Unkillable Handbook Podcast

Unkillable

The Unkillable Handbook. Dissecting the Counterfeit Human. www.theunkillablehandbook.com

  1. 3d ago

    Waffle House #507

    Welcome to our 50th Episode everyone. Sure been fun. And we are just getting started. Why we fight: Here I am again in Joplin Today’s story is twice baked. Told two ways. It begins and ends at a Waffle House – involves a set of keys — and starts up again on the open road ahead of us. If this were a movie scene, we might open it like this. EXT – WAFFLE HOUSE – JOPLIN, MO – EARLY MORNING It is April 2021. It’s overcast. The early morning sun has not fully got outta bed yet. We hear faint traffic noise. Some junior high school kids are on a sidewalk raising money for a charity by selling cheese puffs. Off in the distance we see the Waffle House sign. We’ve all seen them. Black letters in yellow blocks arranged in two rows. WAFFLE HOUSE The words and blocks are hoisted up on twin 30 foot tall pillars – tall enough to be seen from I-44, the nearest highway A cross bar about two-thirds of the way up makes it all look like goal posts. The kind you see at High School football games. The kind that don’t get moved, unlike my family’s. At the bottom, the pillars are sunk in yellow concrete overshoes. It’s like old time gangsters are getting ready to push a stool pigeon into the awaiting harbor. Or, in this case, a parking lot. Further away, in all directions, we see all kinds of signs, showcasing all kinds of establishments, attracting all kinds of customers. Source: The Internet We slowly close on the Waffle House sign and the pillars holding it up. As we move in, we see a tall silver haired figure. He is wearing a black leather jacket and faded jeans. He is leaning his left shoulder on to the left pillar and facing us. Keith Morrison Voiceover The big moments in our lives are easy to see. They are indeed momentous. A marriage. A birth. A new job. Or even a death. We cannot miss them. They stand out like those Waffle House signs visible from just about any Southern Highway. Do we ever pay attention to the small moments, though? The ones that might last only a few seconds but end up changing our lives. The ones that come out of nowhere and seem like nothing at first. Like little gifted lights in a sea of fog. In our busy times, sometimes the smallest moment has the biggest impact -- if you stop and notice. Maybe you’ll even laugh. And maybe, after some time passes, you will think back and realize there’s a whole new road out there for you to drive down. And you have the keys. In today’s story, our road is marked by a sign and leads to a catchphrase. Like the nearby Waffle House. RE-ESTABLISH ON WAFFLE HOUSE SIGN We move slowly past the sign and stop in front of this Waffle House, just across the parking lot. We see the black lettered yellow front, sitting atop a red metal awning. Glass windows below. Inside, we see tables and chairs and not very many customers. It’s early still. There are two or three cars in the lot. Older models. One pickup truck. A black Batmobile car swerves left slowly into the parking lot, crossing our view. It then turns right and parks next to the Waffle House glass door. CUT TO: INT WAFFLE HOUSE – EARLY MORNING CORNER BOOTH We see a most delicious selection of breakfast foods being served up – scrambled eggs, real country grits, waffles, pancakes, biscuits fighting for their lives under a soothing ocean of gravy. And, of course, Tabasco sauce. A total cornucopium of breakfast delights. DISSOLVE TO: We see the hands of two people on either side of the booth arranging the plates, spreading butter, pouring gravy and syrup, gearing up to presumably consume these earthly delights. They begin to open up the paper napkins bundle and we see a set of paper Waffle House hats sneaking out. Cool! Paper Hats! We pull away from the table and see a couple at the booth. This is GOLDEN GIRL and DOLPHYN. They are looking at each other, wearing Waffle House hats, laughing like newly escaped hyenas on a water slide as they ramp up their antics while modeling the hats. We pull further away and see a middle aged well dressed man in the table behind our couple man enjoying his own cornucopium of breakfast delights and nursing a cup of coffee as it grows from hot to lukewarm. Waiting for the next refill. Off screen we hear laughing. More like giggling. It is early. Our elegant gentleman is reading a newspaper. Or at least pretending to. He is really listening to the enjoyable antics of our couple. He smirks quietly and laughs almost silently. GOLDEN GIRL Oh man. We need to get a picture. I think I left the camera in the car. DOLPHYN No problem. It’s in the travel bag, I think. I will get it. CUT TO: EXT – WAFFLE HOUSE – EARLY MORNING PARKING LOT We see DOLPHYN open the Waffle House door – while still laughing. He approaches the Batmobile and extends his arm and hand to the door handle. We close in on his hand as he reaches the handle. The hand pauses for a moment and then gently pulls the handle out. KABLANG! The car alarm screeches and screams like Nuclear Seagulls. Or like pumped up coyotes on Helium. DOLPHYN OH, CRAP! CUT TO: INT – WAFFLE HOUSE – EARLY MORNING CORNER BOOTH We see a set of car keys on the table. Next to the bathing biscuits and gravy. The well dressed elderly man in the nearby booth, laughs lightly. WELL-DRESSED MAN And you got the keys. Ha ha. And that is exactly how it happened that one early morning in April 2021. Here is the cut to the aftermath scene. By the way, I still have the hats. Image Courtesy of PFFK#7 Fried Lean Tomatoes at The Waffle House Cafe After a night that ended somewhere between 3 am and nearing sun up, the only next stop is Waffle House. I had just spent Easter 2021 with my Grandmother, Muff, in Gruverly and was on a 1,300 mile road trip to somewhere that was not Gruverly. I arrived there on April 2nd and stayed for around three weeks. This was the second time this year I had stayed for a longer period at Muff’s. The third time was at Christmas that year. That was the last time. This trip was “monumentous”. I miss the bright early spring blue skies and the early flowers in full bloom. Here are some tulips from this trip. Image Courtesy of PFFK#7 Everything from the tulips growing in her yard to wearing her hats on Easter Sunday and other Sunday church was wonderful. Here are a few of those pics. Images Courtesy of PFFK#7 I call these Girls in Hats. This Easter was somewhat important. When we sat down in church that day, as the Pastor Steve opened by asking for Prayers and Concerns, O.P. -- my friend and Leading Elder Lady of Gruver -- shouted out “June Barkley is here for the first time in a year.” Pastor Steve nodded and moved on. O.P. – not one to be moved on from – shouted out a few minutes later “June Barkley is here for the first time in a year.” I love O.P. And her friend Dot Cat. And all her other friends. I did not know, however, that Muff had not been to church in a year. I asked around and found out someone was stopping her -- because the troubles. You know what I am talking about. I do know who stopped Muff from going to church, and so did O.P. I reckon she was calling him out. She was right. A Horse’s Ask It was such a nice time that I had hoped Muff missed the fact that neither my dad, Fredo, nor any of his bosses, had even called to wish her a Happy Easter. My aunts sent gorgeous flowers, and my uncle hosted Easter lunch and an Easter egg hunt. From what I could tell, the last hint of Fredo, was a bulk package of Sam’s paper towels tossed in her garage. For some reason. Fredo or Hannibal tossed the paper towels on top of Muff’s garage refrigerator. Were they placed there on purpose so she could not access them? Were my parents losing more and more of their manners or, in some cases, common sense? Was Hannibal laughing about it? Some might say yes. Including me. Both Fredo and Hannibal seemed so far removed from everything deemed sacred in years prior to 2020, prior to my brother(?) Myron and his wife, the unfortunate Marm, landing in Amarillo. So, Fredo did not turn up for Easter. He didn’t send anything. He didn’t e… This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.theunkillablehandbook.com/subscribe

  2. Oct 18

    Jeepers Peepers . . .

    Jeepers Kreepers, where’d you get them lies Oh woe is me, gotta get my cheaters on Oh those weepers, how they hypnotize A Kreeper Files Story – Season 1 Episode 2 This is part of the Kreeper Files Series, in which we “dwelve” into the Marm and her grifter family, the things they do, how they came to be here to infect my own family. And, we hope, how we can rid ourselves of them once and for all. Last week we told you about the Marm and how she came to appear for no good reason. Today’s Episode goes back one level – to her dad – and will be told in two parts. This is Part 1. The Beginning of the Beginning — Dr. Kreeper So, let’s start with a flashback to a scene from last week’s Episode. It’s September 2021. I’m on the phone to Fredo. “The Marm’s dad died”, Fredo said, casually, like he was talking about the Turkey breast from Rudy’s. “They aren’t having a service, though. So, I sent her a bunch of flowers.” That was odd, I thought. Not the flowers part, but the no service part. “Really?” I responded. “When? What happened? Why are they not having a service? Are you sure?” “Well that’s what Myron told me. He died and there won’t be any services. The Marm also texted that to Hannibal. So stop asking questions.” OK. Myron told him. Now it is starting to make sense. Fredo believes everything Myron says. The more un-credible the better. He never believes anything I tell him – probably because he don’t like no truth. And when Fredo tells me to stop asking questions, I know what to do. Ask a bunch more questions. “Who doesn’t have a service for their father? Like why not? Why should I stop asking questions?” I had a whole lot more questions after that. Such as “what kind of flowers?” Or “where did he die?” And -- my personal favorite -- “Helloooo! McFredo! Do you actually believe that?” Because I sure didn’t. So I looked into it. They didn’t bother, so once again it was up to me. Incurious Bass Turds You would think that before welcoming someone into your own actual everyday living family you might want to know maybe just a little bit about it / them? Before buying them a house – with money that belonged to me – a little research might be in order? I don’t mean hiring a private investigator or anything like that. Maybe a little Google search? That reminds me of a story. A friend from Australia started out as working in the coal mines as a “pit-leco”. The Australians have funny nicknames for everything and everyone. A pit-leco is an electrician who works in the mines. Anyway, he discovered a massive coking coal deposit and sold it for something like $400 million big ones. Then lost it all, went bankrupt and was being run through the court system. The Australians, being the minimum security prison guards that they are, wouldn’t allow him to leave the country without court permission. So, when he had something lined up in NY, he asked the court for permission to leave. At the hearing, the Gov’t bankruptcy lawyers asked if the people in NY knew about his bankruptcy. His response was epic. “Yeah, they have Google over there.” But apparently they don’t have Google at #6 Accosted. Because it doesn’t take much to find out what the Marm’s family, especially her dad, have been up to. Here is some background. The Spoiled Alerter To cut to the “chased”. The Marm’s dad, Dr. Kreeper, real name John Paul Keppler, is not dead. He pops up all over the place. Places like Dothan, AL. Parts of South Carolina, Georgia and Florida. I even found a Dr. Kreeper in Alaska, New York and Michigan, of all places. Oh, yeah, and Ohio, where he was born and went to high school, college and medical school. He’s no longer a Doctor though. They usually don’t let fraudsters, drug dealers and meth-heads practice medicine. Oh Woe is Me . . . So, who is Dr. Kreeper? Before I get to that, I will tell you this. Much of his early record seems to have been scrubbed from the entire internet, including the Wayback Machine and the Internet Archive – both usually pretty reliable sources. In some cases, records I found once suddenly disappeared next time I looked. Good thing I saved a lot of what I found. After that, I started to save everything I find as I find it. Then I back it up. I also usually print out the more relevant stuff. As a result, I have sooooo much stuff -- documents, screen shots, images, etc. So much that sometimes I can’t even find a file that I was looking at just the day before. Such is my burden! This much I do know. It takes some doing to have records scrubbed from history. Ordinary peepers do not have the ability to do that, especially convicted drug dealers, money-launderers, and meth-heads. So, why was this done? And how was this done? Well, “some people” have theories. I might just lay out these theories at the end. Which theories, as stated, come from “some people”, and definitely not me. In case anyone out there who may – or may not – have been involved in such scrubbing, keep this in mind please. You are looking for “some people”, and totally not me. . . . Gotta Get My Cheaters On So, who is Dr. Kreeper? He was born in November 1950 in Cleveland, Ohio. Strangely enough, the same county as Chagrin Falls is located. That’s where the store called Quoffs is. It is the only independent distributor of Hermes items in the U.S. They also have other brands like Kiton and Italian Shirts. It is owned by a guy named Codger. I told you about Quoffs last week. In March 2019, the Marm – at Hannibal’s urging – casually suggested that, Oh, I don’t know, maybe a Taupe colored Birkin bag would be a great wedding present for her! Why, I’m sure it would. So back to the Doctor Who? Dr. Kreeper went to St. Ignatius High School in Cleveland. St. Ignatius claims to provide a “Christ-centered education for boys in Cleveland”. Well, in this case, they failed. Like, miserably. Here is a year book picture. See those evil eyes? Well the Marm’s daughter – and his granddaughter – known as Hell Child has similar evil heaters. Here is a close up. I wouldn’t want to encounter those peepers . . . anywhere. Would you? Hannibal gets to encounter them, however, every week I’m told. So there is good news. Signs Point to Yes Apparently, the Marm drops Hell Child off for Hannibal to baby sit at least once a week. Then never picks them up until late. Har Har. I have it on good authority that Hell Child is not a well behaved Hell Child. When it was younger, it used to bite my Nieces and then other kids at pre-school. That was a few years ago. So I don’t know if that still goes on. But I am definitely not gonna find out. Leave that to Hannibal . . . who would probably bite back. I do have a few questions about this babysitting gambit. Some are even good ones. Why would Hannibal allow this to happen? She complains about it constantly. Everybody says so. She is not even a good babysitter. So why would anyone ever want Hannibal to babysit? Is it a form of punishment? Does the Marm have something over Hannibal? So that Hannibal cannot say no? Signs sure do point to yes. Or so says the Magic 8-ball anyway. Oh Man Those Weepers OK. Back to Dr. Kreeper. Dr. Kreeper graduated from University of Cincinnati Medical College in 1978, and was issued a full medical license in Texas in 1981 and in Georgia in 1987. Before that -- in 1972, at the age of 22 -- he got married to someone named Cynthia P. I guess it didn’t go so well, because they got divorced in 1973. Ohio is one of the few states where you have to give a legal reason for divorce. There are 11 recognized grounds for divorce, such as adultery, habitual drunkenness, bigamy, extreme cruelty, leaving the toilet seat up, saying these jeans don’t make you look fat, etc. etc. In Dr. Kreeper’s case, the reason cited was “gross neglect of duty”, which is defined – according to the Internet so it must be true – as a severe or long-term failure to fulfill marital duties, like respect, fidelity and support. All sounds kinda vague to me. They were ma… This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.theunkillablehandbook.com/subscribe

  3. Sep 30

    Preview of Coming Retractions

    Introduce Me Here we introduce a Series about Myron’s wife -- the Marm – and her grifter family. It’s about how these grifters latched on to Myron and then my own family. It’s also about how I figured this one out too. Before getting started, I have to say, I am strangely thankful. Until the Marm came on the scene, getting conveniently pregnant, I had no idea about Hannibal. I had yet to catch on to her deceit, lying, manipulation, thefts, cruelty, and all the other stuff we here at The Handbook are detailing. Remember The Handbook Rule of “What Changed”? Well, Ima about to tell you. Saving the Last for Best My overall operating theory in all of this saga is that Hannibal, Fredo, and my sister(?) are being blackmailed by the grifter family. Myron is probably both a blackmailer and a blackmailee. I haven’t yet figured out the answer to this question: Is the grifter family Hannibal’s worst nightmare or her dream team? For now, let’s start at the beginning. The Stars at Night I am in an Airbnb in Austin, TX. It’s April 2013. Saturday night. Ack-Ack-Ack. OM--M-F’ing--G! What is that ungodly noise? At 2am? There it is again. Ack-Ack-Ack. Screeeetch. Squeltch. Like someone was rubbing an angry possum up and down on a blackboard. Or like Cousin It being zapped with a cattle prod. I looked out of the window and couldn’t see anything. But there it was again. Ack-Ack. So I went outside, carrying a broom, and I saw them. Two menacing Guinea Fowl, sitting on the window ledge, giving me the evil stare-down. I shook the broom at them, and they scattered. That only made them mad. They came back a few minutes later and this time it was totally personal. They were louder and way chattier. Talk about angry birds. All throughout the night, the Guinea Fowl’s deafening shrieks cut through the air. Pillows over the head were of no use. I thought of all the different ways to dispatch a pair of Guinea Fowls without anyone noticing. I finally settled on a catapult. Where was I going to find one of those at 2am? By the time the Sun was set to rise, I fell asleep. When I awoke, it was Sunday morning. I could hear music coming from across the street. We were in an older part of town, largely African-American. There was a church service going on. I admired all the big hats, colorful dresses, sharp-dressed men, and flowers. I felt a lot better. Longhorn Leghorns Why was I in Austin, TX, at an Airbnb? To meet Myron. Myron had rolled in from Houston and brought a “girl” with him. Of course, he did not let me know he was bringing a “girl”. I grimaced. Not again, I thought. Myron often showed up with different girls. So, I had gotten used to it and didn’t take it too seriously this time. Maybe I should have. Either Myron or the “girl” arranged the lodging. I’m guessing the “girl”, because Myron doesn’t really do much of anything. Either way, it and was not very good. And it only had one bathroom. The “girl”, as Muff and I would later call her, did not say much. I couldn’t figure out why he brought her. She was not interesting. She didn’t seem interested in anything. She didn’t seem to connect with anyone and was just right there in work out clothes. Smirking. She avoided making eye contact. Just about the only thing I remember her connecting with was her chewed on cuticles. That was it. Looking back, I can now see the Guinea Fowls were giving me warning. As in “run for your life” Like in this picture. Scene from Wedding Crashers My personal boundaries were about to be bombarded. Was the shrieking pair outside of the master bedroom a symbol for the scheming pair inside the master bedroom? By the way, having only one bathroom was a typical Myron dick move. He was always obsessed with toilets for some reason. He would brag about blocking someone’s toilet up when staying overnight with them. He did that to me once. Also, Muff’s toilet used to back up all the time after Hannibal visits. By the way, I looked up the Airbnb later and there were exactly zero mentions of any Guinea Fowl in the reviews. Seriously, Airbnb needs a category for that. You know, Central Air Conditioning – check. Number of Bathrooms – 2. Guinea Fowl – No. This Bird has Flown After I returned from Austin, TX, to #6 Accosted. I noticed the two giant green ceramic Guinea Fowl figurines that had been on Hannibal’s “breakfas” room cabinet for as long as I can remember. I just never looked. I asked Hannibal about them and mentioned I had just crossed paths with a pair in Austin, of all places. Hannibal shrugged her shoulders and didn’t say much. Birds of the same damned feathers, I thought. Probably the best example I have come across. There they are. Seemingly out of sight. Laying low on your window sill. Waiting. Just when you get comfortable. Ack-Ack-Ack. After that, every time I walked into #6 Accosted from the garage -- that leads straight into the kitchen area for some reason – I looked sideways at those fat birds. I did deliver a little comuppance in March 2019, though. That’s when I watched Hannibal pace around the #6 Accosted kitchen island like a tongue-tied pelican, continuously asking “is she a prostitute?” Referring to the Marm. This conversation went on for like an hour. For fun, I looked at the ceramic birds and said “you’re starting to sound like those Guinea Fowl back there. Are you sure you’re OK?”. It seemed like a bookend. Hmmm. That’s funny. Now that I think about it, those ceramic birds might be actual bookends. Hello Goodbye That was the first time I met the Marm. But that wasn’t the first time I heard about her. It’s June 2012. Myron had bought some Hawaii trip package at some charity aution. He said it was for his then current girlfriend. We call her #1. We all liked #1. He was lying, of course. Can I go along with #1, Myron asked me. Hannibal is going also. That in itself was weird. Hannibal hated Hawaii. Though I guess she did like all-expenses-paid Hawaii. Anyway, I agreed for some unknown reason. We get to Hawaii – to the Ritz Carlton Residences in Kapaula Bay on Maui. Within a day, Myron calls up #1 and says he is breaking up with her. He is now dating the Marm. While we were consoling #1 in Hawaii, Myron was moving in the Marm. She was at the time a waitress at the Irish pub Myron and #1 used to frequent. The Marm had recently moved to Houston from Georgia, pretended to be friends with #1, so #1 helped her feel welcome. So in return, the way I understand it, The Marm began hooking up with Myron behind #1’s back. That to me is betrayal. I’ll tell you what for -- when it comes to most types of bad behavior, women are just a lot worse than men. I can say that because I am one. Also because it’s true. I’m hoping to get some more of #1’s stories. She will have a unique and sad perspective, although I can understand why she might be a little bit reluctant. What You Takin’ About, Phyllis? I will tell you. Here are the main characters in our Series. We will enjoy dissecting them. The Marm-aluke Myron’s wife. She got pregnant in October 2018 – on purpose probably – and got married in April 2019. I have questions about this. Some of the timing doesn’t add up. Some lies were definitely told! We have been able to obtain a paper she did in nursing school. Based on a thorough review, she has no detectable IQ. Why do I call her “the Marm”? Too easy. Dr. Kreeper – The Dad Meth-head actor. Dr. Kreeper once was a Doctor. He was also once the clinical director of the Texas drug abuse commission, then got busted for drugs and fired. That was in 2003. Then he was selling addiction self-help videos on Amazon, only to get busted again for meth production. Good luck finding any of that online, though. Most of it has been totally scrubbed. Good thing I saved all my research. Oh yeah, he has a striking resemblance to Curtis Eddie Smith from the Alex Murdaugh case in South Carolina. Just sayin’. Karen Casing – The Mother, a.k.a. The Marm’s Marm All around Karen. Shortly after the Ma… This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.theunkillablehandbook.com/subscribe

  4. Sep 24

    Government Cheese

    Our story today starts and ends with a death in Anderson, MO. In between, we stop off in OK and learn about related topics such as lasagna, trailer homes and, of course, cheese. In the last Episode, I showed this handwritten note in Hannibal’s scrawl which I found in the Trinket Bible. Here it is It contains a reference to her dad – Carbomb -- dying April 22, 1981, in Anderson, MO, along with his widow’s phone number. Today’s story is about that death and the trip Hannibal took me on in 1981, when I was three, to visit her dad’s widow. But before we get to that, we have to make a stop aaaallll the way over in a place called McAlester, OK. For some reason. Where in the Heck are We? We are in McAlester, OK. Population 18,000. It is 1981. McAlester for the unfamiliar – which is just about everyone – is about 120 miles Southeast of Oklahoma City and sits just outside the Choctaw Nation. There is nothing in McAlester. Not even a Waffle House. Except the Oklahoma State Penitentiary, affectionately known to many as “Big Mac”. It was built in the early 1900s and is very Spartan and brutal. They don’t even have air conditioning! Back in the 1970s and 1980s – when this story takes place – it was known as one of the most corrupt prisons in the country. There were also several prison riots there. So, all in all, a really nice place. Although, SportsCenter did once broadcast Big Mac’s “inside the rodeo walls” prison rodeo from there. I’m not so sure it’s a great idea to give the inmates giant pissed-off bulls to ride or lariats for calf-roping. Sweet Cheeks Back to McAlester. It’s later summer 1981. I am three years old, and adorable. See? Source: Me The afternoon air is hot and humid, something I am not used to. I am used to heat in Hansford county, where it usually gets above 100º F in the summer. Sometimes even in the winter. In the Texas panhandle, anything above 20% humidity would be considered sweltering. Not, however, in the middle of Oklahoma. I am in the back seat of my mom, Hannibal Anne’s, beige sedan sitting on the crackly yellow seats. I have a stash of books in my backpack. I am sweating. My face cheeks are flushed and red. Not sure about the other cheeks. Ahem. We had been driving for hours and were pulling through an area I certainly had never been to before. There are Post Oak trees lining a winding dirt road. I see a picnic table in front of a trailer house. The scene is still except for the slow movement of the trees. Hannibal’s face was not raging and her eyes were not dancing. Odd for Hannibal. She sat in the driver’s seat looking at the trailer house. We sat there for maybe 15 minutes as Hannibal watched. Did I mention it was really hot? And humid? I watched Hannibal and could not pick up on where we were, why we were here, or what her mood was. I looked across the back seat at the three packed bags. Was this place familiar to Hannibal? I looked at books and slept most of the way, but I didn’t see Hannibal use a map. We were about 400 miles from Hansford County. Nowadays, that trip might take 6 hours. Back then, probably a lot more. With the humidity, it felt like we were a lot further away than 6 hours. Trailers for Sale or Rent Trailer houses always registered with me. I always worried about them, and their inhabitants, for two reasons. One involves tornados and the other involves lasagna. Hansford County is in the core of Tornado Alley. During It Was a Very Good | Bad Year, otherwise known as 1982, or as Groundhog Year, a severe F4 damage ripped through Hansford Co. In 1971, a wide mile-wide tornado came through. That was before I was born, so my memory is a bit fuzzy on that one. Anytime there was a tornado warning and we would seek shelter, one of my first questions would be “what about everybody in the trailer homes?” I would usually be reassured that advance warning had been issued and occupants would be in the school or library basement. As Hannibal would say “you are such a worrier”. Maybe. I would think – in my head -- “well, you don’t seem to have much to worry about.” She never really seemed concerned for anyone. Some hired hands who worked for my Grandfather, Dayton, lived in trailer homes. The homes would be located on his land so they could keep an eye on the cattle or equipment. I remember them as hard working, dedicated and nice people. So, of course, I would worry about them, that they lived so far out, and what if they could not hear the sirens. Here is a conversation I remember when one of those tornado warnings came along. FREDO You are driving me nuts with this tornado worry. Listen. They got tires are on the roof in case lightning hits. (I knew that.) Even if they can’t hear the sirens, Dayton will radio them. We try to give them enough notice to seek shelter. Everything is going to be OK. ME 10/4 . . . Good Buddy! (Which I totally learned from that Convoy song.) Well, what if they don’t hear the radio? What if the radio is turned off? What then? FREDO Then we will drive out and tell them? ME In a tornado? FREDO You are driving me nuts with this tornado worry. Once, Twice Three Times Lasagna A few months after this conversation – maybe early Winter -- we were waiting for Fredo to come in the door for dinner. Hannibal had put more than the usual amount of effort into making dinner. We were having lasagna. It actually smelled pretty good. I could almost taste the melted cheese. Fredo arrived home from the fields, showered and made his way to the dinner table. As he sat down, his mouth slightly opened and his eyes registered a look I had not seen before. He dug his fork, gingerly, into the lasagna. His face started turning white. My eyes started moving from Fredo to his eyes locked on the lasagna. Then over to Hannibal. What was going on? Even Hannibal didn’t seem to know. She smirked. Fredo suddenly stood up. The next thing I heard was the bathroom door slamming shut. Clunk. Fredo was ralphing. Hannibal was pounding on the door yelling “Hey! What is wrong?” It’s not like anyone can answer a question when they are mid-ralph. I stayed at the table, probably the safest place, trying to figure out what could have happened. Fredo didn’t get sick that often. After a bit, Hannibal returned and commented the lasagna was likely no longer warm. She cut a square for her plate and one for mine. I just followed her lead. She had a bite and so did I. I forked it up and watched the cheese drip and dangle down to my plate. Stop playing with my food! We both finished our plates. I thought the lasagna was good. There sat Fredo’s plate – untouched and clean, which I stared at. Hannibal must have caught on to my staring at Fredo’s empty plate. HANNIBAL You know Pablo? Well, he is dead. He lived out in that trailer. You know the one, that trailer you can barely see when we drive to Stratford. I couldn’t imagine where this was going. Hannibal seemed unfazed that someone had died or that we just had dinner without Fredo and that he was now sick in bed. HANNIBAL Your dad just told me that they couldn’t get Pablo to radio in for work. So, your dad went out to Pablo’s trailer. After yelling for Pablo and not getting a response, your dad had to go inside the trailer. The smell was ghastly. Pablo had left the oven on and open to stay warm. Somehow this blew up the trailer and Pablo along with it. Well, Fredo said Pablo looked like lasagna. From that time on and up until 2020, as far as I know, Fredo would do anything to avoid all contact with lasagna. But, then, Hannibal knew that. What does this story have to do with Lasagna, you ask? Nothing. It’s about trailer homes. The Wheel of Misfortune Flying Teak Bowls from Outer Space — Henning Koppel for Georg Jensen; Image Courtesy of PFFK #7 Back to McAlester, OK. I was in the back of Hannibal’s car, staring at this trailer house and running my very own reconnoitering. You know, in case of a tornado hits. Or trying to figure out the kind of people who were inside. Or was it empty. Abo… This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.theunkillablehandbook.com/subscribe

  5. Sep 17

    These Lights We Never Turn Out

    That’s tomorrow if you are reading this today. Anyway, the 18th. Remember that date. It comes up later. Image Courtesy of PFFK #7 Let’s start with some song lyrics. They also come up later. Turn out the lights, the party’s over They say that all good things must end Call it a night, the party’s over And tomorrow starts the same old thing again -- Wille Nelson, The Party’s Over To which I say all good things must not end. The party is never over. There will be no “calling it a night” on my watch. And tomorrow we are going to do something so totally different you might not even recognize yourself in the mirror, assuming you can even find one! Just sayin’ It Happened in March It’s March 20, 1986. Afternoon. I just left school. Backpack over my shoulders, Trapper Keeper in my arms. An ordinary school day. It’s a Thursday. My mom, Hannibal, was there to pick me up and, I thought, take me back home. She was wearing a red oversized rugby jersey with “Coca-Cola” written all over it in big white letters. Personally, if I am going to be wearing someone else’s brand, they should be paying me, not the other way around. It was an ordinary school day, a Thursday. I could have walked home or ridden a bike from school. It wasn’t far. They wouldn’t let me, though, so Hannibal usually picked me up. She was driving her usual red and grey Suburban. “Get in” she said, unemotional and strangely calm. I climbed in, closed the door and stared out the window for a few minutes. I thought we were going home, instead we ended up in the parking lot of Gophers. My dad, Fredo, was standing outside the building. Gophers was a restaurant not too far from home and down the road from the Allsup’s gas station. It’s not there anymore. Gruver Cafe — which is on Main St — is there now and we love it. “Stay here”, Hannibal said to me as she opened the car door and slid off the seat. After closing the door, and walking up to Fredo, he quickly gave her a full hug, a hard one, with both arms. Like he meant it. She raised her own arms slowly and, reluctantly it seems, returned the hug. But only loosely. She showed no emotion I can remember. My eyes froze and my corners of my mouth turned down. I started to tear up. Somehow I knew what happened, as if someone had whispered in my ear. Dayton died. He collapsed and fell off his horse, his face blue, I was told later. He was only 60. I will write about that in a future Episode entitled “Six Days From Sunday” -- when I can stitch up enough courage to do so, that is. All the Good Things For now, I remember all the good things and the fun stories that stick with me forever. I told you a few of them already. Like the Cristal Pistol story – the adult place where no adults go. Or how Dayton showed me the correct way to stack and count grain bags in the store. The store is still there, by the way, mostly just as he left it. Last time I was there, it felt like he was about to walk in and say “hey, kiddo”. Or about the time when he had just returned from the War, and someone he didn’t know was heckling at him. Dayton walked up to the stranger, placed his left arm on the man’s right shoulder and said “Son, I don’t know you, but you seem to know me. Why don’t we settle our differences like gentlemen?” After telling that story, he asked me “why do you think I put my left arm on the stranger’s right shoulder”? “I don’t know”, I responded, “Were you trying to reassure him?” “Nope” Dayton said. “If I had to clock him, his right arm was tied up and mine was free”. That was Dayton. Cool, wise and crafty. Here are a couple of pictures of Dayton when he was in the Marines and stationed overseas. I think this is in Okinawa. There is a notation on the back. His friends called him Commander, even though he was a Corporal. Dayton is on the right in both pictures. He’s holding the Colt .45 Model 1911 in the first pic. Author’s archives Here is an embossed version of the right hand picture. Author’s archives Dayton had a great sense of humor and a calm and deliberate way about him. He helped out so many people in his short life. He was more than an inspiration. He showed you how big life could be. That everything is possible. That the only limits are the ones you set for yourself. Dayton was always so kind, nurturing and easy with me. Well, except that time I hid his cigarettes . . . Here is a grainy video of him riding a kids’ pedal tractor with my cousin following him on a bike. My cousin sent me this a few years ago. I laughed and cried at the same time. I know that inside a part of 9 year old little me got fixed and locked away on that day in March 1986 -- and still lives there. Here are a few more stories I remember. My Repeated and Failed Attempts to Stay Up All Night When I used to stay over at Muff and Dayton’s – which was frequent but not often enough -- I never wanted to go to sleep. I was always having way too much fun. I loved being in their house. I was always at peace there. It made me want to jump up and down on the bed and sing Xanadu and other great Olivia Newton John songs – wait, are there any? Dayton made sure I got to sleep though. Either he or my Grandmother, Muff, would read me a book. Then Dayton would say “well, kiddo, time for bed. The party’s over” as he reached his arm up into the lamp and begin singing: Turn out the lights, the party’s over [pause] They say that all good things must end [pause] Call it a night, the party’s over [pause] And tomorrow starts the same old thing again Dayton had a great singing voice. I can hear it now, this chorus so clearly, as he reaches his arm up and clicks off the lamp. Then he would keep his head inside the closing door right up until the last word – “again”. That was it – lights out, door closed, and a safe warm good night’s sleep. There was nothing to worry about, at Muff and Dayton’s, and it was the best and safest feeling. Subconsciously, I knew that Hannibal could not get to me, or throw me out of a moving car, when I’m asleep here. Instead, I knew my grandparents were right across the hall. The bonus, waking up to breakfast at their house. Muff made these great scratch biscuits. And Belgian Waffles. And eggs. She also used to make me these little apricot turnover fried pies for my Birthday, except Fredo would eat them all before they ever got to me. Does that not just sound like Fredo? My Favorite Book My favorite book at their house was Mr. Angelo. I have a copy in my library right now. It’s about a man who lived in a house at the top of Butternut Hill who loved to cook. He cooks so much food, he can’t eat it all, so he opens up an Eatery and a Bakery in his front room. He almost gives up until a boy named Jim says “you need someone to help you.” And that is so true. Or as the Beatles say, “leave it all ‘til somebody else lends you a hand”. Muff and Dayton must have read this book to me over a hundred times. The difference each time was the following day. I would ask them “what if Mr. Angelo had made cookies?” or “what if he had handed out free samples? You know, get them hooked first?” Each would entertain my questions and would have great responses. So the book wasn’t an isolated story it was like slowly furnishing a room in their house piece by piece. Both would help me think through different business plans for Mr. Angelo. Always with a sense of humor, and a big vision. Let’s say I had asked Hannibal (I don’t think she knows this book exists) a question about Mr. Angelo’s business plans. I can imagine she would say “Oh, there was a hair on one of his donuts. So he had to close his business.” Then she would go out, buy some donuts, and put hairs on them. Hannibal’s idea of business is sabotage and also grifting. Stop Yammering Thanksgiving 1985. The evilness of Hannibal, hounding anything good like a Beagle, has been going on for all of the decades she has been alive. As much as she has been chasing me, she chased Dayton too. But in that case it was tactical. For most Thanksgiving… This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.theunkillablehandbook.com/subscribe

  6. Sep 14

    Everything You Ever Needed – And More

    This is a continuation of the story about the Giant Bible and what I found in it. Keith Morrison Voiceover . . . Because every story needs one. “The word “memento” means to remember. We all keep them. If you think of life as a series of pages that flip from day to day, seemingly forever, to become our own book. Every important day, its own page; every big moment, its own chapter. Sometimes we cut-out the meaningful parts and leave cute little mementos in between those pages. We do it as a way to save our best days forever. These are the times we keep closest to our hearts. Usually these mementos are the happy and the joyous events. The birthdays. The weddings. The little babies delivered into a big new world. The happy times. That is what we all expect and what we all hope to do. What does it mean when the mementos we find are not the happy events? What do we make of reminders of deaths? Or church fires? Or a mother forcing her little 5 year old daughter to write a birthday card? Perhaps, what ends up as a keepsake in a book is important. What is more important, though, is how and why. Why are there mementos of death, when there should be keepsakes of life? Our story today will try to answer those questions.” . . . Non-Keith Morrison Voiceover We all have keepsakes and mementos to remind us of happy times. We sometimes keep them in our favorite books. That’s what humans do. Not psychopaths. They keep trinkets. Of things like death, church fires and birthday cards my mom, Hannibal, forced me to write when I was 5 – in 1982, etc. etc. A Bible Full of Trinkets More on the Bible I told you about last week and what I found in there. This is what it looks like. See, I wasn’t kidding when I said it was giant. Image courtesy of PFFK #7 As I mentioned in last week’s Episode, this Bible had been missing for decades, and I had really mostly forgotten about it. Until January 2021, when it turned up on the 2nd floor of #6 Accosted in one of the many giant multi-story wooden cabinets Hannibal likes. I had looked in this cabinet many times before. There is a little entertainment area right next to it, and that is where all the TV remotes are usually kept. Let Me Entertain Me Here’s a funny story about that little entertainment area. The layout to #6 Accosted is typical for slapped together homes of the modern era. This particular house was built by Mrs. Gomer’s husband, Mr. Gomer. The front door of #6 Accosted consists of a door, full length window “pains” to each side and a glass window arch above the door. We will cross that door when we come to it. It looks like this. From Google Maps then Twisted . . . Hard The window panes have been covered with a translucent dark film to obscure the view. Hannibal did that. So, if you were standing at the door trying to peek inside to see what kinds of shenanigans were going on, you wouldn’t see much. If, however, you looked up and behind, you would see remnants of swallow nests which had been knocked down. Hannibal did that too. H.R. Huff n’ Puff When we open the front door, we see the stairs directly in front of us. The stairs are so close to us that we can actually see all the way up to Fredo’s desk on the second floor. So close, that if you accidentally tripped while carrying bags of groceries, your head would hit the second step, and the groceries would end up on Fredo’s desk. The stairs along with the entire second floor -- including the bathroom -- are carpeted in the usual spud colored beige. Why would anyone do that? I mean about the stairs being right in front of you. And also about the carpet. And also about the carpet in the Bathroom. There is a sky-light in the bathroom, though, which is really great. For drone operators and spy satellites, that is. I don’t know why front doors would ever want to open directly to stairs. That shouldn’t happen. Unless, of course, you are talking about those 10 ft wide Oak stairways, which branch out left and right at the top, and sit beneath ornate lead glass windows which glow and whisper green when the Sun is about to set. Stairs like that are pretty great, unless you are living in an Agatha Christie novel, in which case I would seriously consider getting out of there . . . fast. But that isn’t how the spudlike stairs at #6 Accosted are set up. They line a wall to the right, go straight up and have no windows anywhere nearby. On the wall to the right we see pictures of me and my siblings(?) going all the way up to the second floor. Fredo’s most precious picture is displayed there, of course -- that would Myron making a tackle during a football game. Probably his only one, ever, I’m guessing, because Myron was a terrible athlete. When you get to the top of the stairs, to the immediate left, we see Fredo’s desk and a computer. That is where he does his two or three hours of work every week. Ahead of us we see a large sofa sitting on top of a rug that -- for some reason -- has been nailed to the floor through the regular carpet. Probably to hide some evidence. I really regret never prying that rug up, because I’d love to know what is under there. A TV screen is mounted on the wall to the left opposite the sofa, and the giant multi-level wooden cabinet where I found the Bible sits between them against the wall. Slappy Happy So, the funny story goes like this. We used to sit up there on the sofa and watch movies with my Nieces. We would grab a giant bowl of popcorn, turn out the lights like in a movie theater and watch whatever movie we wanted. Or sometimes we watched Masha and the Bear, Nancy Drew or Gooseberries. There was a character in Gooseberries called Slappy, who was a demonically possessed ventriloquist dummy -- you know, just like Myron? Anyway, my Nieces were terrified of Slappy, so if they ever wandered upstairs by themselves I would walk up behind them and say -- “oh, look. It’s Slappy. Hey Slappy, what are you doing up here?” My Nieces would then run downstairs. And, yes, I know it’s actually called “Goosebumps“, so no need to write me a polite letter -- unless you want to. OK. That’s not the funny story. This is. Freedo Gonzales This one time at the entertainment area, my Nieces and I just sat down to watch a movie. We had the giant bowl of popcorn with us and fired up the 6 or 7 remotes it takes to watch movies these days. The lights were still on though, because Fredo was up there at his desk, wearing reading glasses, looking at printouts of feeder cattle results. The numbers in the columns are usually tiny, so he has to hold the page close to his glasses. Even then, he usually still can’t read the numbers, so he lifts his glass up and holds the printout even closer -- squinting. Meanwhile, we are still trying to watch the movie, but the lights are on. This is where my youngest Niece, age 7 at the time, leans her body forward and turns her head to stare menacingly at Fredo’s back. Fredo is still squinting at little numbers, so he doesn’t notice. She swings back to upright position, looks up at me and shrugs as if to say -- doesn’t he know we are watching a movie? She leans her body forward for a second time, turns her head to the left again and says: “Fredo, when are you leaving? We are trying to watch a movie!” Fredo leaves. I love my Nieces. What the Bible Told Me So I read this Bible most nights, mainly because it makes me feel closer to my Grandparents, Muff and Dayton, who gave it to me -- and to my parents -- but mainly to me. Here’s the presentation page. Image courtesy of a scanner, which is really a printer except the toner mechanism or something is busted so it doesn’t print, but it does scan! Two weeks ago, I said of the 6 people who died in 1982 who knew Hannibal, only one seemed natural -- my Great Grandma -- Margie. She was 88 years old and died of heart failure. That would not be uncommon at that age. Last week I said my view changed after finding Margie’s obit keistered in between two pages of said Bible. I had never seen it before. Here is what I remember… This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.theunkillablehandbook.com/subscribe

  7. Sep 9

    Who Likes Short Shorts?

    Image courtesy of PFFK #7, Vintage Viking figures by Jacob Jensen, Rudder Table IN-20 by Isamu Noguchi Turns out, a lot happened in 1982. I think we might have to start calling it “Groundhog Year”. I will cover a lot of the what in future Episodes, but for now I want to revisit last week’s Episode, in which I told you about 6 people who crossed paths with Hannibal, all of whom ended up dying in 1982. Make Me Some Nevermind I also told you how only one of those deaths appeared to be from natural causes. Based on a very recent discovery, we here at the Handbook are now upgrading our assessment from “likely natural causes” to “possibly suspicious”. Here is what happened. I have this giant 8.5lb Bible which I read pretty much every night after dinner -- unless something unusual happens . . . like a tornado hitting two blocks away, knocking out the power. So, unless something like THAT happens, I read this Bible every night. I like the Old Testament way more than the New Testament. In case you are wondering. A Bible Full of Trinkets My Grandparents, Muff and Dayton, presented this Bible to Fredo, Hannibal and Adorable Little Me on Christmas 1977 when I was not even 1 full years old. I’m sure I pretended to read it back then. And probably understood it. I will write more about this Bible, how I came to find it, and what I found inside it in a future Episode entitled “Everything You Ever Needed -- and More!” Anyway, I remember this Bible when we lived in Hansford county. It was usually sitting on a book case that was there. When we moved to Amarillo it “went missing” and had been for several years. I had really mostly forgotten about it. Then it turned up at #6 Accosted sometime in or before January 2021. That is when I found it and “proceeded to” liberate it. It was it upstairs in one of the many giant multi-story wooden cabinets Hannibal likes . . . for some reason. I have looked in that cabinet many many times over the years. There is a TV mounted on the wall to the left of it, and that’s where the 6 or 7 remotes you needed to operate TV systems these days are usually kept. OK, back to today’s short story. So I took this Bible home with me and have been reading it ever since. When I first opened it, I found a few papers and things Hannibal had hidden inside over the years -- probably through the 1980s and early 1990s, before we moved to Amarillo. Since I found this Bible, I estimate -- based on my knowledge of math and the Internet -- that I have opened it over 2,400 times. The Keistered Obit Here’s where it gets interestng. As mentioned above, I had assumed my Great Gramma’s death in 1982 was from natural causes. She was 88 years old and died of heart failure. That would not be uncommon at that age. Well, maybe I was wrong. A few days ago -- and this is an entirely true story -- I opened the Bible up to a random page that had Margie’s obit clipped from the local newspaper. I felt like the unseen hand had once again guided me to the place I must be. As if to tell me, in this particular instance, that maybe I needed to “re-evaluate” my conclusion. And that I had a nice place up here and it would be a shame if anything happened to it. Gulp! Here is the obit. I had no idea it was there. I didn’t put it there. I think Hannibal did. And I think it might be a trinket. There are a few other trinket-like items in there that I have come across. Many have something to do with death or church fires. OK. So, I know finding an obit is not really anything. By itself, maybe not. It’s what the obit says that is interesting. I have been told my whole life that Margie peacefully died at home, right there at 514 Richardson St., Gruverly Hills, TX. That is not, however, what the obit says. That is not what the death certificate says either. Margie died in the hospital. Nothing odd about that. Most people probably die in a hospital. But why lie about it? And why clip the obit out of a newspaper and put in a Bible? By the way, Margie’s death certificate lists the cause of death as “heart failure”. That is the same cause of death listed for Nelda Tackett’s mother, Zella, who also died in 1982. Smothering someone, especially an elder person, can mimic heart failure. Also by the way, Hannibal has a history of being one of the last people to visit someone in the hospital before they die. This happened to a really nice lady named Kathy, who died just after being released from the hospital – right there in the hospital parking lot. Hannibal was one of the last people to visit Kathy. That’s what she said anyway. She kind of bragged about it. Looking back, it was odd the way she delighted in telling that story. I think that would have happened to me when I had a giant cyst removed that appeared out of nowhere . . . right after Muff’s 90th birthday party . . . and two days before my sister’s(?) dog died. Except, in this case, Dolphyn refused to leave my side for more that 15 minutes while I was doped up in the hospital room. Gut feeling, he said. One time, when he went down to the cafeteria at the Baptist Saint Tony’s -- which is really pretty good -- he saw Hannibal asleep on a long set of visitor’s chairs just outside my room. I had no idea she was there. She had no idea Dolphyn saw her. Har Har. She also took a picture of me in the hospital bed and later texted it to me with the caption “I can totally use this”. For what, I thought. A collage? A Christmas card? Potpourri? Was she waiting for an opportunity to smother me? Anyway, that is why we are now upgrading our assessment of Margie’s death from “likely natural causes” to “possibly suspicious”. In the next Episode, entitled “Everything You Ever Needed -- and More!“, I will talk about this Bible. How I found it. A funny story about where I found it. And some of the things I found inside. This Episode will be in two parts. Part 1 will be a Free for All. Part 2 will be For Paid Eyes Only. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.theunkillablehandbook.com/subscribe

  8. Aug 28

    Preview of Coming Distractions

    * It was or was not a very good year. Depending on your perspective. Our next Episode is Entitled “1982 Was a Very Good | Bad Year“. It is part Tackford Files, part co-incidences that might not be, and part Richard Simmons, who said “let the pattern lead to the solution”. The story is also about how a good year for someone (i.e., Me) can be a bad year for others. Our story today starts with a Keith Morrison voice-over because, well, we think every story should start that way. Keith Morrison Voiceover “It’s hard to see the patterns on the road behind or ahead when you driving it. All you see is the small rolling stretch of pavement you are on at any given moment. That, and the Exit billboards showing a Waffle House is just ahead. We stop for those. But when you get to your destination many miles or even many years ahead, when you can look back and see the whole trip more clearly, you might recognize something you overlooked at the time. The same is true as our own lives. As we expand and move through time. With the big and small parts of daily life consuming us. We might never see the recurring patterns -- the good ones that make us happy, or the bad ones that cast a long and deep shadow over everything they touch. And often times, when looking back, we see that a regular ordinary trip for some people, ends up being a truly bad one for others. Especially for those who never make it to the end of the road and never reach their destination. Or you can also go to Waffle House.” [Waffle house picture maybe -- if I can find them. OK. I found them.] When I was 31 It was a very good year. Although it wouldn’t become clear for another 3 years, my life had taken a bold and wild turn into a Brand New World. One that I could not have predicted. Though, a couple of years later, a psychic in Boston (named Alex) told me the road I was on and correctly predicted how it would develop. If you ever get to Boston, look him up. When I was 31, I only knew a few people who had died. Not too many, though, and not all in one year. Most had simple explanations. Some were relatives and died from normal causes, like heart disease, old age or the occasional car accident. Now, when Hannibal was 31, things were totally different! For All the People Who Have Died Because, when Hannibal was 31, in 1982, it was a very bad year. At least 6 people Hannibal knew or crossed paths with all died in the same year -- and all by August. One in-law, one step-person, three fake non-adoptive relatives, and the father of a girl Hannibal was obsessed with. Only one death had a simple explanation. Hannibal was a common thread among them all. Did she have something to do with these deaths? Were they just accidents? Were they just co-incidences? Did Hannibal’s mere existence lead to their deaths? Why did one person who was shot to death in Corsicana later end up living in Baton Rouge, Louisiana? We will go through the time-lines, records, death certificates and other details. We will then offer up our opinions, and give you a chance to come up with your own. Tune in to the next Episode coming Monday to a browser, iPad or other device near you! I’ll tell you what. This will be the best story of 6 people dying in 1982 that you will ever come across! But only for Paid Subscribers, who we love here at The Handbook. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.theunkillablehandbook.com/subscribe

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