True Lies: Folks Can Change Their Minds and Their Memories
Thelma: Folks, it's a sad day in Stinky Creek for Louise an me as we have to relate a tale we seen a long time comin of a friend of ours who's done gone down the rabbithole so far he come out the otherside and gone back in. It's a shame, one we been watching perpetuatin, all while a hopin he and his kin would somehow notice they was rewritin history. Ain't worked out that way, though, nosirree bob. They done rewrote it to suit their ideas now and the group they took to hangin with.
Now, I'm gonna share this story, and Louise's gonna weave in the tale of Jenny McCarthy of the fartin poopin and indigo child fame and mayhap we'll be able to share somethin of value, a cautionary tale as it were.
Here in Stinky Creek, ain't none of us above average, no, I reckon we is an anti-Wobegon sort of place. We make do with what we got, but we all admit we got some real obstacles standin in our way. Used to we'd pony up and get together in a time of need and be of assistance to each other, help out however we could. Of course, that was before the interwebz and satellite cable came to our parts of the woods. Shewey, it's been a mess ever since, I gotta tell ya.
Used to be, folks who had themselves a child with a few extra issues could count on kin and friends to stand for them, help them out, and to look with love on the child. Now ifn it were deemed that the mom and dad were futzin the job, the preacher and the prinicipal would call on Louise and me to go round and have a come to T an L meetin. It's worse than a come to Jesus meetin for sure is what I am sayin. Just in case ya was a wonderin.
When the interwebz came around, all of a sudden them parents who mighta reached out to the community for some ideas went inside and started joining them yahoo groups and doin what came to be known as the google U degree plan. Tweren't a bad idea in and of itself, but it meant that along with some good info ya was open for some really bad stuff, too.
And that's just what happened to this young couple that lives down the road some. They had themselves some kiddies, sweet babies, they sure were, but high maintenance and then some. The little girl, well she was high strung, best can be said, but their boy, well, his maintenance was on turbocharge and some of us old-timers knew they were in for a struggle. We felt right bad for the challenges facin this young couple, and we did what we could, but that interwebz was there and appealing. No one likes to be told a child's got problems and that those problems ain't goin away. Nosirree.
It's a powerfully painful thing to hear, no doubt. Damn shame. Some folks rally when they hear that and march ahead. Some despair. True enough. Used to, ya could whoop some sense in to them folks; they was out and about and ya could keep an eye on them to whoop some sense in when they started over to the dark side. Now, they hide in their cubbyholes and go down the interwebz rabbithole.
Louise and I had no choice but to foller them in, for true. We'd conversate when we could with them to keep an idea of how things were goin, and at first it seems like they coped okay. They got to realizin the middle-un had some issues that mounted up to autism, and autism came ta Stinky Creek officially. Most of us looked around and saw autism had always been there; we just called it strange and eccentric and moved on and around as needed. We believe in cuttin some slack here in Stinky Creek since ain't none of us above average, if ya ken me. We is an acceptin bunch.
Now this sweet young family weren't havin much of that. It struck em powerful hard and they had the new satellite cable to get to the interwebz an off they went a researchin. They heard about this diet, raved about it, bitched alot cuz good luck in Stinky Creek gettin nature food stuff. We are a meat and taters kinda people with a lot of biscuits and gravy, too. So,when they started sayin skip the biscuits and gravy for the little un, we all looked at em like they'd gone over the bend. And they started tellin us about somethin about wheat and dairy and gettin high. About these yahoo groups where ya could exchange info and stuff and find out where to get the cardboard bread and the tater or rice milk. Done tried some of that stuff. Shewey. Ain't tasty is what I am sayin.
Louise and I had no choice but to go to google U, too, ya know, as the unofficial matrons an asskickers of the community, it fell to us to keep up with what the young folks were doin. We were on all sorts of groups before we knew it. Groups for plushies. Groups for ultra fems. Groups for cardboard food. Groups of all sorts, just a readin away to pass the time. Even passed some on over to Mamma H ta keep her out of our booze and smokes.
It gave us lots ta talk about, helped us keep relatin, let us know what was goin on in our community behind closed doors. Wooo-ey, some of the groups our neighbors belong to will cross your eyes an make ya smile. Uh-huh. See them in the check out stand at our market and just grin a big one. Louise can tell ya all about it, enough ta fill volumes. Led ta her creatin her own yahoo support group for forlorn seniors lookin ta jazz up their love lives. Sure did.
We followed this nice young couple around, an at first it was just the mama out there, really, lookin for more cardboard recipes to share with us. Learned to smile an not try to swallow, dry stuff. Really cardboard is better. We peaked in, thinkin if we could spruce up them recipes that baby'd be happy, and since Louise and I run the church nursery (church is about the community here, huns, and good atheists that we are, how can we not play with the babies while mom an dads visit?), well, we could honor the wishes of the sweet family.
From there, though, the story got interestin, it did, as the years unfurled and the diet stayed cardboard and more stuff was added in. And the child stayed the child, sometimes better, sometimes not, as kids are wont to do. The mama started to hear about the vaccine thing, and her mad started to get on as they had something to hold onto. Mercury poisonin came up and they talked about a cure. They went from thinkin about their child one way, their past one way, to a complete rewrite. Now, Louise and I aren't quiet, and at first we'd cock our eyebrows at them and ask them what the hell they were up to, but it didn't do no good. No, we knew that light in their eyes and there wasn't no turnin them around. Mama had an answer and daddy latched onto it tight and fierce and from there on out the reasonin with him was done and gone. He was a true believer.
The community here, and it's a good one, well, it fell down on the job as the world turned and changed and folks became tied to their interwebz and satellite cable. Pretty soon we couldn't even talk about the same things, cuz we all had a hundred different channels and we could indulge ourselves. Got to where we realized we didn't have to put up with Tom, Dick and Harry's bullshit anymore just cuz we lived in close proximity, so it got to where we weren't talkin about shit together any more, neither, nor makin allowances. We got to where we could ignore each other like we didn't exist. Even got to where we could watch our preachin on the tube and not have to go to church where we could tune out the preacher and focus on who was schtoopin who and who wanted to.
We had to get more clever to keep up with that family, but we did it, we managed it. Mama got involved with her brood and let a lot of that anger wash right out, focused on tryin to make her babies as happy and whole as she could. Sides, she couldn't get the computer away from daddy. Nosirree, he'd found a place to get in word fights and have his say and folks who'd encourage his special brand of mad, and even better folks who'd egg it on. Ain't nothin like an opposition to keep ya fired up and ready to go, can I get an amen and a attaboy? And Louise an I sat on the sidelines and watched that man's story morph inta somethin we couldn't even begin to recognize. That group he found fed him, rewarded his anger, and it got to where we were catchin him in a lie damn near every week. Course the man was so mad by now, tellin him he was inconsistent as hell and changin his tune every which way didn't do any good except to get us uninvited to their home, and called his former friends.
Hard to whoop some sense into someone if ya cain't get near him. The thing is, we ain't sure either one of them really kens that the story they is livin now ain't the story they actually lived. We ain't sure they know he's lied at all, if they altered their memories to suit their new way of thinkin the way we is all tempted to do. Once we believe somethin, we cain't never undo it an remember, really remember what it was to feel different. If ya ever been through a break up, ya know what I mean.
Here's what Thelma's gonna say, though, and it bears hearin and hearin well, about rewritin your history: best to remember that if ya are intentional in your rewritin, it would be smart to bear in mind where ya do that rewritin where ya cain't undo it. Some places on the interwebz is forever and your words long outlive your belief system and can come back to roost, if ya ken me an ken me well. Ifn ya shifted unintentional, ya best to be lookin over where ya been to see where your story changed and ask yourself was that on purpose and how'd I get here where I am now from where I started and mayhap start eatin some crow to get back to the truth of it. Cuz, here be the truth, there are people out there, hons, who remember what they seen, remember where they seen it and know the truth of it as it all changed. And ifn we gets to thinkin ya is lyin intentional, wooo-ey, is it ever a come to Thelma and Louise meetin of the purse.
If ya ken me, is what I'm sayin.
Thelma my gal, ya done said it all. The rewritin a history is a dangerous thing in these here interwebz times. Why ya got folks sayin one thing and three months later ya got em sayin another. I'ma thinkin they all do it ta get themselves some "maximum attention". Reminds me a that bosom enhanced gal who made herself a livin a tootin on t.v. Now I don't reckin most folk remember back when she were callin herself an "Indigo mom", sayin her son was a "crystal child" an such. Y'all can read about it here
That's right...Ol Miss fussy bosoms was all about changin the schools and cleanin up the enviornment and what not. So what do y'all reckin happened? A whole lot a nothin! So she changed her story. Her son was no longer a prettty crystal, but a child with the autism. Well hell, lots a folks got autism, not much new there, so she changed her story agin! It's the vaccines, its tha mercury, it's tha big pharma companies hurtin our kids! Well that good folks, got her lots 'o attention. Got her on Larry King, got her bigger book deals, and speakin arrangements, an just like tha pied piper (cept she tootin from her behind) she's got lots a people a followin. Includin our neighbor folks. Funny iffen y'all look back on all they wrote in tha beginnin, y'all would think it was a different child tween then an now. It makes ya wonder why. Attention? Acceptance? Inclusion? Or just an excuse to be so dang angry all tha time.
I have ta tell y'all...I was mighty disappointed in our neighbors after readin their old posts an such. Me and my gal Thelma embraced 'em with kindness and understandin. I'm hopin it wasn't a mistake. I'm hopin they'll go back and look at all they have posted and realize that maybe, just maybe they got so caught up in tha anger, they lost tha facts. Cause I'd hate ta think they twisted tha truth on purpose. Me and Thelma, we like ta believe tha best a folks, we don't like bein lied to. It gives us heavy hearts, an even heavier pocketbooks iffen ya ken me.
Now I gotta get on over to tha senior center. I'm givin a speech tonight " Just cause ya wear "supp hose" don't mean your stocking shouldn't be stuffed" Y'all have a Merry Christmas, a Happy Hannakah, a wonderful Kwanza, or just a good week.
Two cheeks to the ill blowin wind.
Well hey now. I hope all you folks is doin alright. Me and my gal Thelma been busy busy bee's.
Lots to do- lots a happenins ta report in good old Stink Creek. What with the Founders day parade comin up and the grand openin of Brady Higgens "Cut, Curl an Rest" beauty salon and funeral parlor we aint had no time ta catch y'all up on the Stink Creek gossip. Hell! We barely had time ta keep up with it oursleves. That's for damn true!
Thanks to my gal Thelma an her detectin skills we're back ta havin our Sunday fried chicken socials. All the Stink Creek folks come together eat some chicken share some news. So we always notice when someone don't show up. Might be they are sick or laid up somehow. So one a us always goes on over to where they live..check on em..bring em some chicken an chit chat. We are a community that cares about each other. Past few weeks we done noticed one a our regular families wadn't comin. Now y'all might remember that me and my gal Thelma had what y'all might call one a them "interventions" with these folks. Well, come ta find out it didn't do much good.
Now tha daddy a the family is what y'all might call "high strung". always shoutin an yellin..tellin folks his tall tales a woe an whatnot. Most folks keep their distance an only talk ta him on account a the fact that he got little ones. We cherish our young uns in Stink Creek..so we was all a little worried when he wadn't showin up to tha socials. So me an my gal Thelma loaded up a platter a chicken an took a ride over to his place. We were right suprised by what we found!
Seems this daddy was attendin another kind a service an we drove up right in the middle of it. Boy howdy! I aint never seen nothin like it an that's sayin somethin! There was only a couple a folks but hells bells and Elvis gyrates! They was a stompin an a twistin..hootin an a spankin! There was the daddy, pants down by his ankles.. all flushed an yellin bout his persecution an spankin hisself at tha same time..a fella by the name a Monty Des Roid (we call him "booger" on account a the fact well..did y'all ever hear the sayin "Y'all can pick your friends an ya'll can pick your nose..but y'all can't pick your friends nose? Well Monty don't abide by that iffen ya ken me?) was a goadin the daddy on, yellin "make that hiney red!" an a woman by tha name a Bea Popsum was standin atween tha two a them..just a baskin in tha glory of it all.
I'm gonna let Thelma tell y'all the rest a this..OOEEE! Jus thinkin on this makes me wanta drink or burn my eyes out..
Now I thought Milo T in the woods with the cluck clucks was something else, sure enough I did. Hell, even Luther is a sight to behold, but Daddy Sore Bottom (name changed to protect the younguns) sure takes the cake. Fortunately, there weren't not a sight of the wee ones and their mama; she's got a sound head on solid shoulders, and we all know the burden she bears living with Daddy Sore Bottom.
We gotta admit, we were so taken aback by what we were aseein and ahearin that we plum dropped the fixins we were carrying right onto the ground. That didn't even put a hitch in their step, though, nosirree. Daddy Sore Bottom, Bea and Monty kept right on at it, praisin and spankin, moanin and wailin. The couple other folks clapping and singin that dirty version of hallelujah, only not laid back and all. They were waving back and forth, too. Oh, my. I had no choice but to pull my flask of Wild Turkey and take a stout pull on it and pass it over to Louise, whose mouth was wide open, a look of surprise I ain't rightly ever seen before.
My gal Louise has seen a lot of things. Hell, odd, weird, and downright off is par for the course in Stink Creek. It's one of the reasons the Sisters of Perpetual Agony do a good business even in such a small community in the back wilds of Kentucky is what I'm sayin. She drained the flask, and hell, she's much happier with Boone's. We shook ourselves, nodded at each other, picked the containers up off the ground, shook the dirt off of some of the chicken legs that had come free, and we marched around the spanksters and on up to the front porch of Daddy Sore Bottom's house.
Mama Sound-in-mind was at the screen door looking chagrined. She lets us in, took the containers from us, and hung her head in shame. We hugged her right tight and told her it was alright. Louise pulled her cell out and called the Sisters and told em we had an emergency on our hands.
The kids seemed none the wiser for the shenanigans going on outside; they were watching Shrek, so it was drowning out the noise, fortunately. Their mama was beside herself, though. She's put up with some serious crap over the years, and raisin a young un who needs extra attention can be a bit of work. Hell, being a mama period means a lot of work, a lot of pain, and a lot of joy, but between the woo forays, well, it had been a rough patch. The mama may have found her footin, but Daddy Sore Bottom was out there proving he'd lost every bit of his. The folks eggin him on weren't too sound, either. They were making the pentacostals look downright reasonable out there.
We peeked out at them while we waited for the sisters to get there; Daddy Sore Bottom had spittle flyin from his mouth as he raged. Somehow he managed to look both crazed and orgasmic at the same time. Hell of a combination, for damn sure. The other folks were beginning to lose their flush, though, as he got louder and more worked up. They'd stopped the singing and were giving each other concerned looks. The ones on the edge began to back away and for long, they'd gotten into their cars and taken off. Bea and Monty, though, were still right there beside Daddy Sore Bottom, although they were also beginning to notice the new gyrations the whole event was taking.
About that time, as even Bea and Monty were beginning to back up, sirens blaring, a couple ambulances and the sheriff showed up. Bea and Monty looked at each other, quit the clapping and backed the hell away.
Daddy Sore Bottom didn't notice none of it; he was full swell into it, screamin into the sky all sorts of nonsense about conspiracies, damaged goods and how everyone was out to get him and everyone else. He was callin to his gods, shouting out to the mighty ones, his holy trinity, to come to his aid, to give him succor, elevate him to their mighty platform, all while spanking himself.
The sheriff and the sisters ran up to him, and one of the sisters pulled out a syringe and jabbed it right in a bright red ass cheek. They stepped back, ringed around him, and let him finish it on out. Daddy Sore Bottom never noticed them, or if he did, thought they were there to cheer him on. Hallelujah!
When the meds kicked in, the sisters swarmed in on him, grabbing him, pulling his pants up, and in the bubble of nuns, the sheriff trailing behind, Daddy Sore Bottom was guided to the ambulance, and off they went, sirens blaring.
Louise and I turned to the poor mama, who was sobbing quietly. We patted her shoulders, clucked, cooed, and showed our support. We put in some phone calls, and soon the house was packed with the ladies of Stink Creek, casseroles in hand, and the mama and her sweet young uns were ensconced in the support that we offer here in Stink Creek.
We are powerfully familiar with the occasional breaks from sanity that folks can be prone to take. Daddy Sore Bottom found himself a bad crowd on the interwebz, one that led him down a path towards spittle-flecked raving, and then somehow managed to connect with our local cult. Sometimes, life throws some serious shit your way. We at Stink Creek been hit with our fair share of it, and it's most of our belief that the way through that shit is community, helping hands reaching out, compassion and respect, and a damn cold dose of hard rationality. We are a practical folk, by and large, and accepting that we all handle life's shit differently.
The sisters will take good care of Daddy Sore Bottoms, and before long, he'll be back home, acarrying on as usual. We've also learned that you can patch some folks up, but you cain't make em reason soundly or change their ways All ya can do is damage control.