Unkillable Handbook Podcast

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

Episodes

  1. 12m ago

    Meet Uncle Bun and My Other Uncle Bun

    Image Courtesy of PFFK #7 A Tale of Two Carmons Today’s story starts out in Pineville, MO, a town of three people, and ends with a Trinket. This story also involves Carmon Earl Jr. . . . often referred to (by me) as Carbomb Oil Jr., or just Carbomb Jr. Carbomb Jr. was Hannibal’s half brother. He was born in March 1940 to Hannibal’s dad -- Carmon Sr. -- and his first wife, Mary Ellen Happy (her actual name, for some reason). I don’t think she was too happy, though, because they got divorced in 1944 for the cause of “dessertion”. It is not clear who left whom. Back then “no-fault” divorce did not exist, so you had to have a valid reason for getting a divorce -- e.g., “cruelty”. “infidelity”, “dissertion”, etc. And in small towns back then, life’s every coming and going -- like out of town visitors, who they were visiting, recent events at the Elk River Extension Club, petty and serious crimes, and also divorces -- were reported in the local Newspaper. That is how I found the divorce record. Anyway, Mary Ellen died in 1958, so I don’t think she had a happy life, and I think Carbomb Jr. had something to do with that. He will figure into our story much later, as more fully explained below. McDonald’s is your Kind of Place . . . McDonald county MO, that is. The county seat is Pineville, a town of three people. Garden City Telegram, Monday, July 11, 1960 Hold Man for Six Charges Carmen Puryear, 20-year old former convict, is held in the McDonald County jail on two counts of attempted rape, two charges of kidnaping and two charges of grand larceny. A juvenile also was arrested and turned over to juvenile authorities in connection with the attack Saturday night near Noel, MO. Officers said Puryear and the juvenile came upon a stalled car occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair Rogers and Mr. and Mrs. Carroll Chenoweth of Cassville, MO. Puryear offered to push the Rogers car. It failed to start and he offered to take Chenoweth and Rogers to Lanagan, MO to seek a mechanic. Officers said Puryear left Chenoweth and Rogers in Lanagan, returned to the stalled car and told the women their husbands were waiting for him to drive them to Lanagan. Authorities said Puryear turned off on a country road and attacked the women. [END] Here is the article. Image courtesy of the Internet This 20 year old Carmen Puryear is the exact same half-brother of Hannibal mentioned above. I have yet to find a redeeming human from Pineville, MO, a town of three people. So, the attempted rape took place on July 9, 1960 and Carbomb Jr. was swiftly convicted. He was sentenced to 2 years in prison. Not to worry though, because in August 1960 he sawed his way out of prison and escaped. I think he probably had help from someone either inside or outside of the prison. But not to worry though, he was caught hiding in a kitchen cabinet in his grandmother’s house in nearby Noel, MO, a town of 3 other people, and sentenced to another 2 years. Needless to say, it gets worse. After being released, Carbomb Jr., was busted violating the Dyer Act in 1966, which covers transporting stolen automobiles across state lines, in this case from Ada, OK, to Perryton TX up there in the Panhandle and about 40 miles East of Gruver. Then there are the odd DWI’s, larceny, selling mortgaged property convictions. All in all, not a desirable member of one’s family. I couldn’t find much on Carbomb Jr. Though here he is in Anderson HS in 1952. Source: Ancestry He looks like Myron. Here he is in Joplin in 1956. He’s in the front row, fourth from the left. I put a red arrow for your convenience. You’re welcome! Source: Ancestry Me used to be angry young man! His mother, Mary Ellen, died in Yolo, CA in 1958, just a few years after this picture was taken. I doubt she was even in Missouri when Carbomb Jr. was growing up. My Aunt Eldna -- Hannibal’s sister -- recently told me that Carbomb Jr. was spoiled by his grandmother. Eldna had no idea about Carbomb Jr.’s criminal past. More on that later. Don’t want to give the story away too quick. . . . Hamburgers in your Face Before we move on to the actual story, let me tell you a little bit about Pineville MO, a town of three people. It is the county seat of McDonald county MO, which itself borders Oklahoma to the West and Arkansas to the South. Joplin MO is 45 miles to the North which is just a step away from Kansas. So, from Pineville, MO, a town of three people, you can be across state lines in minutes. Most people think Oklahoma is all sand and nothing else. That is not the case. The area just across the border from McDonald county, MO, is leafy and hilly, with lots of hiding spots. This is where the 1930s bank robbers would hang out after robbing a bank in another state. Bonnie and Clyde came through these parts. Arnold Landers, the criminal who stole cattle from my Grandfather in 1979 -- among many other misdeeds -- lives there in a town called Grove. Last time I checked, anyway. And then there’s Northwest Arkansas, which is even closer. And we know what goes on in Northwest Arkansas! I call this area the Devil’s Triangle. Here is a Junior Roadmap from 1939 to give you an idea. Source: Internet Archive; Remix by PFFK #7 Wynnter in Vegas February 20, 2011 I had just returned from my 2nd best trip to Vegas and was in Amarillo. Some people don’t love Vegas. I didn’t always either. For this part of my life, I enjoyed it. That is back when Steve Wynn ran the Wynn, and I would often see him strolling by with a few staff members in tow. I’m not sure how many hotels I have been a guest in, it’s a lot. More than 50. Maybe even more than 100. Steve Wynn, by far, was the most present and hands on owner / manager I have ever seen. In 2011, I stayed at the Wynn Encore which had just opened back in late 2008. We were still in the midst of the financial crises and the place was empty. No on at the bars or restaurants. It was like hiding in plain sight. The Wynn has these amazing flower features in the form of hot air balloons, merry-go-rounds and much more. Here is a picture I took in on Christmas Day 2013. Image Courtesy of PFK #7 This was also back when Paul Bartolotta had a fantastic restaurant in the Wynn. It was called “Bartolotta” for some reason. The bartender there was named Rich. Great guy who always had the best things to say about Steve Wynn. And always called him “Mr. Wynn”. Treated his staff well, Rich said. Unless you crossed him, of course, then you were a “Piranha Non Grata“. I always loved that place. They had this really cool hanging sculpture made up of golden fish. Here is a pic, also from Christmas 2013. Image Courtesy of PFK #7 Anyway, the Vegas Bartolotta closed in 2015. Rich the Bartender told us that Mr. Wynn “requested” Mr. Bartolotta spend more time in Vegas, which is not in Wisconsin, where his several other restaurants are. Mr. Bartolotta declined, so Wynn told him to fork off. In 2011, you could also get some of the best Peking duck in the U.S. from Wing Lei at the Wynn. They are the first Chinese restaurant in North America to earn a Michelin Star (2008). I have had Peking Duck in Hong Kong and China and always enjoyed it. I could not find good Peking Duck in the U.S., though, until I came across Wing Lei. As for going to Vegas for gambling, I don’t know how to gamble and don’t want to. We are probably some of the only people to go to Vegas and never gamble. Not even one time. Two Booms for the Price of One For one of my birthday celebrations in 2004, I was at The Wynn with my good friend Salmonella (not her real name). We were out late and immediately crashed when we got back to our room. Around 2 am, Vegas time, there was a massive explosion outside with huge flames and smoke. It was LITERALLY right outside of our room. This happened not too many years after 9/11. So we freaked out and grabbed our jewelry, ran out the door and headed for the elevator. We were wondering if there was anything else, valuable or passports, etc., we should have grabbed. It was quite frenzied. When we got to the lobby, frantic and out of breath, we asked the front desk what was happening. “Didn’t you see the letter?” “What letter?”, I replied. “The letter we slipped under the door yesterday?” [oooh, that letter, I said to myself in square brackets] “To notify guest there would be an overnight implosion. “ Ooops. I LITERALLY did not get the memo. Anyway, the Palms and St. Andrews parts of the Desert Inn were being demolished to build the Wynn Encore. When Steve Wynn was in charge, I always felt safe there. These were the years where I was so jetlagged, I never really knew what time it was, unless I had an upcoming flight. So Vegas was great because there were many nice places open 24 hours a day. Another bonus there is In n’ Out. One of my favorite breakfast spots is Tableau and the best waiter there is from Dumas. Back then a filet at SW was $45, present day priced at $118. Back then, they served my favorite coffee and straws came with your drink. And they were plastic. And you didn’t have to ask. By the way, I had dinner with Steve Wynn in 2018 at Wing Lei on the day he stepped down. I also had dinner with him at Wazuzu the night before when he was on the phone with his lawyer, I think. And by, “I had dinner with”, I totally mean I was at a nearby table. Careful not to look in that general direction to avoid getting thrown out by Andrea. There is a really cool Catholic church just across the street to the North of the Wynn. It is the Guardian Angel Cathedral, designed as an A-Frame by Paul R. Williams, who was a very talented architect. OK. I know what you are thinking. There is no evidence of even ONE Uncle Bun, let alone two, in this story. Have I lost my Vulcan mind? Uncle Bun in the Second Degree Back to February 20, 2011. In Amarillo at my sister’s(?) house

  2. 6d ago

    Nosey Porker

    All psychopaths do it. They are good at it. They enjoy it. This is what they look like while snooping. Image Courtesy of PFFK #7; Vintage Leather Ottoman by Abercrombie & Kent Big Ol’ Jet Airliner OK, today’s story begins with a little girl on an airplane and ends with a lesson. Air travel back in the mid-80s was more pleasant. At least when you are an adorable little girl, like in this picture. Source: Me My sister(?) is behind me just inside the chain link fence -- which I would say is pretty appropriate imagery. I think that is my Aunt Ju Ju laying down behind her. Because it is definitely not Hannibal Anne. Because I wouldn’t be smiling if it were. I am at the newly dedicated swimming pool in Hansford county. You know, the one where I appeared in an ad on local TV for fundraising. And where my mom, Hannibal, got a job so she could start using her recently issued SSN and, maybe, change her identity or, just maybe, wipe out some past one? Just sayin’. So, back to the story. It’s the mid-1980s. I’m on a commercial aircraft flying from Dallas back to Amarillo then on to Hansford County. I’m looking out the window watching the Palo Duro Canyon roll by and begin to disappear in the distance. On either side of the canyon, you will see squares of land arranged like a checkerboard, some with perfectly round green circles. Here is a picture from Google Earth. Source: Google Earth God’s Checkers I remember looking out at this scene and imagining a giant game of checkers being played by the Gods, where the loser threw a milkshake and cookies across the board in frustration. If this were a movie scene, it would go something like this. INT -- COMMERCIAL AIRPLANE -- DAY Mid-1980s. A 737 aircraft. Plush blue woven seat covers. We hear a constant wooshing sound as the aircraft is in flight. An adorable little blonde-haired girl is sitting in a window seat looking out. This is LITTLE BLONDE GIRL. She is sitting on top of a small pillow, her legs are dangling down off the seat, not touching the floor. She’s wearing red converse sneakers and white sockletts. We see her blondie wavy curls as she stares out the window -- her face just touching the window, fogging up part of it as she breathes. We reverse to see a close up of her clear blue eyes reflecting the view outside like on a tiny screen. We shift to LITTLE BLONDE GIRL’s point of view. Looking 37,000 ft below us we see land arranged in what looks like God’s checkerboard. Most of the squares are brown, some green. Interspersed, we see green perfectly round checkers formed from the center-pivot irrigation systems. Further off in the distance, we see a glaring, sandy, deep and undulating canyon system stretching as far as the eye can see from left to right as it disappears in the distance. That is Palo Duro Canyon. It looks like the loser of the game of checkers threw a milkshake and cookies over the board in frustration. LOOKING DOWN AISLE AT LITTLE GIRL EYE LEVEL We see a stewardess walking down the aisle from the front of the aircraft, as she approaches LITTLE BLONDE GIRL, she crops out on top and we can only see her legs and up to her hips as we are at eye level. STEWARDESS stops and speaks to the little girl. STEWARDESS Hey sweety. We’re almost to Amarillo. Would you like a snack or a drink before we land? LITTLE BLONDE GIRL No, thank you. I’m OK. Are my parents going to be there when we land? I think I will be able to see them from the air. STEWARDESS I am sure they will be there. Who wouldn’t be there for such a sweet little girl like you? Are you sure you don’t want a snack? We have ALL kinds! LITTLE BLONDE GIRL ALL kinds? Do you have any pretzels? I love pretzels. STEWARDESS Umm, let me look. [Fiddling through bag.] No, I don’t see any pretzels. LITTLE BLONDE GIRL Do you have any cheese curls? I love cheese curls. STEWARDESS Umm, let me look. No, I don’t see any cheese curls. We have M&Ms, Good N’ Plenty, Snickers bars. Raisins? Who would want raisins? LITTLE BLONDE GIRL No thank you, I don’t really like sweet things. Do you have any potato chips? STEWARDESS Why, yes. We have regular salted. We have ruffled. We have salt n’ vinegar. I don’t think you want those. We have Jalepeno. You definitely don’t want those. LITTLE BLONDE GIRL Ummm. Can I have some ruffled chips and a glass of water? STEWARDESS Sure can. I’ll come by and pick that up when you are done. Here let me help you fasten your seatbelt. DISSOLVE TO: INT -- SMALL COMMUTER AIRPLANE -- DAY Present day. A small commuter aircraft with one aisle. Mid-flight. On the right side of the aisle, we see a row of two small cramped seats. On the left side, we see only a single set of seats. There is not even enough headroom in the aircraft to stand fully up. Forget about overhead storage! We see the same LITTLE BLONDE GIRL -- now decades later as a grown woman. She is staring out the window at the same checkerboard pattern below and the same stunning Palo Duro Canyon. Nothing seems changed by time, she thinks. The plane jumps, rattles and clangs like a Vegas slot machine hitting the jackpot as we hit turbulence. A ding. A female voice says: VOICE The Captain has turned on the fasten seat-belt sign. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. As we are about to begin our descent, please place your seatbacks in their original upright position. When we arrive, please collect any trash or other items in the seat backs in front of you and empty them in the bin at the front of the aircraft” So much for modern air travel. If this were a Martin Scorsese movie, the scene would abruptly vibrate and shake, then do a full 360º spin around, making everyone in the audience LITERALLY airsick and lose their popcorn. In order to convey the bumpiness of the ride, and all. Serious film-makers do that. Audiences just get nauseous. And yes, I am referring to the 1991 Cape Fear movie with Robert De Niro. No, I did not like the “edgy” camera tricks. Lost my sea legs and almost lost my popcorn. So much for modern air travel . . . and Scorsese movies. Although, I will say the new Cape Fear series on Apple TV is good. I do think the Javier Badem was much better as Anton Chigur in No Country For Old Men. The single most dark and menacing character in any movie I have ever seen. Though he looked a lot taller in that movie. Second Largest Ball of Sand Fun Fact Alert #1: According to my extensive research on the Internet, Palo Duro Canyon is second largest canyon in the U.S. I couldn’t figure out what the largest one is. The main river bed is called Prairie Dog Town Fork of Red River -- talk about a mouthful. It’s almost all sand with very little water. Sometimes when it rains, you will get run-off gushing through the river bed I guess the Prairie Dogs should have picked a better spot to set up their little town. Along the river, there are probably a hundred other names of smaller creek beds, like Coyote Creek, Pleasant Creek, Bitter Creek, Potato Salad Creek, Uppa Creek, Creek by the Ocean, etc. The Canyon rides on top of a narrow ridge with green shrubs and outgrowth highlighting the old creek and river beds. Fun Fact Alert #2: Georgia “O’Queeffe” lived in the area in the 1916 - 1918 and painted a few pictures of the Canyon. Like these. I guess Palo Duro Canyon looked different back in 1918. Because this looks like the insides of a horny-toad’s mouth. Nevermind the Travelogue OK. Back to the story. And, no, this is not about air travel or scenery, as beautiful as it is, or about swimming pools. Or even Canyons. This is a story about flying in to Amarillo and setting up Hannibal’s AirPods because she allegedly wanted to listen to a music playlist that she (meaning I) was going to set up. The real purpose was to eavesdrop. Listen, Do I Want to Know Your Secrets? Answer: Yes. So say all the psychopaths. Snooping is one of their core skills. They are very good at it. They do it for a lot of reasons. They could be just gathering background information. Or looking to see what a real human does -- in order to copy it. Or they could be looking for blackmailable information. More likely, they would snoop to see if anyone is on to them. Of course, they don’t consider it snooping. They believe everything in someone else’s possession -- including information -- really belongs to them, so they are entitled to take it. Toucan-Totem People who constantly snoop might be called Nosey Parkers. In the old days, they were also called “Sticky-Beaks”, as in “hey, don’t stick your beak in my business”. If snooping psychos had a spirit totem animal, it would surely be a Toucan. Like in this picture. Image Courtesy of PFFK #7; Toucan by Sergio Bustamante Tortured Tales The following is based on real events. Certain scenes and dialogue have been tortured, traumatized, or totally made up. So, Hannibal Anne wanted AirPods, so she gets AirPods. She seemed a little more excited than usual. Like most tech things, setting them up is very simple yet also very difficult. So, she just makes others, typically me, set them up for her. The AirPods were no different. She began calling often. Hannibal Anne “Hey, I want AirPods. Can you order them and charge to Fredo’s card? How soon will they get here?” Me “Sure, I’m ordering them for you now. You should have them in a few days.” I ordered them from my account, I might add. I did not charge them to Fredo’s card. A couple of days go by. Hannibal Anne rings me while I’m working in a place where I do work. Hannibal Anne “Can you track the AirPods? Can you fly in and set up for me?” I track the AirPods while on the phone and tell Hannibal they should be arriving in the next 2 - 3 days. Hannibal Anne “Hey, when are you going to be in Amarillo next? [Your Nieces] really miss you. And, when you get here you can set up the AirP

  3. Aug 7

    Have Gun Will Travel Part 1 For All Subscribers

    If this were a Hitchcock opening, it might open like this. EXT. #6 Accosted -- Back Drive Way -- Night Time We see a white Suburban parked in the driveway, just beyond the automatic garage door. The Suburban is packed to rooftops with suitcases, boxes, house goods and other miscellaneous items. The garage door explodes open, squeaking and quaking as it rides up its rails. A light comes on as the door rises. We see a lurking figure, dressed in all black, in the garage just visible in the background. She slowing emerges from the garage and approaches the Suburban. Her chicken-fat colored hair sparkling and reflecting the nearby street light. The full moon above gives her a slight but long shadow that looks like a Punch and Judy silhouhette -- which is a word I can never spell -- with a jutting out jutting jaw. Or maybe Mrs. Frankenstein. In the background, we hear black birds cackling, screeching and tutting like cranky bagpipes. As she emerges further from the dimly lit garage, we see she is carrying an item in each hand. In her left hand she has the car remote. In her right hand she is carrying a cognac colored puffy leather pouch -- the kind used to carry pistols. The chicken-fat haired figure clicks the remote. The door locks pop up. Her hand slowly and quietly pulls the passenger side door handle as the interior light comes on. Close on the bottom of the passenger seat. We see some change that had been dropped inadvertently on the floor mat in front of the seat – three quarters, two dimes and a penny. Bending over, she cracks a smile, and we see her grey wrinkly hand slide the cognac colored puffy leather pouch under the passenger seat. She reaches over to the coins and grabs the three quarters. Wider: The chicken-fat hair colored figure retreats to the garage. Presses a button and the garage door closes. EXT. Oklahoma Highway -- Day We dissolve to the dry Oklahoma country side. The Sun is passing into the afternoon. We are looking overhead at the white Suburban as it glides down Highway 40. Just off the highway to the left we see the Cherokee Casino & Hotel Roland gleaming in the distance. Like Ayers Rock. We follow the Suburban a few miles until we see a blue and white sign that says “Welcome To Arkansas, The Nature State”, just outside of Fort Smith. Cut to front view of the Suburban as it continues down the highway. We see police lights flashing in the rear -- far away, but rapidly approaching. The Suburban pulls over to the side of the road. A police officer steps out of his car and approaches, his right hand on his holster. What happened? Was it a routine traffic stop? Was the pouch a plant and the police received a tip-off about some or other kind of contraband? Tune in to next week’s Episode to find out! Just kidding. I tell the story here. Since this isn’t a Hitchcock movie (well, not yet anyway), I will tell the story my way. Back to Reality What is this? I was looking at a zipped and padded cognac colored leather pouch -- the kind used to carry pistols. Nice pouch, I thought. Considering the compact size, it was heavy. I bounced it in my hands a few times, before unzipping it. There it was, a nickel plated Smith & Wesson .38 caliber revolver. A model 36 -- I would later find out, which chambers five .38 Special rounds. It was introduced in the 1950s and was originally called the Chief Special. It is a pretty smallish, but handy, revolver. I picked it up and opened the cylinder to check that it was unloaded. It was. I also found five rounds -- with “Speer .38 Special” written on the shell base surrounding the primer. Metal jacket with lead hollow points. They looked like police rounds to me. I have to say, it is a surprisingly comfortable pistol. I would totally choose this revolver if I were shopping for revolvers. The weight is balanced -- like a Wustoff knife. It is small enough to fit in a handbag. Here is a picture. Image Courtesy of PFFK#7; Bar Cart by Alvar Aalto More of a women’s gun, I’d say. So I imagine no self-respecting Police Chief would be caught alive with this model in his side holster. Do Police Chiefs have side holsters? I think they probably have shoulder holsters strapped on left arm of their white shirt, concealed under their Police Chief blazer, next to a red tie -- fastened with a tie clip, of course -- and finished off with gray pants and brown flat leather shoes. No black! At least that’s what TV would have you believe. So, anyway, the Smith & Wesson Company stopped calling it the Chief Special in 1957. Based on the serial number, it was made sometime between 1976 and 1977 -- when adorable little me was born! Here’s adorable little me after being woken up late one night. I call this one Mommy Can I Have a Drink of Water? Image Courtesy of PFFK#7 Burban and Croak It is 2016. My mom, Hannibal, had somehow convinced Fredo to “let” me borrow the white, 2011 Suburban for a cross country drive. She also very helpfully loaded it up with a bunch of home type items, many sourced from Homegoods, T.J. Max, or Tuesday Morning. Faux Chinese looking blue porcelain vases. For what? Outdoor hanging lanterns. Mexican brightly colored ponchos like Clint Eastwood might have worn in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. Great movie, by the way. There are two kinds of people. Those that shop at Homegoods. And those that don’t. These things were definitely not my taste, but you know what they say, don’t look a gift horse in the as . . . oooops, I mean . . . the mouth. This was back in 2016 remember, when I thought my family and my mom, in particular, had my back and really honestly wanted to help me out. Nowadays, I wonder if she had a secret covetous plan to take over my house -- make it her trinket house -- and so was pre-furnishing it with her crapola. Or as my Niece would say, she was Junkerating. I recently came across a picture I had taken maybe in 2014. In the picture, she is sitting at the dining table staring at a picture of the house I was moving into. Back then, I thought she was evaluating the house. It took on a whole new meaning when I saw it this time. Hey Baby, You’re an OnStar There was another reason Hannibal convinced Fredo to “let” me borrow the Suburban. It is a GMC vehicle, so it comes equipped with OnStar. OnStar tracks everything you do. It tracks all calls you make or receive. Your mileage. How fast your drive. Your GPS locations. It even takes pictures of locations. And stores it ALL in a hard drive that is buried deep under the center console of the vehicle. The GMC Company does not tell you that, and good luck finding any information online about it. That is, any “official” information. There are a bunch of video tutorials out there how to access the system. It is not that complicated, but tedious because the hard drive is really hard to access. You need to remove a bunch of plastic panels and floor mats. Once you do that, however, you will find a cable connection with a USB connector. You can unplug that, plug it into a USB cable, and access whatever is on the hard drive. Oh yeah, OnStar can also be used to monitor your conversations and at least where you are. There were several times I’d be driving along and, all of a sudden, OnStar would be calling the car. It would actually ring, and you could see a phone number pop up on the center display. OnStar can also be used to lock the car doors, which it (i.e., one of Hannibal or Myron) did when I mistakenly left the keys in the car. Not to worry, that’s when I learned you can get these inflatable packs that slide into the door gap, allowing you to pry open the door just enough to get to the door locks. Thanks OnStar . . . and Hannibal. Crossing the Line So, here I am in the fully stocked Suburban making a 1,500 mile trip from Amarillo to somewhere that is not Amarillo to Junkerate my house. The trip took me a few days. The first night, we made it to Memphis and stayed at the Peabody Hotel. The lobby is fantastic, with an invigorating Old South feel. You can almost smell the sweet pipe smoke, sweat and bourbon. Also, there’s lots of ducks in the indoor fountain . . . for some reason. The rooms were ehhh. After checking in, we went out for some famous Memphis Ribs and Brisket. Ummmm, famous for what? Rudy’s in Amarillo has much better ribs. Also, better brisket by a country-fried mile. The second night I think we stopped in Indianapolis. At least I think it was Indianapolis. It apparently did not make much of an impression, other than it can be a real pain in the button-hole to get from the Interstate to down-town. If you miss your exit -- which is easy to do at night -- you just keep driving a giant circle. Anyway, after driving across numerous state lines, and unpacking the Suburban, I learned the Smith & Wesson Model 36 revolver, which chambers five rounds, was somehow planted under the passenger’s side seat. How could this happen? More importantly, why did this happen? To Wall or Not to Wall This Episode may involve crime, safety and the law -- allegedly -- and is potentially one of the more serious ones. So, I am just going to go ahead and put the paywall in. OK. A little bit more before that happens. Back to the Picture It’s 2016. I have arrived at the end of my 1,500 mile trip and begin to unpack the Suburban. “What is this?” “Oh crap!” I find the puffy leather pouch under the passenger’s side seat. Enclosed in the pouch was Hannibal’s gun. That’s right, her nickel plated .38 Special, Model 36. With five rounds. I did remember this revolver. However, the wooden handgrips on the one I remember looked different. More on that later. From the time I was learning words -- like “ho my mother” which I wrote in a birthday card for Hannibal or I should say was forced to write -- I was taught about gun safety. Over and over. From my Grandparents mostly. Hanniba

  4. Aug 4

    High School Hi-Jenks

    Mryon started high school at Amarillo High, which is in Amarillo. Then, midway through his Junior year, he switched to a school in Jenks, OK -- which is in Oklahoma -- allegedly to play baseball and football. At least that was the explanation my dad, Fredo, offered up, but even back then it made zero sense. Now it makes less than zero sense. Nobody knows why Myron was sent off to Jenks, OK. A lot of people still remember it -- even though it happened more than 20 years ago -- and still bring it up. The commentary is always the same. Like “that was really odd”. Or “he must have been a good athlete [he wasn’t. Was he an ath-hole? Prolly]”. Or “Fredo’s explanations were all very vague.” Or “It happened so quick. Myron was here one day and then, all of a sudden, he was gone”. And other tales. Just the other day, a friend I used to play softball and T-Ball with back in Hansford county, mentioned it to me. Without me asking. So I decided the next Episode woukd be about Jenks, OK. Plus, we are entering football season, with two a days in full swing. By the way, my friend comes from Rodeo Royalty I mentioned in an earlier Episode -- “Hotlips Hooligans“. I hope to have an ongoing series called The Rodeo Royalties, telling some of these stories. Believe me, a lot happens in the Rodeo world that the rest of us civilians never hear about. Someone once told me that Rodeo folks are just like other people -- just more so. But First a Word from Ourselves I have now added voiceovers to all Episodes -- except Motion Picture Mama, because that’s just a short video of my adorable self when I was around 12 months old . . . and adorable. The voiceovers are a full 9 hours, 10 minutes and 30 seconds, give or take, all in my certified 100% human voice. I hope to include voiceovers in all future Episodes, and I guess we’ll just have to see how that works out, now won’t we. Also, on another side note. I have been trying out some of the old Polaroid cameras. You can get some really raw and real photos. The cameras are available on places like E-bay and new film is being made for some of them. Anyway, here’s a selfie I took. I call it My Selfie Shtick. Image courtesy of PFFK#7 A Brake in the Action Freshly cut brake lines! I previously told you the story of Myron being accused of cutting brake lines at a wedding reception in Amarillo. The wedding party included several people from Jenks, OK. Myron went to high school in 2002 - 2003 his Junior and Senior years -- to play baseball and football -- for some totally unkown reason. Most of the Jenks, OK, guests were Myron’s football teammates. At this wedding reception, Myron had gotten into a loud shouting match at the bar with one of these teammates. Apparently it was pretty heated, though. I asked someone who was in earshot what happened. She told me (a) the entire Jenks, OK, football team hated Myron and (b) they accused Myron of throwing games. I defended Myron at the time, but now I believe he probably did throw some games or at least had a hand in throwing them. I will explain why I believe that shortly. Anway, the next morning, the Jenks, OK, teammate that Myron was fighting with got to his car, started it up, pressed the brakes. Instead of being firm and responsive, they were squishy. The brake lines had been cut. By someone. Yet again, I defended Myron at the time, but now I believe he did it. Getting Jenky With It Jenks, OK, is a suburb of Tulsa, where I am told nothing good ever happens. Jenks was not part of Texas back then and is in fact 360 miles away from Amarillo. So, how did Myron end up at a High School 360 miles away in Oklahoma? In his Junior and Senior years. To play baseball and football? Here is what I know and what I think happened. There are still a bunch of missing gaps, because the only 3 or 4 people who know the real story aren’t telling it. Jenks, OK, back then had a good reputation for churning out football players who get scholarships to some of the better Oklahoma based Universities. Not the “other” ones like Oklahoma Baptist -- which is also a very fine school -- where Myron ended up attending but never graduating. Myron went 0 for 3 in the graduating from college stats, as it turns out. I think that is worthy of some kind of award. I mean, I can see not graduating from one or even two colleges. But three? That takes some dedication and has to be a World Record. In fact, some (like me) might go so far as to say Myron excels at failing. So, Jenks had a good football program. Go Trojans! The coach was Coach Allan Trimble. He was in his thirties and had a good reputation in OK. During his 22 seasons, he led the team to 13 state championships. From 1996 - 2006, Jenks, OK, won state in every year, except one. Anyone care to guess what year Jenks, OK, did not win state? Coach Trimble, who was a celebrated football coach in Oklahoma, died at the age of 56 in 2019. Nobody in Texas had really heard him, though. And, besides, if you want to have a good shot at a football scholarship, you’d pick Texas over Oklahoma. Myron started High School at Amarillo High, so did my sister(?) -- which is odd because I went to Tascosa and did pretty well there, everybody says so. Either way, both Tascosa and Amarillo High were division 1-A schools. Both had big athletic programs. Both had talented football coaches and teams. Also, big stadiums (stadia?). Tascosa’s was bigger, of course. It was called the Big Dick Bivens Stadium. And the students at Tascosa were much smarter and better looking. Also, nicer. And friendlier. I made a lot of friends there among a bunch of different groups, including the kids with Mohawks, who I met when I got put into detention for starting a fight with someone who totally deserved it. I was fascinated with the Mohawk kids and kept asking them all kinds of questions. Like how they got them to stay up (lots of hair-do gel, nowadays called “product”). Or how they kept them straight when they went to bed. And stuff like that. I knew the kid who got killed in a hit and run by some school bullies in the parking lot of a the IHOP in 1997. His name was Brian Denke, and he was a really nice kid. I felt bad for his family. The person who killed him got 10 years probation. None of his other accomplices were tried. There is a movie about it called Bomb City. I couldn’t watch it. I Thought this Story was About Trojans Not Mohawks OK, back to Jenks, OK. It’s early 2002, maybe January or February. I am living in Fort Worth and working in Dallas. My dad, Fredo, calls. I was having a salad from this really good local deli in Fort Worth called Yogi’s -- you know, like the Berra. FREDO “We are sending Myron to Jenks, OK, to finish up High School. They have a good football program.” ME “Ummm, what? You’re sending Myron to Jinks, in Oklahoma. What is that? Where is that?” FREDO “It’s a High School in Jenks, nearby Tulsa. The coach has won the state the last 6 years and a lot of their football players get scholarship to top schools.” ME “What’s wrong with Amarillo High? They have a really good program.” FREDO “The coach doesn’t like Myron [oh, what a surprise?], so Myron’s skills are not being used.” That in itself was funny. Myron was a terrible athlete. He maybe could have been a good one, but he is lazy, undisciplined and believes too much in short-cuts. And steroids. The conversation continued. ME “I think that’s a bad idea. Texas is a much better football state than Oklahoma. He’s only 17. Tulsa is kinda sketch, isn’t it? Where is he going to live?” FREDO “We’ll get him an apartment.” FREDO -- Later Phone Call “Myron and another transfer student will live together.” FREDO -- Even Later Phone Call “He’ll live with the Coach.” ME “The Coach? That’s against the rules in Texas. He’ll be disqualified.” FREDO “The rules in Oklahoma are different.” Side note: Through all my research and Nancy Drew activity, I can tell you all the rules in Oklahoma are different, and not in a good way. Texas records are quite good. You can find most things, except what gets scrubbed from the internet. Oklahoma’s are not. Back to Jenks. Sending Myron to Jenks was not bad enough, however, as they made me go to a few of Myron’s games and then to his graduation. They even made my Grandmother go to a few. It was a long freaking drive. Amarillo to Jenks is over 5 hours -- probably longer back then. Strangely enough, Fort Worth to Jenks is a bit shorter -- around 4 hours -- because of the highways. When I went to the first game, I looked around and thought I was in the warm-up bleachers not the actual stadium. I was wrong. This was a small school compared to Tascosa. How was this even division 1, I thought. Over the years, the story got more and more vague and the rational changed. Literally no one who heard about Myron going to play football in Jenks, OK, had any idea why. My Aunt Ju Ju said not too long ago that sending Myron to Jenks made no sense and that Fredo could never come up with a good explanation. It just happened, and then it was forgotten. Except by me, and everyone else who heard about it. Seriously, the number of people who heard of this story and then mentioned it to me years later continues to grow. I will be talking to someone from Amarillo or Hansford county and they will pop out with an unsolicited comment about Myron going to Jenks, OK. It’s like the whole freaked out state knows, while my family pretends it never happened. Then there are the alternative explanations. Some think Myron was shipped out of Amarillo to avoid some kind of heat. S ome think Mryon was involved in gambling, sports betting and throwing games. Some think Myron was dealing roids. My cousin is a Texas Ranger. Do not mess with Texas Rangers. They are all very serious and hard working

  5. Jul 30

    Frequently Axed Questions #3

    Why indeed? Voiceover Update Before we start, I wanted to let you all know that I have added voiceovers -- in my real actual 100% human voice -- to the first 15 Episodes. All the way through K. Venomous -- It’s All About the Hannibals. A Myron Here and a Myron There . . . So, why do I call my brother(?) Myron, “Myron”? There are two reason. One longer and one shorter. I will start with the longer one. This story starts out in the early 1900s with a man named Joseph Boyer. Joseph was born in the mid 1800s on a farm in Pickering, Ontario. He later moved to the US and became and inventor and what they used to call an industrialist. He was bold, smart and wily, acquired the Burroughs Adding Machine Company, and became very wealthy. He was also very frugal. Despite his wealth, he was living in an apartment near his daughters when he died. Joseph died of pneumonia in October 1930 at the age of 82. His death was reported in both the New York Times and Time Magazine. The New York Times said J.A. Boyer Dead; A Noted Inventor; Chairman of the Board [and largest shareholder] of Burroughs Adding Machine Company Succumbs to Pneumonia. He Started as Machinist. To His Financial Ability Was Ascribed Rise of His Firm -- Devised Pneumatic Hammer Whatever that means. It sounds like a Haiku. Like this: Boyerism Started As Machinist Devised Pneumatic Hammer Pneumonia Killed Him However, I do quite like the reference to the pneumatic hammer, because I think of the Handbook as one. You know, relentlessly hammering psychopaths far and wide until they crumble. My Two Sons Joseph Boyer had five kids -- two sons and three daughters. His daughters married well and went on to live pretty good lives from what I can tell. His sons are a different story. His eldest son, Joseph Jr., was a swashbuckling man about town. He died in 1925 while competing at the Indianapolis 500. Autosports back then were life-threating. Some might have called him a hero. Nobody would call Joseph’s youngest son, Myron, a hero. Joseph had set up a trust for his children. All would share equally in the assets, except for Myron. He was given what’s known as a spendthrift trust -- basically the bare minimum required to avoid the whole thing being thrown out. There was one exception to Myron’s spendthrift trust -- if Myron had an offspring. Myron did not have an offspring when he died in 1928. His wife -- Laura -- also Canadian and seeing a big fat chunk of change she would be missing out on -- went over to Windsor, Canada, bought a baby, and insisted it was Myron’s. This led to years of litigation, where Laura claimed she was entitled to Myron’s share of the trust. She sued Joseph Boyer’s estate for $1.2 million. By the way, $1.2 million was a lot of money back then. P robably around $60 - $100 million today. Here is a picture of Laura Boyer. Not a looker, is all I can say. She has the darkness there, in her eyes. The Heir is not My Son The case went on for more than 10 years through trial courts and appeals courts. The trial court ruled in Laura Boyer’s favor, though the appeals court reversed that. It finally ended in 1939 when the Supreme Court refused to hear an appeal. Joseph Boyer was lucky in that he had a son-in-law who was a brilliant lawyer. His name was Standish Backus. Standish probably set up the whole trust structure and then argued the entire case. The appeals court opinion is a hoot. Here are some choice quotes: · “Myron L. Boyer was a person of bad habits and of but very limited intelligence.” · “According to the testimony of [Laura Boyer], he had always been addicted to drinking to excess and his habits did not change at any time while she knew him except for a period of six months when, with the exception of one interval, he remained sober.” It turns out, Myron was in Texas for that one interval. More on that later. · “[Laura Boyer] testified that she went with Myron when he attended the third grade of the night school for a short time after their marriage;” · [Myron] later began an electrical course, but gave it up very shortly. · “Myron’s father hired a tutor for him at $125 a month.” By the way, $125 a month back then was a lot of money. I would say around $6,000 today or even more. · From 1916 to 1928, Myron earned a total of $966.21 in income, which works out to about $80 bucks a year. · “Moneys for the support of Myron and his wife were paid direct to the wife, or to those who furnished Myron with merchandise, professional services, or maintenance.” The rest of the opinion is arcane arguments about trusts, secondary trusts, and constructive trusts. Myron denied the purchased infant was his. According to the opinion, Myron signed a Bill (i.e., an affidavit”) saying: “ Laura Boyer devised and acted out a pretended pregnancy with the connivance of a physician and nurse, and pretended to give birth to a child . . . . The bill states how Mrs. Boyer tricked Myron by securing a newly-born infant from the Hotel Dieu in Windsor, Ontario, and led Myron to believe that said child had been born in lawful wedlock with the said Laura Boyer.” Given Myron was a drug addled drunkard, he probably did not actually sign the affidavit himself. Someone else did, I bet. Here is Myron’s obit. By the way, the Hotel Dieu still exists. It was originally built in the late 1800s as a hospital for black people who had migrated out of the South to find better lives, and later for indigent people and unwed mothers. I Would Like to Return this Story This is not the one I ordered. OK. I know what you are thinking. What does this long -- yet wildly enticing -- story have to do with my own Myron? Why indeed? There are, as it turns out, also two answers to that question. Will the Real Myron Please Stand-up Myron -- is a person of bad habits and of but very limited intelligence. The other Myron died in 1928. My Myron doesn’t do a lick of work, has no detectable intelligence, no discernable skills -- other than working out and taking steroids, but those aren’t skills. Yet, somehow thinks he is the greatest human that ever existed. He is actually pretty good at getting my dad, Fredo, to pay for everything -- even buying him a house with my money. Myron seems to believe that ordinary people should be lining up to shovel money and free work at him. Just because being in Myron’s presence is payment enough. Most narcissists think the same way. They don’t just think it. They totally believe it. El Clon | El Payaso (The Clone | The Clown) The two Myrons are one and the same. Insane Clown Picture Like in this picture. Image Courtesy of PFFK#7 Clowns sit around all day, in their big clown shoes, doing their small clown things, and somehow think they deserve everything. Like this. Image Courtesy of PFFK#7 When Myron was young I ordered a clown for his birthday. The clown showed up. Did his act. And Myron was pissed. I think he thought I was calling him a clown. To this day, if you refer to him as a clown -- even in a joking way -- he gets angry. And then my dad, Fredo, will call me and berate me for calling Myron a clown. It’s not an insult if it’s true. In my totally First Amendment protected opinion, Myron is down on the narcissist side of the psychopath spectrum. Narcissists have extremely thin skins. Anything that threatens to break down their wall of pretend greatness usually results in anger. I reckon that, buried way down deep, they know they are failures. Oh yeah, according to an ex-girlfriend of his, he has a tattoo of a “ball-sack” (her words) on his stomach or something. I want to tell some of her stories here, if she is OK with that. They will paint a much fuller picture of what Myron is. Texas Told ‘Em Here is the other reason I am using Myron Boyer as a guide. Because of the Texas connection. There usually is one. To everything. Nowadays, Marfa, TX is an internationally celebrated art and design destination, located in Southwest TX and not far from the Mexican border. Back in the 1920s, Marfa and surrounding towns were just more dirt, and were more famous for smuggling Mexican contraband, like cattle and liquor. Joseph Boyer owned a share in a giant ranch down there which snuggled up against the Mexican border. The part-owner and rancher was a man named Owen Curtis Dowe -- known simply as “O. C.” O.C. Dowe was a lawman, a Customs officer, a rancher and . . . not surpisingly . . . an occasional smuggler. For example, he was known to keep confiscated contraband -- especially liquor. The following is taken from a history of the Circle Dug Ranch, in Candelaria TX. For Texas history buffs, it is a good read. Here is the link. Circle Dug Ranch History “Spoiled and rebellious, Myron had been kicked out of several private schools by the time he turned eighteen. His father thought it might be a good idea to send the boy to Texas in an attempt to dry him out or at least get him out of the elder Boyer’s hair. In a 1925 letter Dowe wrote, ‘I have Myron Boyer of Detroit here and have been running around with him. His father is . . . paying me big wages to tryand do something with this boy. He has been drinking very hard for several years and I am trying to get him on his feet. I get $600.00 per month and want to try to get this boy straightened out if I can.’ [$600 big ones was a lot of money back then. Probably $30,000 in today’s small ones.] “At first Dowe tried to keep Myron on the ranch and teach the young man how to be a cowboy. . . .[Ha Ha] . . . Myron hated the ranch and ran away several times. Dowe corresponded with Joseph Boyer about Myron’s progress saying at one point in 1926 he thought Myron had not taken a drink in three weeks and seemed to be doing better. [I think this was the one time Laura Boyer was referring to when Myron was ever sober.] “Then Myron ran off again and demanded his father buy him a new Lincoln automobi

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

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