his Psycho Babel about her sons being against him, and, we secretly wanted to destroy him so we could have sexual intercourse with Rosemary. Victor had read a little bit of Freud. He figured it all out. He would repeat our Dastardly Plot to me several times in the ensuing years.

At our table, at dinner time, VW laid his pecking order on us. Usually he had a beer buzz. He would cook up a big thick steak, then share it with his wife, who he made his secretary in Acme Produce. Christine and Vicki got weenies. Mark and I got heaping hot platefuls of produce that VW could not sell, because it was going bad. A big plate of steaming Brussel sprouts would be put before us. When we finished, Victor went to the stove and came back with a big pot. He came at us with a big spoon that hovered over our plates.

“Would you like some more?”

“No thank you!”

“You want more! Here you go! Eat up!” VW said with a smirk, he thinking he was very clever. Here was a good tale to tell the Barflies at Oscars. When I saw footage of Autzwitz and hear the Liberating GIs killed the Jews due to feeding them too much, I beheld the source.

And.. he would empty the pot till all the stale produce was gone.

You see, he figured it out…what was going wrong with his life, and why Rosemary was saying he was a bad husband and provider. There were TWO PARASITES on board his ship that like to run and play, then, cry to mommy they did not like Vic’s food. Almost everynight he demonstrated what a good provider he was. The Two Traitors that undermined Ship Presco were punished. Our devious game was up. Our childhood would be taken from us. Playing and eating meat is what made Victor a Failure.  When I saw Van Gough’s ‘The Potatoes Eaters’ I saw my real family. I beheld the power of art.

Being fired from his job delivering Granny Goose Potatoe Chips, and losing his bond, made VW un-employable. He began working on his own. We were company property – his assets. We became ‘Lumpers’. VW showed us how to use a dollie, a hand truck. When he saw we were not carrying a full load, he violently threw more crates on. The grown Lumpers wanted to kick Vic’s ass. But, apparently he had gotten in a fight, and kicked butt. VW boxed in the Merchant Marines. Vic shamed all the workers in the Oakland market that was next to Jack London Square. VW would tell me many years later that he used Wolf Larson as a model on how one should raise sons. This puts the Prescos in a Literary domain. Vic made a loan to Jack’s daughter.

Acme Produce was located on Webster Street next to the train tracks. He made a potatoe grater that he hoisted up to the ceiling with pullies and rope. It was lowered for his workers. Grading potatoes is an art form. When I read John Steinbeck, I was blown away. John’s folks – were fiction!

Vic used a piece of hemp rope to keep the front door of his Plymouth shut. He had to tie and untie it to get in and out. When I was sixteen, a watercolor I did of the produce market toured the world in a Red Cross show.

I did not hear from any family members on Thanksgiving and Christmas. My daughter claims I suffer from a personality disorder. What I suffer from is, seeking the truth – and writing about it. Jack London was an Oyster Pirate and wrote about the abuse of the Working Man. He was a Socialist.

When I was twelve I ordered drunken VW out of my home when he came to take Vicki on a drunken drive to Grandma’s. When he reached into his drawer for his pistol, I shouted;

‘Grow up!”

I knew VW was a fucking fraud because Mark and I would stay at Vic’s mother’s house as a reward. We slept outside in a tent. Melba cooked for us all day. Rosemary called Vic’s mother and said;

“Stop feeding Mark. He’s as fat as a butterball!”

VW made Mark the boos over me. He is eleven in this photo. We both have worked for VW for three years. We were paid a dollar a day, which Vic put in our banks accounts. When Rosemary stabbed Captain Victim between the eyes with a steak knife, he ran out of our lives – straight to the bank – and emptied out accounts. We had about $400 dollars apiece. Vic never paid a dime for child support. We went hungry.

I had to ask Mark’s permission to stay in the tent. I was forbidden to read his favorite comic books grandma bought him. When I was twelve, the watercolor I did of sailboats toured the world in the Red Cross show. I was never good enough, never an equal. I see Mark destroying all evidence he existed, then going to a local park and shooting himself. He has gotten rid of his million dollars, all traces of his bank account, and does not have his wallet in. There are no ‘Next of Kin’ to be found.

We used to have lifting contests during our break. We both could lift 75 pounds over our head when this pic was taken. Soon, we could press a 100 pound sack of potatoes over our head. No one in school fucked with the Presco Brothers. I see Mark in a Nazi film. He is Vic’s Drummer Boy!

The truth is, Vic was a Momma’s Boy. His father was a professional gambler who left his family when VW was nine. He felt his mother emasculated him when she assumed the role of his slave. He believed that children were extensions of the parent, and, instead of going into therapy, you get to work out your psychosis on your children, affect the outcome of their lives in extremely drastic ways, as if this was The Way to fix yourself. Somehow, the DNA got reversed, swam back to the womb, and altered the Major Sperm and Womb Donors. Many Babyboomers took LSD and beheld THE BIG LIE. Vic knew I was THE REAL DEAL, and he was A FAKE. So did Psycho Billy.

When I was seventeen I hitchhiked to New York and got a job at Yale Trucking. I worked with real bad-asses. I took the Mafia to court. When Bill Cornwell called me a “parasite” and got my daughter to use this word on him. I told him I was coming to Santa Rosa to kick his ass. We agreed to meet in Williamsberg, half-way. This is when I became ‘Psycho Johnny’ and, never lay eyes on my daughter and grandson, again.

My father knew I could see right through him. This is when he claimed I was not his son. I cry when I see images of Lil Vicki who was used by both our parents to be the Shining Proof they had not fucked up their three oldest children in what can be described as a Post-Nazi Experiment.

John Presco

Copyright 2019

The term “oyster pirate” appeared in several literary works by Jack London. London usually used the term without explanation (“I wanted to be where the winds of adventure blew. And the winds of adventure blew the oyster pirate sloops up and down San Francisco Bay”).[1] Writers about London also use the term without explanation (“he was a sailor, seal-hunter, tramp, fish warden, oyster pirate, cannery worker, jailbird, boxer, and gold digger”[2]), as if everyone knew the meaning of the term.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oyster_pirate

“Granny Goose is the name of an American brand of potato chips and other snack foods. Its logo and mascot, also named Granny Goose, is an anthropomorphic cartoon goose. In a series of television commercials first aired in the 1960s, the company’s spokesperson, who self-identified as “Granny Goose”, was portrayed by actor Philip Carey as a tough James Bond-style spy.[1]

Granny Goose Foods, Inc., was originally founded in Oakland, California, by Matthew Barr in 1946. In 1993, the company acquired the Laura Scudder brand from Borden, Inc., but still could not make a profit due to intense competition from PepsiCo’s Frito-Lay and Anheuser-Busch’s Eagle Snacks, so the entire company was put up for sale in 1995.[2] The company moved most of its operations from its corporate headquarters in Oakland to Kaysville, Utah in 2000.”

 

When Bill Cornwell called me up and told me I was truamatizing his lover, and, because I was a parasite I was on the verge of losing my family, I heard the captain down in my War Code Room, say with a grin;

“Uh oh! Daddys home!”

These are words I often applied to my brother, Mark, when he came home from a hard day at school. Once in the door, he was the Good Child, the Perfect Child, Mommies Little Helper – The Man of the House! The best thing that anyone did for Mark, was provide him with the Perfect Scapegoat when Rosemary born me, her second child. For gifting Mark with a whipping boy, Mark was expected to support Rosemary in her old age.

“Mark is exempt from work so he can study. He’s going to be electronic engineer someday and be a millionaire. However, just to be fair, Marks main task is to change all burned out lightbulbs. Stand up my Good Son and receive you honorary lightbulb changing oven mitten!

Now Greg, why are standing around glomming on to your brothers glory. Get in that kitchen and serve my Little Man his supper!”

“Yesum Ms. Presco!”

When Mark was sixteen he carved out a swastika and a Nazi giving a salute in his friends shop, and hung his Superman over his bed. Mark titled ma a parasite on society because I wanted to be an artist. We stopped eating at the table as a family after Vic was ousted from power, because he conducted Food Abuse. One day, I must write on this topic and appear on a talk show. Food Abuse did not end with King Victor.

One day as we sat watching T.V. eating the dinner I cooked, I tapped on my half-empty glass of milk.

“Execure me! I want to make a Family announcement! I am proud to say that this morning in home room, I stopped standing to salute the flag and pledge allegiance to the flag, because this is pure propaganda, and preparation for the Military. Because my ambition is to be what I am, an Artist and a Man of Peace, then I do not want ,nor do seek, anyone’s approval but my own! Thank you! Now return to the delicious meal I have prepared!”

“I’ve had it!” Mark growled; as he put his tray aside and rush towards me. Standing over me he is screaming till he is red in the face;

“Youre never going to make any money as an artist. No one makes any money as an artist, thus you are a parasite on society. You’ll never amount to anything. You are a leach! A LEACH!”

“You’re the leach. You don’t do shit around here. I want your lightbulb changer job. I want you to go into the kitchen and see if you can whip us up some desert for a change!”

Mark grabs my tray and heaves it to the floor, the glass of milk all the way empty now. I rise up with a right-cross to his jaw, and he throws a left. I throw a series of jabs, and he goes into his whirlwind attack, his head down, his arms spinning like a dervish. I looked for AN opening, AND WITH AN with an upper -cut – Down goes Fraser!

The reason why HBO or SHOWTIME should turn this blog into a Series, is it is the Genesis of cultural Warfare in America. The Presco are the Real McCoys.

When my daughter parroted Bill’S belief that I was a parasite, and thus must be removed from the New and Latest Family Order, I disowned her, put her out of my life, because it broke my heart to see this EXTREME ABUSE of the Family Scapegoat being championed by my own flesh and blood.

I told Heather as she read from the New Nazi Manifesto, that Bill sounds just like Mark.

“You should have Bill read Mark’s essays. Bill will say he has been cheated, by I being your father, and not Mark!”

To know that Mark 2 will have a strong influence on my grandson, is a real defeat, a reversal of all I have tried to do.

Above is a photo of Mark sticking his chest out – like a real man! My uncle Dick is egging him on! Dick lew over sixty bombing missions over Germany. There is a big scar on his chin and cheek when shrapnel flew into the cockpit. When Heather said I was that much more of parasite because I did not serve in the military, I asked;

“Did Bill serve?”

“No,but he wanted to. That’smore then what you wanted to do!”

Uncle Dick and Lillian believed Vic when he declared I was not his son. Marked, smirked when he herd the good news. Getting a job at eighteeen, he moved out, but, never returned with one bag of gorceries, nor did he take his mother to dinner – every! This is because we were a Tribal System, and a martiarchy.

Here is part of Mark’s essay that declares all races not white, as parasite, and pretty much declares all women, parasites. Now that Mark sees that he has like minded folks in the family again, he might come out of hiding and bounce Tyler on his knee – because the Real Family DAddy – is back!

Needless to say, I was the family Jew.

Jon Presco

I met a young man today with the surname Rose. I told him that was a family name. He asked me if that was my last name. I told him my mother was named after her grandparents, Ida Rose and William Rosamond.

“My mother was named Rosemary Rosamond!”

The young man caught how depleted and unhappy I was when I said her name. An hour later I am telling my nutritionist I am a victim of Food Abuse. We were talking about portions and eating more vegetables.

“When I was eleven I saw my mother stab my father between the eyes with a knife, over a big steak he was cooking. Her children ate weenies and sauerkraut. Se was cutting his giant steak into five sections and calling to her sleeping cubs.”

“What else don’t I know about you?” she asked?

“I suffer from PTSD. I have seen a lot of violence and have been in a lot of gunplay, more then cops and soldiers. When I got sober I realized I went out of my way to take on the bad guys.”

Two months ago I took down a post that revealed my mother’s violence and incest. I was afraid Stacey Pierrot and her latest Ghost Writer would steal it and use it to make money. I had a image of black eye, and was telling myself Pierrot has been selling our black eyes and bruises on the Black Market. She didn’t get a black eye or a one bruise from any violent member of my family. But, thanks to Sydney Morris and Bob Buck, we got this parasite selling my family wounds. How much is a broken leg worth? She said there is a new revision of the film script she can’t sell. This is wonderful therapy for Stacey, whose life took a upward turn – the day after Christine drowned! All her fingernails were torn as she clutched to the rocks.

Then there was the extreme verbal and psychological abuse Rosemary practiced non-stop. She used our need for a sane parent to get our shields down, so she go in deep and leave permanent psychological scars – she knew would never heal! I began to speak of these dark and evil things – for free! But, then I realized Pierrot could not sell her movie about my sister because it is second hand information, aimed at bringing fame and money to a freind that has done much psychological damage! She keeps our wounds open and fresh so she can suck our blood and tears!

A woman caught up in the Weinstein Abuse, took her life today. I am getting high glucose readings from the stress. Four hundred and ten! I have talked with my doctor about the extreme stress I have been suffering after I read Snyder’s biography of my late sister. He depicts her as a monster. When I was seventeen, I stopped Rosemary Rosamond from tearing more hunks of hair out of Christine’s head. Her shrieks of abject pain will always be with me. A year earlier, I stopped her from pulling Marilyn’s hair out as she round-up and delivered more hard slaps to my first girlfriend’s face.

Tonight, I beheld Jennie Willoughby perform a miracle that unlocked the cell door for millions of human beings who have been taken prisoner by abusive men – and women! Jack Webb admires her from his grave.

“Just the facts, Mam!”

Very calmly and methodically Jennie isolated and magnified ‘The Cover-up’ that does all the damage. Rosemary married two extremely violent and abusive men that terrorized her four children. She reveled in it. Her monsters did her dirty work. We needed love. We deserved, love. We never got, love. What we got was – drama! We were bit players in their Theatre Macabre that produced scripts so diabolical and fiendish, we Presco Children guessed at what reality was in all our waking hours, and, when we tried to sleep. Both my parents went after our lovers, the people we married, and our children. And, we stayed around them in hope there was a happy ending, or, some resolve.

Lennie and Colbie got out. But, they were being dragged back in by the All The President’s Men who were in a constant PR Crisis, and, who were, and are, lying around the clock! Of course there is a cover-up.

“Get out!” I shouted to these monsters who took over the Republican Party. Get out!

The photograph of Rosemary holding someone else’s child, give me the creeps. The last time I saw her in 1994 she asked me if I sired any children.

“A psychic said I have two children.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to get your hands on them!”

I wanted to add PSYCHY, but, she got my drift. The Rose died in 1997.

My nutritionist is married, and, she is pretty. I try to spare her most of the Hell we experienced. We talked about my cooking habits. I told her I became the Family Cook when I was eleven. Six years later, Rosemary drove me out of the house after I shoved her in a closet still clutching Christine’s hair. I was afraid of her – most of my life. I saw the blood pouring down my father’s face in our kitchen were most of their battles took place.

“If you come out of there, I will hurt you. I will kill you!”

Before I was ‘The Cook’ I was a Lumper in the produce market. I told my therapist we grew up on a lot of vegetables because Vic owned a produce market. Lara perked up, saying this was good. I stopped myself from telling her the truth. My brother and I were nine and ten when we were put to work.

“Did you ever read the story ‘The Sea Wolf’ by Jack London? When Vic ran out of the house and never came back, Rosemary came home with a set of T.V. trays and told us we will never it at the dinner table again. (As God is my witness) The survivors had been traumatized.”

This is not Norman Rockwell. It’s hard telling a healthy and happy person you did not have a childhood because your parents gave up on parenting, and made you the parents, and ‘The Slaves’…………..and their lovers!  Lara is trying to save my life, keep my feet from being amputated. Then I will own a peg leg. Then, I will be Long John Silver, and, never…………Vic and Rosemary’s son!

My older brother was not there for anybody, but himself. I was a ‘Teen Psychiatrist’ to the damaged women in the family. I had a heart. I tried to heal them. Here is Mark’s view of women.

http://mbpresco.blogspot.com/2008/08/problem-with-womens-movement.html

Jennie and Colbie signed up to be Wives. These White House FBI papers, with pic, say they did not get married to be punching bags. I wish them well.

Jon Presco

Copyright 2018

The Problem With The Women’s Movement

The Woman’s Movement is based on two entirely false premises. The first is that “Women have been oppressed and sexually exploited by Men”. This is just the opposite of what is really true. Women enjoy a privileged position in this society and have been making a living sexually exploiting Men for the last five million years. The second is that “Women want sexual equality”. This is the last thing Women want. It should be clear to even the most casual observer that Women have no intention of giving up a single privilege or prerogative or being Female, nor have they. All traditional Female privileges and prerogatives are intact and Women have no intention of giving them up no matter how much they screech about sexual equality out of the other side of Their face. The Women’s Movement has degenerated into a group of spoiled rotten Females demanding to be even more spoiled rotten than they already are.

What do Women want? This can be defined by be phrase coined by the Women’s Movement, “Having it all”, and can be taken literally. Women want all the privileges and prerogatives of both sexes; and the duties, responsibilities and disadvantages of neither. The first thing the Women’s Movement did was disavow all traditional Female responsibilities. Women no longer are required to cook, sew, clean house or be responsible for any of the duties traditionally assigned to Women. Currently there are no obligations that Women feel bound to perform, especially the ones traditionally undertaken by Men. Men, on the other hand, have not shirked any of Their traditional responsibilities; including protecting, defending and providing for Women and Their Children.

6. And above all, white people do not have to tolerate becoming minorities our own countries and cultures as the non-achieving races of the world decide that the only chance they have of attaining a better quality of life is to elbow their way into white cultures, dump themselves on white people and demand that white people provide them a quality of life they cannot provide themselves in their own countries and cultures.

Most white people will think I am cold and heartless. They feel guilty that they have so much and so many others have so little. They want to help alleviate the suffering of the poor people of the world. But I warn you, you can only help them help themselves, and if they cannot do it for themselves there is little you can do. If you continue to subsidize the population explosion of these non-achieving races they will turn your culture into their culture and you will watch your children suffer the same low quality of life as theirs.

The most important thing you can do for them now is to stop the population explosion of these “poor” people. The sheer numbers are keeping them poor and “enslaving” them as cheap labor.

t should be clear by now that black Americans enjoy a much higher quality of life than they have earned. But they still see themselves as victims because they are not provided with economic parity to white people and they hate us for it. This is irrational because white people don’t do this for each other as explained above. Statistically there are twice as many poor white people than black people, but these poor whites don’t seem to get the same attention.

I will now make the case that black people are the real victimizers in this country. I will use negative racial stereotypes which if not entirely accurate reflect the way black people are perceived in this country.

The first victims of black people are their own children. Blacks have a higher birthrate than whites, 70% of their children are born to unwed mothers and get little help from their fathers. There is a very high infant mortality rate. They know these children are going to grow up in the mean streets of the black communities. They don’t care because I believe too many of them try to use their children to retire on the welfare system. If they want a raise they drop another one. These children are raised to believe they are victims of white oppressors.

About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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