The Purple Pinup Guru Platform

When purple things are pulsating on your mind, I'm the one whose clock you want to clean. Aiding is Sparky, the Astral Plane Zen Pup Dog from his mountain stronghold on the Northernmost Island of the Happy Ninja Island chain, this blog will also act as a journal to my wacky antics at an entertainment company and the progress of my self published comic book, The Deposit Man which only appears when I damn well feel like it. Real Soon Now.

Wednesday, May 28, 2003


Continuing from where I left off yesterday in my recalcitrant rant-

Anyway, reminiscening about my 'high-life' in East Hanover, N.J. After my grandfather stepped in and broke my parents apart he had my mother and me move in an apartment in Parsippany, New Jersey while he had a house build in East Hanover. Once the house was built, he had me, my mother, my two aunts, Peggy and Priscilla, and my slightly off-kilter Uncle Max (the reason I say that is story has it he once murdered a man in cold blood in self defense spurned by one of those typical love trysts- don't know the exact details- it's one of those taboo subjects at the festive holiday gatherings- only they were never really festive, but the man served his time and is still amongst the living in Northern New Jersey) move in a four bedroom two story house. I remember the house was a strange construction- there were two living rooms in it- one in the basement and the other one upstairs, adjacent to a balcony. My grandfather shared his room with my Uncle Max downstairs and I used to be pertified to go into their room because something was wrong with the foundation - the floor looked as if it was going to sink in the hellhole of the earth and I used to believe that if I stepped on that cracked tile that a hole would open up and swallow me in. Geez, I could've channel that premise to Joss Weldon telepathically when he came up with the thesis on Buffy the Vampire Slayer . The house used to be across the street from a golf course that was then made way for the construction of The new Nabisco Company when they moved their operations out here. So aside from the pleasant memories of growing up on my block with every new nifty trendy toy that made the other neighborhood kids envious with rage so much that they had stomp on my face to steal them or riding horseback on my German Shephard, Fellow, there was always the waft of the aroma of fresh processed Oreo or Nutter Butter Cookies in the morning. And incidentally, My grandfather was in the baking business himself- as he was the sole creator of the formula made for Bosco Chocolate Syrup and was a baking consultant for many supermarket bakeries all over the country for chains such as Safeway and Alpha Beta on the west coast and Foodtown on the east.
His greatest triumphs came just before he died when he sold recipes to many of the pie chain eateries such as Marie Calenders- (that's right, the chocolate and coconut creme pie recipes come from my granddad)

Usually my aunts were in charge of looking after me when they got of school as my mom went out to earn money as a waitress- They would pick me up from nursery school or something and I used to have pleasant memories of them walking around the house in their underwear. That made quite a impression on me and to this very day I still kid my aunts about it as they were the first girls I ever saw in their skivvies. My aunt Priscilla is still astounded that my memories can extend that far - for I must have been two and half years old .

That's why I have so many unpleasant memories of 'Roger', my egotistic meglomaniac stepfather.

My mom met him while on the job at the restaurant she worked in Morris Plains and while some may say that I'm over exaggerating, that many others before me have had it worse- I knew deep down I deserved better. To go from the proverbial pampered riches to rags, I'm sure the story has been heard many times over. But I think my stepfather's life at least merits a mention or made into a terribel B-movie or two. Joan Crawford, or Terry O'Quinn in those Stepfather Slasher flicks would be like fucking Ghandi compared to this sadistic fuck that I had to put up with for- jeez, (I just turned four when they married) - the next seventeen years of my life until I moved (far, far, away as possible ) to California and still ... even being three thousand miles away still has serious repercussions to this very day...

The saga continues tomorrow.......

for the fifteen minutes are up for this chapter...




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