Saturday, December 15, 2007

A Lawyer's Insertion

Good Evening,

I am Bing Crescent.  I am lawyer and I am also an actor.  I understand this blog is read by many people, some in Los Angeles, and I want them to know I am available for auditions.  Leave a message here and I can send you my digital presskit.  I have appeared in "Bay Watch Australia," as "Little Keith," the mentally challenged surfer.  I had no lines, but I received lots of mail.  I appeared in CSI: Miami, as the body found floating face down in a hot tub.  I was in the Lanacane Ointment ads (my back was, anyway).  I am 6'2, African American, devastatingly handsome (I've been told) and work out every day.   I can sing and I'm in SAG.

As a lawyer, I represent Irv Rorg.  Irv is set to go before the judge December 21.  Irv is accused of stabbing his uncle with the intent to kill, but my client's position is he stabbed his uncle in self-defense.

I am 30 and I am a partner in my own law firm.  In the past I have been involved in cases against CBS News, Liza Minnelli, and Toyota.  All 3 cases settled before going to trial.  

My law firm specializes in class action suits, libel and slander claims, and family manslaughter cases.

The other partner in my firm is a recovered heroin addict and former German child-star, turned lawyer, Sandy Wund.

Anyone with any information regarding the stabbing at the Pole Dancing Palace on Castro Street described earlier in this blog, please contact me by leaving a comment.

Yours Sincerely,
Bing Crescent

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Hey Dudes - Blog it!

Hey man,

I locked myself in the administration office and the dude with the pointy sideburns is bangin' on the glass, and the cop lover of his is lookin through his desk for his keys.

I got the Blog Machine!

My name's Christian.  I'm in jail cuz of Road Rage.  I get it real bad.  It's like a disease.  What's bad is I drive a van for "Seniors On The Go" municipal senior transport services.

Last Monday I was drivin' a 92 year old woman back from a knee replacement checkup when this ass drivin' an SUV bigger than Rhode Island cuts me off out by Golden Gate National Cemetery!  

I couldn't let him get away with that!  I followed him through the Park and onto the Golden Gate Bridge.  He slowed down to teach me a lesson, you know how some people think when an angry driver is behind them tailgatin' them they should slow down and teach that driver a lesson?  Well, he did, so I rammed him!  Over and Over.  We exited the bridge and he crashed into the toll booth and I went through a security fence.  

The 92 year old woman, Sylvia, as they were loadin' her onto the ambulance, said she never had so much fun in all her life and that her knee was just fine.  

So, here I am in jail sharin' a cell with that Irv guy who stabbed his uncle.

Shit, they got the keys to this office and they're pissed at me.  gotta go!!


Saturday, December 8, 2007

Starting Over

Irv reporting --

I wonder if a person can really start over?  

Most people are out doing Christmas shopping right now.  Me?  I'm in the County Jail.  What better place to make New Year's Resolutions, right?

My arresting officer was James.  He likes me and I like him.  He helped me out before.  He said he'd watch out for me now...but that I'd have to get a lawyer.

As much as I like James,  I don't see him too often, and I'm in a holding cell with two other "criminals."

I've got sweatpants, tennis shoes, and a pullover and jean jacket that James got me.  James is Italian.  He's got a mustache and he works out every day.  He's gotta be tough to run this jail.
He lets me use his computer to make my entries.

To everybody reading this blog, I am sick and tired of all the crap I've been through.  The cops were out by the barn where Marcus, the fat kid, had kept me all those days, somewhere in the Napa Valley.  I yelled and shouted and the cops came in and found Marcus dressed up in a straw apron and cooking what he called "wedding omelets" for me.

The cops took Marcus in for questioning, and they arrested me.  Seems that the sister of the social worker I buried in the backyard a year ago last Thanksgiving has been reading this blog and has accused me of the murder of her sister (which I didn't do).  Oh yah, and I stabbed Uncle Vick at the Pole Dancing Palace (which I did do), and my father was shot (which I didn't do). 

I don't care anymore.  I want to start over.  I'll go through whatever legal trial or incarceration I have to, and then I'm going to go back to work as a stunt man, or try some new career.  I'm going to completely divorce myself from my family.

James says I can do it.  I can start over again.  He said he gave up steroids after he threw a desk across a parking lot one summer on 'roid rage.  

I don't think I'm a psycho like the other members of my family.  I'm sorry I stabbed my uncle. I'll never stab anyone again.  

I'm giving up my past.  I'll get out of jail.  I'm meeting my lawyer tomorrow.  

I've got to believe I can change my life.


Sunday, December 2, 2007

Stand By My Man

I'm Marcus--

I resent being referred to as "the fat kid."  Yes, even by you, Irv.  You are my best friend and I love you with all of my heart, but you can think of something nicer to call me.  I've always dreamed of being called "Montana."  Maybe from now on, you can call me Montana...or Splendido!

I'm glad that Thanksgiving is over.  Irv was very nervous.  We smoked pot to calm him down and we watched a lot of Fear Factor from my DVD collection.  Irv loves Fear Factor because he used to be a stunt man.  He likes the episode where the girl eats porridge made of giant worm larvae and then has to swim through sewage drains under a freeway.

Irv wants to leave my "undisclosed location."  Especially, since the weather has gotten cold.  I told him, no.  He'll get arrested and all he did was defend himself.  Irv says he meant to stab his uncle, but I say it was self-defense from all those years of putting up with such a rude bastard of a guardian.

Irv is mad at me.  He says if I really loved him, I'd let him go free.  I told him, I love him more than anything, that's why I made him that sweater and boxer shorts.  He won't wear the shorts because he says they scratch him.  Well, I don't know how to soften straw.  That's all there is around here!

Nobody is going to take my Irv away from me.  Not even Irv.  I've saved him.  He's mine.  He's mine!  He's so handsome.

I never liked that Kwan.  And I don't think spleens need to be transplanted.  Aren't they supposed to be unnecessary??

It's getting windy outside.  The wind whistles throught the cracks in the wall here.  The cops came by once but they didn't see us.  I've got to go wrap Irv up so he stays warm.  Maybe he'll let me kiss him again!

Marcus "Montana"

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

From Nurse Sinclaire

I am Nurse Sinclaire and I work at the Brotman Medical Center on Venice Blvd. in West Los Angeles.

One of the patients under my care is Victor Rorg, who currently is awaiting a spleen transplant, after his original spleen was punctured by a small knife more than a week ago.

Although Mr. Rorg is a Managed Care Specialist with Complete Wrap Health Insurance, he is unable to obtain coverage for a new spleen.

In my opinion, the sucker is better off dead. He slaps my ass whenever I adjust his catheter. He fondles my breasts when I turn him over on his side, he whispers "I love you- have my baby" into my ear when I sponge bathe him, and he has masturbated twice while student doctors accompanied his primary care physician during examinations.

He told me today, he has "ways of getting the money for a spleen." I told him spleens cost upwards of $80,000. He told me he knew where he could get hold of a "black market spleen" through a friend of his at his health insurance company. He said he would have it fedexed to his room in three days and would I "french kiss him while Wheel of Fortune was on."

I told him it better be a baboon spleen cuz I don't want no part of no Chinese dissident body organs. And then I told him no matter what spleen he got I would leave it out in the alley for the cats to fight over.

He passed out at that point, but when he woke up I told him I was kidding. He told me he hadn't really passed out, and that he was watching me through the tiny slits in between his closed eyelids.

I poured ice cubes over him from the water pitcher, and submitted my resignation. I hate this place.

Ex-Nurse Sinclaire.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Where Are You?

Dear Irv,

It's Kwan.  I'm writing because no one knows where you are.  I guess I got pretty full of myself with my campaign.  You and I have being lost in common.  Why is it so hard to trust people?  I had to fire my campaign staff.  All of them!  Even Sonja Ti, my assistant and landlord.  She cried buckets when I fired her.  She said, "How can you do this to me after I transcribed that long tape recording and mailed several letters?"

She's lazy, I think!

Sonja is letting me remain in her apartment with her and her sister, Happy, but let me tell you something, Sonja hates me now.  And Happy isn't.

Why did I fire my staff?  Why did I fire Sonja?  They all said this blog would prevent me from being elected to Congress.  They all said I should delete this blog.  

I refused.  They said I was throwing away my campaign.  They had an INTERVENTION!  Yes.  They all waited for me at the toenail salon, and then one by one they told me how I was on the wrong track.  How I had let my appearance go because of you.  My hair and everything!

If I deleted this blog, how would you and I stay in touch?  When I call your cell phone, I get a disconnected number message.  Your emails bounce back to me.  This blog is all I've got to stay connected to you.

And now you've been silent since Thanksgiving.  It's raining outside tonight.  This isn't my home town.  This isn't my home country.  

I guess I feel vulnerable because I don't know who I can trust anymore.  Sonja stopped talking to me.  Happy is crying.

They think I should focus on the needs of the voters, not on some esoteric treatise on psychopathic behavior.

Oh yeah, and that they are worried that I will be implicated in the stabbing...that I may even have done the stabbing and you were covering for me.  Such crap!  

There is a witness from the Pole Dance Palace that saw us that night.  Some bald guy who cried for his wife.  He wants money or he's going to tell the cops he saw me stab your uncle.  I have to pay him 5,000 dollars tomorrow morning at Arby's or he'll go to the cops.

And now it's raining.  

Shit, this is what happens when you try to help people.


Thursday, November 22, 2007

Thanksgiving Memories

It's Irv--

One year ago today my grandparents, and a social worker sickeningly sweeter than Splenda, spent their last hours on earth.

I witnessed the whole thing.  And as I've admitted earlier here, I buried the social worker in the backyard.

I miss my grandmother.  I miss the way she'd cuff me on the chin and say "don't end up in prison, boy."  I miss the way she'd take me out in the backyard to target shoot with her 12-gauge, and how when the neighbors pit bull went insane she'd shoot the hose water over the fence and sing "Purple Rain."  I miss the way my grandmother baked yams.  Okay, baked "yam."  

It was a tradition with my grandmother to only bake one yam.  One giant yam.  The biggest friggin' yam she could find.  My grandfather told us she'd go on Ebay and find the biggest yam available.  She'd give them names each year, like "Old Yamaguchi," and "Yamn, Girl!" Cooking these behemoths would take all day.

My grandfather would sit out in the living room and tell stories from his days in prison, while the smell of baking giant yam would suffocate us all.  He'd tell us of the time he convinced the parole board he had been rehabilitated and even made love to two of the board members, before being released, and how on the very next day he held up a Whole Foods Market and stole $1,100 and a cashier at gunpoint and drove to Nevada in the cashier's car.

He was caught the next week and sent back to prison, and met my grandmother (a corrections officer) during a "Scared Straight" workshop with local Methodist High School kids.

They'd both laugh.  I saw them kiss once.

Now, they're dead.  Uncle Vick shot them both.

My grandmother was no angel, and the social worker's disgustingly chipper voice even made the pit bull next door queasy, but they didn't deserve to die.

Today, on Thanksgiving, held captive here in an undisclosed location by the fat kid, Marcus, I think back on what I have to be grateful for...

While Marcus is at Honeybaked Hams picking up our meal, and a "love bracelet for men" that he wants to give me from Macy's or somewhere, I'm grateful only for the fact that no one knows where I am.  A fit 38-year old with pointy black sideburns, with no job, and a family hereditary predisposition to appalling behavior.

Happy Thanksgiving to Whoever Reads This.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Spleen Not Covered

I am posting this message on behalf of Complete Wrap Health Insurance.  Victor Rorg, a managed care specialist currently on indefinite leave from our company due to his arrest for allegedly murdering family members at a holiday meal, has been denied his request for coverage for a spleen transplant.

Officer Beth of the LA Police Department submitted the paperwork for Victor Rorg, who is incapacitated after a recent stabbing at a pole dancing palace in the Bay Area.

We cannot provide coverage at this time.  Although, Victor Rorg remains on our Insurance Roster, spleen work is considered too risky for us to provide coverage.

Spleens that are damaged in fires, car accidents, balloon mishaps, restaurant explosions, or by cancer, are not covered by our company.

Spleens that are damaged by acts of God such as lightning strikes, volcanic plumes, hurricanes, glaciers, or cougar attacks, are not covered by our company.

Spleens that are stabbed, sliced, minced, altered by machinery, cloned, squeezed, or dyed, are not covered by our company.

We regret that we must deny coverage to one of our most valued employees.  We recommend vitamin therapy or a trip to Mexico, as these methods have helped other policy holders that we have not been able to insure due to our guidelines.

All the best,
Rene Bataglia
Officer of Managed Care 
Complete Wrap Health Insurance

Friday, November 16, 2007

Compassionate Libertarianism

Kwan Johnson - Candidate for Congress/reporting

I am safe and back at the San Francisco apartment with my friends (one of whom is my assistant and whose transcription you have read here).

I can't say why I let Irv go.  I am no better than anyone else.  My previous relationship with "Uncle Vick" has been documented in this blog.  It is no secret.  Victor is not a good man, but I could not run away and leave him to bleed to death.  Sure, we used to go to the dog races drunk together in the old days, but I'm a new woman now.

I am a Libertarian.  I don't believe in UFOs like Kucinich.  I am not a comedian like Stephen Colbert.  I am a Libertarian, which Democrats and Republicans alike consider just as bad.

Even though I believe in the legalization of all drugs as a solution to the War on Drugs, I do not believe that even psychopathic murderous asshole ex-boyfriends should be left to bleed to death in a skanky pole dancing palace - no matter how much I might have wished for such a thing during the "war years" of our relationship.

I have no time for a relationship with anyone now.  I guess, not even with Irv.  Those nights in the desert together were romantic, it is true, but now I must put aside my selfish interests and fight to represent my congressional district here in San Francisco.  

Or can I?  Irv, if you read this tonight, think of me.  I would welcome you into my campaign if you would submit to a "Study of The Psychopath in Our Halls of Justice and in Our Seats of Power," that I am writing.

And would you have dinner with me?

BTW, Uncle Vick was taken back to jail in Los Angeles.  He has a torn spleen.  He might need a spleen transplant.  I gave your name as his closest blood relative.  I hear spleen donors are hard to find.

Please consider my invitation,

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

What Have I Done?

Irv here.

What have I done?  

I'm writing this from a place that the fat kid, Marcus took me.  He's been following me, which is creepy, but he followed me to the Pole Dance Palace and was waiting outside...when it was all over.  And now, he's taken me somewhere safe and is running around fixing me meals and saying he'll give me a sponge bath if I want, and staring at me for a really long time while I try to think this through.

What have I done?  

I stabbed my Uncle Vick.  I stabbed him.  I never killed anybody.  I don't think I killed Vick, but I stabbed him, Christ, like that's much better...

I did it because I was fed up.  Have you ever been fed up?  You just don't give a fuck anymore?  I mean, I'm nowhere right now.  

Kwan, let me work for your campaign like you first said I could, okay?  I hope you're all right.  I shouted at you to come with me and Marcus when we ran out into the parking lot, but you shouted back that you were going to stay and help Vick.  God, you were holding his head in your lap and kneeling in that back doorway, with all those Pole Dance girls standing around you, and that one dude, the bald one, who was screaming like a woman and running in circles by the garbage cans yelling, "My wife can't find out!  My wife can't find out!"

WTF.  I was fed up.  I didn't want Vick to hurt Kwan or anyone else any more, or me.  Yeah, me.  So call it self-defense.  I did it because Vick killed my dad just days ago.  I can't prove it right now, but it's true.  

Marcus says we're "blood brothers" because he pricked his finger and pressed it against this scrape I got when I fell running out of that Pole Palace.  He just kissed my ear.  He baked a "Cookie Loaf" or something that he got the recipe for on the back of a Quaker Oats can.  He bakes.  So did Uncle Vick.

This is the sickest part:  Part of me loves my uncle.  He raised me.  He took me to that Pole Dance Place when I was 21.  

I wish Marcus would give me his bathrobe back to wear.  He wanted to take pictures of me with my shirt off because I'm like "Adonis" he said.

Geez Louize!

I'm not fed up any more, but I'm confused and sad.  I must really be a psycho like Vick and my grandpa.  I'm not any better than they are.

Marcus says I'm all wrong, and he's got his arms around me.



Saturday, November 10, 2007

Telling Transcript

Sonja Ti - Assistant to the Candidate Kwan Johnson
From the Ti Apartment in San Francisco

Transcript of conversation taped at the Pole Dancing Palace on Polk Street between Irv Rorg and Uncle Vick Rorg.  Taped with hidden microphone by Kwan Johnson - Candidate for United States Congress.

Uncle Irv:  Get the fuck away from me, Kwannie.  What are you doin' here?  Gonna dance a pole dance?  Hey Hey.

Kwan Johnson:  My name is Kwan Johnson.  Please speak more clearly.

Irv Rorg:  Kwan, you shouldn't be here.  Not tonight.

Kwan Johnson:  Why?  Irv, just because you're related to this man, doesn't mean you'll end up like him.

Irv Rorg:  He followed me - us - up here from L.A.  Don't you get it.  He's going to kill us.  Just like he killed his parents.  Right in front of me.  Last Thanksgiving.  During yams.

Uncle Vick:  That's nuts.  I work for a health insurance HMO. 

Irv:  Yeah, where flu shots are declined and called "experimental." 

Kwan Johnson:  Let's go, Irv. 

Uncle Vick:  No.  Stay.  Have a drink with me. Watch the pole dance gals.  I want to find out why Irv asked me to meet him here.

Kwan Johnson:  Don't do it, Irv!

Uncle Vick:  Oh, so you're going to stab me?  

Kwan Johnson - Candidate for United States Congress:  Don't do it, Irv!  

Irv Rorg:  Why not, Kwan?  I'm no better than he is, or my father, or my fuckin' grandfather.  "psychotic messed up head" runs in my family.  My father killed that social worker last Thanksgiving and I buried her in the backyard for him.  He never could admit to himself that he did that, but he did, and I covered it up for him and lied to the police and everything else.  And now, my father is dead, too, killed by my Uncle here.  So, I'm going to finish this right here.  It's going to stop.  I'm going to kill my Uncle Vick.

Uncle Vick:  Our family really doesn't do well at Holiday Season.  What are you going to do then, huh, Irving?  You gonna kill yourself because you can't live with yourself anymore.  Then you really will be like me.  You'll be a psycho, too!

Kwan Johnson:  NO!  He won't!

Uncle Vick:  Is that some kind of dance, Kwannie?


That's all that was on the tape.  That's all I've heard from Kwan by mail.  Nothing since last Thursday.  I'm scared.
Sonja Ti - Assistant to the Candidate Kwan Johnson
From the Ti Apartment in San Francisco

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

The Facts


I am the assistant to Kwan Johnson, Sonja Ti.  Kwan Johnson is a candidate for the United States Congress.  She is researching Psychopathy in the Political Arena.  Her Theory is that the United States Goverment is run by Psychopaths.  She spoke to the Asian Cultural Assembly recently on just this topic.  She got a standing ovation from the entire audience, and a bouquet of white lillies from a lesbian woman named Willow.

I received a phone call from Kwan Johnson last night.  She is all right and she will be sending me more information about the man, Irving Rorg, and his Uncle Vick Rorg and what they were doing at the Pole Dancing Palace on Polk Street where she saw them together at midnight last night.

I have never been to a pole dancing palace.  I think it degrades women to do such things.  I am 28.   I make my own clothes and I like to go bowling.

Kwan Johnson is staying at my apartment and together we have found some information about the Rorg Family:

Irving's grandmother and Uncle Vick's mother, the late Osiris Rorg, was a corrections officer at Lewisburg Penitentiary in Pennsylvania - Women's Division.  She was known as "The Terror That Came From Hell" by the inmates. 

She met Ralph Rorg during a tragic fire which burned the men's white collar boot camp to the ground.  Ralph Rorg was known as a "textbook psycho" convicted of conning 38 elderly women out of their life savings by conducting "phone love affairs" with each of them over a period of 18 years.  Ralph Rorg was fleeing the boot camp fire by dashing across a field of farm lettuce when Osiris Rorg ordered four German Shepherd Guard Dogs to be let loose.

Osiris and Ralph courted while Ralph was having skin grafts applied to the bite shreddings on his left leg in the prison hospital over the month of April in 1948.

They married that June.

Kwan Johnson, candidate for United States Congress, believes that the trouble between Irv Rorg and his Uncle Vick, stems from the family history of psychopathy, and that Irving is deeply troubled by the realization that he may have inherited psychopathic genes from his grandfather and father, and that he may be exhibiting psychopathic tendencies of his own.

Psychopathy can be hereditary and can be characterized by a lack of empathy, poor impulse control, and an addiction to risk taking.

The murders of last Thanksgiving in the Rorg family, and Irving's witnessing and possible connection to them, Kwan Johnson believes, are at the root of the trouble.

Kwan Johnson has told me she has a taped conversation between Irving and Uncle Vick Rorg recorded last night that I will transcribe for this blog as soon as I receive it.  

Kwan Johnson intends to show voters that she can route out psychopathic behavior in people close to her, and in people she intends to work with in Congress, thereby cleansing the government of a particularly nasty type of corruption.

Sonja Ti - Assistant to the Candidate Kwan Johnson
From the Ti Apartment in San Francisco

Monday, November 5, 2007

I'm Here!

Well, my boy, I'm here, waitin for ya, just like you asked. Your Uncle Vick. Great place you picked for us to meet. Music's so loud how're we gonna talk, huh? We gonna clear the air, huh? Is that your idea? With all these girls dancin' around these big shiny poles and all these men in hats?

My brother is dead. He wanted you to confess to all you've done, and now he's dead, too. Just like your grandparents. I loved those people. They were idiots but I loved them. Your grandmother was a corrections officer and your grandfather was...well, you've probably guessed by now, haven't you?

It's almost midnight so you better show up. I've had 3 beers and a bar poundcake. You know how gnarly a bar poundcake is? Who even knew that bars would sell poundcakes? You just have to ask the right questions in this world.

You know, people are out lookin' for me. I jumped bail. Not like you who got released honest and square. I'm a runaway. But I got a reason and you're it.

You'll be happy to know your little girlfriend, Kwannie, just showed up. She's alone and she hasn't seen me yet. She doesn't look comfortable in here, in all this cigarette smoke and under these red lights. Makes me laugh. She thinks people are gonna vote for someone like her? Showin up at places like this? One of these guys might ask her to do a dance! It's political suicide.

Clock's a tickin...

Uncle Vick

Sunday, November 4, 2007

I'm Not Runnin' Anymore

Irv here-

This Thanksgiving will be one year since my grandparents and the social worker died. I'm not going to live with this anymore.

You can't live with lies. My father couldn't. I can't either.

I'm sitting at the Park Presidio. I'm writing this by hand and then I'm going to transcribe it at an Internet Cafe. I'm sitting on the rocks west of the Bridge and the air is cold - smells of brine and the waves are high in a strong wind. People are out on their sailboats, living lives that aren't anything like mine.

Uncle Vick, you can meet me at the place you took me here when I was 21. Remember? I'm not afraid of you. I guess, I never really was. Meet me there at the same time tomorrow as when we visited way back then.

Thank God, I've got a warm navy coat on. Some young guy followed me around all this morning asking me if I wanted to come home and live with him and his girlfriend and their mom. He said he was a cognitive therapist, but he was twitching slightly like his therapy might come from a little vial in his pocket. He said he knew Candice Bergen personally and that he'd introduce me to her at Christmas.

I told him thanks, but I had more important things on my mind.

Until tomorrow, Uncle Vick.
And Kwan, I love you as much as you are capable of receiving.

Irv at the Ocean.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Happy Halloween

Well, well,
It's Halloween. Isn't that great?
Hey Irv, I'm lookin for ya! Trick or Treat! Ha! Nice night, right?

Dumped the Lexus. Officer Beth has too much air freshener in that thing. Made me wanna puke. Why did she need so much air freshener? I miss my KIA, but I got ways to get around.

Hey Kwannie! Vick here. Bet you coulda guessed that.

Nice city you got. I like the apartment building you're staying in Kwannie. You sure know how to use people to get nice places to stay. What are you tellin' those friends of yours you'll do for 'em, huh? Screw 'em all like you screwed me?

Hey out there, Kwan"Johnson" fucks like a steroid bunny! She used to scream so loud the pitbull next to our house would bark like aliens were landing.

Funny, huh Kwan? You used to tease Irv that blogs were for people that would write about their cats, and dumb poems and shit like that. Proved you wrong, eh sister?

Too bad you can't see my costume. I can't sit down in it, but you'd like it. Makes everyone say "ew, gross!"

Great city for Halloween. All the queers like Halloween. Saw that fat boy come runnin' out of your apartment building, Irv. He sure loves you. They all love you.

And my brother, Lonnie. He's celebrating tonight as a corpse at the morgue. Rough deal.

Rough Rough deal.

Uncle Vick

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Red Alert!!

Kwan here.

I read in the paper this morning that Lonnie Rorg, Irv's dad and Uncle Vick's brother...was found dead - shot through the heart, in the front seat of his red Prius.

I'm speaking at the Asian Cultural Symposium tomorrow morning. Title of my talk is "We Are All Refugees...yes, we are."

How can I keep it together when such a tragedy has occurred?

Whereabouts of both Irv and Uncle Vick are unknown.

I'm a wreck tonight! And I'm scared. My friends are also sad. They were going to cut my hair for me, and then they were so freaked out they got drunk, and well, I've had much nicer cuts...

Kwan Johnson (under construction)

Friday, October 26, 2007

The Truth Hurts

Irv here.

James says I'm being released today. Insufficient evidence to hold me. James is a good guy.

I'm 38 and I'm just now admitting certain things to myself. I've been protecting my dad. I lied and said he wasn't at the Thanksgiving dinner last year, and now I'm ready to admit he was. Why did I lie about him?

I just didn't want to believe the truth. The truth about my whole damn family.

God, I really need a shave. My sideburns are losing their points.

You see, if I believe the truth about my family, then there is a bigger fear. What will it mean about me??

My grandma was a corrections officer...and I only recently found out who my grandpa really was. And look at their two sons! One is a psychopath, and one is delusional.

What does that mean for me? I'm scared. Maybe that's why I was a stunt man back in the day. Fear is something I'm familiar with. I replace one fear with another to escape them.

Whatever. It's cold up here. James is going to lend me some cash. I'm not sure I want to go back to Kwan. I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't even know if we've still got my new corvette. I paid for it with Vick's American Express Card, so the car must be repossessed by now.

Maybe I'm no better than the rest of them. Why would I steal a 12 gauge from Vick, if I was any better than he was?

Shit, I've got to toughen up, but the more I let myself believe about my family, the more freaked out I get.


Thursday, October 25, 2007

Report From Officer Beth


To anyone reading this blog. At 5:40 this evening, Victor Rorg or "Uncle Vick" or "That Asshole Next Door" as some people called him, jumped his bail. His whereabouts are currently unknown.

I am Officer Beth. I am writing this report from the jumpee's home in Southern California. The same home where the body of a social worker named Tappy Marie was exhumed from the backyard several weeks ago. Escapee is thought to be armed with a small handgun, and a garden axe.

Escapee is considered psychopathic and is believed headed for San Francisco to take care of "family business" after reading recent entries in this blog.

Escapee was wearing a gray pair of sweatpants with chocolate stains on the right leg, Nike tennis shoes, a brown pullover, and a silver pinky ring.

Escapee is driving my car (a gold Lexus). License plate IAMHOTYA. Escapee claims we had a sexual relationship in a bathtub which I adamantly deny!

Officer Beth

Monday, October 22, 2007

I Don't Need A Dad! Let's Get Something Straight...

Irv here--

I seem to remember that this was supposed to be MY blog. Look, Lonnie, I don't need you. As a dad, you were never around. I actually feel sorry for you. I'm the one in jail (and btw I finally got a shirt from the desk clerk, James, who likes me, I think, and let me use his computer to make this entry).

And Kwan, if you want to exploit my story for publicity for your campaign, fine. Use this entry to investigate my father, Lonnie. He was at Thanksgiving Dinner last year with Uncle Vick, my grandparents, the social worker, and I. Ask Lonnie, who killed the Social Worker chick. Ask Lonnie who buried her in the backyard, when Uncle Vick had Lonnie's gun trained on me?

Ask Lonnie.

He's so scared the truth will come out about what he did, that he thinks he can pin the whole thing on his own son. "Can't bend fully over." Ahhh, how sorry-ass sad is that? Balding and paunchy old man can't possibly be to blame. Yeah, right.

I was so angry at him for months, that when the Labor Day barbecue came, I was terrified what I might do. But he didn't show up.

He actually tried to get me to "confess" in that motel room when he held me and Kwan hostage overnight. He believes his own story. That's sick shit. I'm your son, Lonnie!

I'm not scared of Lonnie and I'm not scared of Uncle Vick. Neither was grandma and she's dead because of it. Her poor husband, my grandpa, just happened to be in the room that horrible night and had to irritate everyone asking for another helping of yams. Well, grandpa got it, too, with half a yam dripping out of his mouth.

I'm the only one who doesn't have delusions of grandeur. And because of it, I'm in jail. That's America. But I'm a survivor.

Gotta go. James is winking at me.


Friday, October 19, 2007

You Can't Turn Me Away

Dear Irv--

It's me, your father, Lonnie Rorg. You think you can avoid me by refusing to see me when I come to visit you in jail?

You think it's that easy? You need my help now, son. Prison is not where you want to end up. Believe me. My own mother, your grandmother, was a corrections officer back in the 30s. You know that. The things she saw. The forced marriages that took place there. Maybe that's what you want, but those kind of marriages never last, no matter how many tattoos the bride gets.

Look, I'm coming back again Monday. It hurt that you refused to see me today. I'm an old man, why do you treat me this way? I'm sleeping in the red Prius again tonight. The humidity gets bad with the windows rolled up, but rain is on its way tonight according to the weather report. I couldn't bend fully over before I started sleeping in my car. Now with all the stiffness, I won't be able to use my hip rotator cup or turn my head, but I don't care.

I'm going to see you, son. A son needs his father.

Lonnie Rorg

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Agonizing Decision

Hello, Irv--

It's Kwan. Kwan Johnson. Yes, I changed my name from Tran Van Kwan. My campaign team and I felt that Kwan Johnson was easier to say and more American sounding.

I must tell you that I have been urged by my campaign team to delete this blog. They say its contents could hurt my chances of being elected to Congress. They may be right. I am torn deciding what to do.

My campaign has already been endorsed by ELDERCARE SAFETY RAILS, a large company that makes bed railings for unpredictable senior citizens.

Ever since you threw my macbook across the room and left my friends' apartment, and now that you are in jail on suspicion of murder, I have agonized over what to do about you. I can't sleep. My body aches with stress from not knowing what path to take.

I wasn't there last Thanksgiving when the deaths of those three people occurred. I didn't know Vick then. Frankly, it doesn't make sense to me. Why would your grandmother have a loaded shotgun stashed in the kitchen? Also, no one has explained how the "sickeningly sweet", as you put it, social worker was killed. Vick says you planted his business card on that dead social worker after you killed her. You have never reacted to that accusation.

It's all too much. I should just delete this blog and move on with my life. I've got too much going for myself and for this country, to be involved with strange people like you and your family.

Yet, as ripped up about this as I am now, sitting here by the Bay Window of my friends' San Francisco apartment, in the rays of the morning sun -- I believe the truth will come out. I also believe that I owe it to that dead social worker who you likened to "Katie Couric overdosing on Zoloft" to find out the truth of what happened to her last Thanksgiving.

It makes my stomach sick to write this...but Irv, I must stand up for the truth. I think I will include an investigation into what happened to that murdered social worker as part of my campaign.

Social workers do not deserve to be killed. Sure, some of them deserve to be fined, but none of them deserve death. My campaign will be honest, warts and all.

I'm smiling because my friends are reading this over my shoulder right now, and applauding.


Friday, October 12, 2007

I'll Save You, Irv!!

Hello, my name is Marcus.

I've written several entries in Irv's blog here. Irv's in jail. Maybe you can read this entry, Irv.

You are my best friend and I will stand by you no matter what. I will come and visit you in jail and spend the night there with you if you want me to.

I was hurt a little when you said that I would "kiss anything" and that you saw me kissing my video Ipod. I was kissing my video Ipod because I have pictures of you on it. I snapped them the other day when you were jogging in Golden Gate Park. You ran your circles and every time you passed me where I was sitting I snapped a picture of you with my phone. I pretended I was talking to my mother about Hanukkah, but I was really taking pictures of you.

You said I'd "kiss anything," well, you're not "anything"! You're a very special man that if I were gay and you were gay I would love and love.

I'm sorry to read that you have no shirt in jail. I'm going to bring you a shirt tomorrow. Kwan said I should stay away from you and that she is going to help you, and then she slapped me, but I won't stay away. I won't!

I shaved my long sideburns to make a pointy end on each side just like yours do. I wish I had a cool name like you - Irv Rorg. That is so much cooler than Marcus Feldstein.

I could go on and on, but I won't. I just want you to know that while you're in jail, me, Marcus, your best friend is also in jail. A jail in my mind! A jail in my heart.

I'm going to eat a poundcake now.

Your Best Friend,

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Out on Bail - Guess What?

Hey Irvie!

It's me, your lovable Uncle Vick!

I'm out on five thousand dollars bail. Your father posted it for me. I'm back at the house. I'm watching the plasma screen TV. "The Two Coreys" is on.

The cops read your blog. Yeah. I showed it to 'em. I've got one of 'em here with me now. Hey, guess what? Lady cops aren't all lesbians. The one here with me sure as hell isn't. Her name is Officer Beth. She's spendin' the night again. I think she digs me. She likes my pot belly.

She told me a secret. You already know what it is. She called her friends up in San Fran, and they found you in the Castro and arrested you for suspicion of murder. Ha Ha. I guess I'll be seein' you down here soon.

I heard they put you in a cell without your shirt on. Hey, I bet you meet some cute guys that way! Like on OZ.

Gotta go. The bubbles in the bathtub are gettin' flat and Beth likes 'em bubbly!

Hiya Kwan!

Uncle Vick

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

I Hate Confrontations

Irv here--

I hate confrontations, but I had a humongo one today with Kwan. We were in her friends' apartment drawing up plans for her to make public appearances around SF. The first one she wants to schedule at the Asian Cultural Fair later this month. Right in the middle of drawing up her platform speech, she slams down her Macbook and demands to know if I've been sleeping with the chubby kid, Marcus and if I killed my grandparents.

"No and No," I told her. "That chubby kid will kiss anything. I saw him kiss his video Ipod yesterday. And as for my grandparents. Look, my father has always been deranged. He wasn't there last Thanksgiving. Uncle Vick had taken out his antique handgun collection during hors d'ouvres and my grandmother got scared. That's why she brought her shotgun out from the kitchen. She shot off my two fingers. You know that!"

"But who KILLED YOUR GRANDPARENTS!" Kwan yells, and her friends come in.

"Uncle Vick killed them," I told her. I didn't care that her friends were there listening. "He shot my grandmother "in self-defense" he said, and he shot my grandfather because my grandfather said Vick was a lousy cook. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?" ...and I lost it. I just lost it.

I threw her macbook across the room. Her friends freaked out and screamed. I tore a little fake gaslamp light fixture off the wall. I ripped my own t-shirt, pulled it off and threw it at her, and left.

Right now I'm shirtless, at an Internet Cafe in the Castro district. And yeah, I'm VERY popular.

That's why I hate confrontations. I don't handle them well. I do everything I can to avoid them.

I don't know where I'm going to sleep tonight. I don't even care.


Monday, October 8, 2007

Why I Grabbed You

Irv, it's Lonnie, your father--

I tried to grab you behind the BART station the other day, because I care about you, son. You left me naked at the motel tied to the bed and ran away with your girlfriend, Shanna, back on the I-5, but I still care.

Son, I'm a private investigator and I used to be a male nurse. I know all about fingerprints and dna. I KNOW you killed your grandparents last Thanksgiving. I KNOW you framed your Uncle Vick. You run away from me all the time because I know the truth. You hate me because I know the truth about you.

Maybe I haven't been the best father to you. I was gone a lot when I worked for the police, and before that when I was a nurse. Your mother was addicted to Mezaclodiaphinac. I didn't know she was using my Nurse ID and getting prescriptions filled through the doctor I worked for.

Mezaclodiaphinac was an awful drug. Great pain killer but no one knew it would cause unsightly facial air pockets beneath the skin, when abused. Your mother became unrecognizable. Hell, I thought she was your Uncle Vick one night and that's when we knew it was time to go to rehab!

Your mother was a liar. So are you. But, I still love you. I found my green silk shirt and slacks in the bathroom of the motel, and I look like hell, but I'm not leaving San Francisco until I find you. If you can own up to what you did to your own grandparents and that annoying goody two shoes social worker last November, maybe we can get you the help you need.

Son, you've got to admit you have a problem. Your mother did. Sure, she's dead now, but she left this world an honest woman. Her face was so bloated she looked like Don Rickles does now, but I was proud of her.

Make me proud of you, son. Please. I can't bend fully over.

Your Dad,
Lonnie Rorg

Saturday, October 6, 2007


My name is Marcus. I'm the "creepy fat" guy that Kwan mentioned in the last post. Is she the kind of person we want in Congress?? Most of America is fat! 30% of America is creepy! She better watch what she puts in print because mark my words it will come back to haunt her.

She's jealous because I am Irv's best friend... who Irv lets kiss him... (not on the mouth, yet).

She's jealous because Irv tells me things that he doesn't tell her. Like when she had that huge stain on the back of her pantsuit because she sat in something at the Arby's. Irv and I didn't tell her because she was about to do the paperwork to record her congressional candidacy. Ha Ha. That stain looked like a runny state of Alaska with a much longer peninsula with strange bubbles in it.

Oh yah, and another thing Irv told me he didn't tell her -- Irv's investigator father is in town. He grabbed Irv the other day behind the Bart station, but Irv broke away.

Irv's my best friend and he tells me everything. It's gorgeous outside. Today, I'm going to go jogging with him in Golden Gate Park.

Irv's going to jog with his shirt off. I'm not.


Friday, October 5, 2007


Kwan here.

I've stayed away from this blog on purpose. Now I know why I never let myself fall in love before: Because out of love grows jealousy!

Today, I registered officially with the district as a congressional candidate. My proudest day so far in my entire life! Irv was with me in a tight black sweater and those long sexy sideburns. I've made him my campaign manager. Anyone who has been a stuntman for a living, is perfect for politics.

But, that creepy fat Marcus. He came downtown with us. He said he needed a ride so he could get his flu shot. Well, it's a public train! He didn't need a ride WITH US. He kept staring at Irv with big round eyes, and eating churros out of a bucket. He'd imitate the way Irv walked, with that kind of athletic swagger, only on Marcus that swagger just looks like a drunken cattle drive.

Jealousy! It's the worst. I was jealous of my sister in Vietnam when she flew out of the country first class by convincing the officials at the airport she was Yoko Ono. That took balls. She didn't have to flee the country in a leaky whaling vessel like I did.

But jealousy over love? That's something I vowed I'd never feel. Irv says he's "anxious" about something, but then he lets this Marcus boy kiss him in public. WTF!

It's San Francisco, so it's good pubic relations for my campaign, Irv says. He also says we must be careful not to let our past interfere with our plans.

I don't trust him...and I love him...


Monday, October 1, 2007

Blue Irv

Hey, it's Irv--

I remember starting this blog in August. I was feelin' blue and Uncle Vick said starting a blog on Blogplace or Blogspot or whatever this is called would help lift my spirits. Then, he went down to the 7-11 and picked up a prostitute who had just been released from women's prison.

This blog has lifted me up, but it hasn't cured me. Hell, I'm 38 but I don't have a paying job. Haven't had one in seven months. I'm up here in San Francisco with everyone sayin' they're in love with me. I don't know my way around town.

I used to be a scuba diving instructor in Fresno. Not many places to scuba in Fresno, but "Scuba Dooba" had these huge empty grain silos, bigger than pools. They'd dump some tropical fish in there and charge suckers 40 bucks to suit up and go diving in grain silos. There'd just be one leaky porthole on the side, and the whole "tank" was dark and deep.

I quit before the company folded. I didn't have a scuba license, anyway.

Before that, I was a stunt man. Yeah, for movies! Good pay sometimes, but I suffered injuries a lot. How often can you throw yourself off a billboard onto a mattress?

Hell, I don't know what to do now. Kwan wants me to work for her, but she doesn't have any funds to run for Congress, yet. Says she's gotta solicit donations for her campaign. Says I won't make much money, but I've got a place to stay and meals.

I'm feeling anxious lately. Like we're not safe up here.


Saturday, September 29, 2007

Hello from Marcus...

Hello, my name is Marcus. I live down the hall from the Vietnamese girls here on Willow Ct. in San Francisco. I am Irv's friend. We only met a few days ago when he arrived here with Kwan, but we are best friends. I know that's unusual and some would say, Marcus, that's impossible! Well, I want everyone to know it is not impossible!

Me and Irv have a lot in common. We both have long sideburns (as soon as I grow mine). We both workout (I hold his legs while he does 100 situps in the evenings). And we're both bi (One day I'll meet a girl).

Last summer I won the "Baked Ziti Eat-Off" at the Santa Clara County Fair by eating 5 baked Zitis in less than twenty minutes faster than all 16 other contestants. I won 80 dollars. I also had to be admitted to the Emergency Room at O'Conner Hospital. My health insurance refused to pay for the emergency invasive gastro procedure that my doctor recommended. Luckily, I had my credit card.

Irv says he knows how I can pay off my credit card. Irv also says his uncle works for the health insurance company that refused my procedure and he knows how I can get even.

Irv is my best friend. I kissed him last night and he was fine with it.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

The Good Ol' Days

Irv here--

Yes, Uncle Vick, I remember the good times. I am weeping while I type this. When my father was gone so often and my mother was in rehab, you took me on hunting trips with the neighbors. You and I would sit in the back of that jeep and you'd get high and drink Jack Daniels and tear off your clothes and try to kiss Mr. Klieg. Mr. Klieg would chew tobacco and spit and hit the accelerator with his boot, and you'd fall off the back and then chase the jeep through the fields naked. Mr. Klieg would finally stop, and he and his weird wife would be laughing, only...I wouldn't. You'd jump back in the jeep with thorns and pieces of grass stuck all over you and then you'd vomit.

Oh yes, those were happy days!

I remember when you fought my own father for custody of me when my mother was in rehab. You claimed my father was out of control on meth when he was really out working on a job with the cops. You said my father had huge "chicken fighting" underground parties at the school auditorium late at night and that he fed meth to the chickens to make them fight harder, and that he could make chickens stay up three days in a row.

It's so moving!

I remember when you ballooned up to 279 pounds on those lemon squares and then went on disability at the expense of "Wrap Around Care" or "Who Really Health Cares?" or "Under and Over Medical Insurance" or whatever bullshit company you work for.

Man! As I watch the sunset over the Golden Gate Bridge this evening from my new car with my new girlfriend, I wish and I wish that I could have THOSE fucking days back again!


Monday, September 24, 2007

From Jail

Hey, It's Uncle Vick here--

Irv, I know you are readin' this blog. I read the entries every day. They let me use their computer here in jail.

What happened to our family? Ever since the horrible incident last Thanksgiving when Momma shot your fingers off, I've been scratchin' my head. All I try to do is what's right.

And how do you repay me? By stealin' my girlfriend and jumpin' town? By tiein' up my brother and leavin' him naked in a motel? Huh? Dude, you planted my fingerprints, dna, and geez, my business card too - on that woman's body. I've got a photo to prove it. Surprise!

Cryin' shame our family's been torn apart like this. Police won't listen to me, but it'll all come out in the wash. You'll see. Every family gets revenge, right?

You and I were close. I taught you how to play online poker. We had that running joke about the Olsen Twins. Remember? You had no place to live after you dropped out of community college and I let you move in with me and Kwan. Geez, Irv. I baked lemon squares for us on Wednesday nights when "Lost" was on, and we went deer hunting with the neighbors and got to sit in the back of their jeep. Remember?

What you did to me and to my mom and dad is unspeakable. Plane crash? Yeah, right.

I've got lots of time to think in this jail cell. And to plan...

Friday, September 21, 2007

Rain Rain

Hi, it's Kwan!

Life can change overnight, it's true!

Irv is strong, and in the end he was able to get the gun away from his dad when his dad dozed off. He left his dad in the room with no clothes, tied to the bed, with duct tape over his mouth.

We hit the road this morning. I realized that love is real. We had to put the top up on the Corvette when the rain started. Irv showed me how to scream in the car to get rid of your rage. We took turns.

He told me he hated that he was 38 and had no career, and then he roared for 30 seconds and shook his head.

I said I hated that no one took me seriously because I'm an asian woman and that I'm smarter than most of the white dudes out there, and then I screamed for a really long time! It felt so good. I went hoarse. I shook my arms and kicked my legs.

The Corvette was roaring up the I-5 and the rain was pelting the windshield.

Irv said he hated Republicans and the way people in power screw everyone no matter what you do, and then Irv shouted and roared again.

We were laughing hysterically.

I said I hated how fucked up this country has gotten and there's no healthcare and I hated Uncle Vick and then I screamed again.

Irv covered his ears, the Corvette swerved in the rain, and we stopped laughing while Irv regained control of the car.

We just got to my girlfriend's house here in San Francisco. While Irv was in the bathroom my two girlfriends from Vietnam said they agreed he was a hunk. They're making dinner for us. I'm so happy. I'm going to start campaigning for Congress right away and Irv's going to help me.

Irv seems to like the guy that lives next door a lot. The guy said hello and then dropped over and invited himself to dinner. Am I silly to be jealous?


Thursday, September 20, 2007

Silk Shirt Doodah

Hello out there in TVland--

I'm Lonnie Rorg. I'm a private investigator. Before that, I was a male nurse. I had a motorcycle accident and had to give up nursing in 1998. I'm not able to fully bend over.

Anyway, my son, Irv, and his girlfriend, Connie, and I are holed up in this lovely room here on the I-5. We are not leaving here until I get my son to finally tell the truth. He drives the girls and now I find out, the boys, wild with his good looks, but he has a hard time tellin' the truth.

We Rorgs are good men. Basically. Y'know? I mean, as good as men are able to be. My son, Irv, framed my brother Vick with that body buried in the backyard. I know this because I investigate for a living. Mostly I follow cheatin' husbands and lovers of straights and gays, when their spouses find strange hairs on their coats or phone numbers on torn pieces of paper.

Why do I investigate? Well...because there's always a story deeper than what you see, right? Nothing anyone says is what it seems. No, that's not paranoid, it's true! My parents were like that - may they rest in peace. They'd tell me and Vick things when we were kids that later turned out to be false. Like, we had money in our college funds. Or, "the dental industry is a scam."

Now, my son, Irv, is tellin' whoppers and it's got to stop. But he won't budge. We've spent hours in here, eatin' delivery pizzas. I wish I'd made it to the Labor Day Barbecue because I was going to straighten out my son right then and there. But I got delayed because I dropped my car keys, and like I said, I can't bend over.

Anyway, I wish I'd brought an extra shirt. This green silk number ain't holdin' up as the days tick on and on. And I can't really hold poor Connie here anymore. She's angry at us Rorgs. She says she's wasted time with us that she should be spendin' campaignin'.

But I got the gun. And my son's behavior has gotta stop here. Problem is, I'm takin' No-Doze and I need to Doze, if ya know what I mean. I'm not young anymore.

I want Irv to confess.

Lonnie Rorg, PI

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Last Night

Kwan again --

Is that what love does? Blinds you? I guess that's true, because last night Irv's father got out of the red Prius and pressed a police badge against our motel window. Irv was in bed, and I had come out of the motel bathroom (as you know, that's where I like to blog).

Irv yelled: "Stay down!"

I threw myself to the floor, and let me tell you, motel carpeting is not a pretty place to be.

That's when the door got kicked in and in bursts this guy that looks just like Vick, holding a handgun. Balding. Pudgy. Only Irv's dad has a gray goatee and he's wearing a green silk shirt and black jeans. Dark sunglasses too. And it's NIGHT.

God, I thought. Will Irv look like this guy in 20 years? This family is nuts. You're right, reader Susan. What am I doing?? I want to run for Congress and I'm involved with this messed up stuff? Irv is BI for Chrissake. How am I supposed to compete with another man, if Irv swings the other way?

I got all these realizations sprawled on the motel carpet behind the bed in front of the bathroom.

Irv's dad closed the door behind him.

We've been locked in here together all day today. It was horrible. I don't know whether to believe father or son.

Love. It's a fantasy we decide to have, right?

I can't write anymore now. I want to say more, but I've been given the "evil eye."


Sunday, September 16, 2007

Kwan Song

Kwan speaking--

I have never been in love like this before! I have never been in love period. Is this what it is like? We drove 340 miles today. We were so happy we sang Barry Manilow songs off Irv's Ipod. We had the top down on our new car and I undid my hair in back and it flowed behind me like I was on a poster!

The last time my hair flowed behind me like that was when the Coast Guard stopped our refugee boat outside of Honolulu and transported us all to processing. I sat in back of the police boat and tears squeezed from my eyes when I remembered the family I had left behind, before the coast guard man told me I would get my hair caught in the engine if I didn't move inside the vessel.

Today I cried tears of joy. The police determined that Vick had killed the social worker they found buried in the backyard. On her body they found Vick's DNA ,and his fingerprints, and his business card.

We heard on Sirius Radio that the cops no longer wanted us for questioning.

We will be in San Francisco tomorrow. I will run for Congress. I knew when Irv made love to me on paper towels that I had found my "Ishi," my soul mate.

I must sign off now. I have a shiver. A red Prius has pulled into the motel driveway...


Friday, September 14, 2007


Irv here. I’m the one who started this blog, but it’s everyone else that writes in it! Not so lonely anymore.

We’re at a gas station under bright white fluorescents. Since both the cops and my dad are following us, obviously I won’t say where we are. I just did 100 pushups. My finger stubs are itching like my two fingers are still there.

We ditched my Honda. Lost my dad, too. Ha Ha.

Kwan likes our new car. She picked it out.

Funny, but I’m not depressed anymore. I’m finally taking action in my life – instead of wasting time living with my psycho uncle.

Although, my psycho uncle was right! This sissy blog was a good idea. People read it! That chick that said Kwan should wait until I’m asleep and steal the car – made us both laugh!

Kwan isn’t my hostage – she’s with me by choice

Hear that, Uncle Vick? I made love to your girlfriend last night in our new car. Her idea, too -- on a roll of paper towels. Hear that? I’m not gay.

Not “not gay” like Senator Larry Craig. Dude spreads his feet farther than if he were at the gynecologist’s office. At least, I admit I’m bi. Best of both worlds.

And Kwan and I – we got plans. I’m gonna help her run for Congress when we get where we’re going. I’ll work for her! Yeah, that’s right – me with a politics. The Democrats need people like us.

Uncle Vick is a liar. There is no proof I killed those people.


Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Follow Up Report From Social Services

Hello Irv-- It's me, Cynthia, your social worker again.

I was hoping you would return to Vick Rorg's house with Kwan, but no one has heard from you in days.

The police dug up the corner of Vick Rorg's backyard and found the body of the missing social worker from last Thanksgiving. They arrested Vick Rorg last night at his place of employment. The house is now under police quarantine.

They have a description of your Honda, of you and Kwan, and of your father's red Prius.

I must admit, I've been drinking pretty heavily since the Labor Day Barbecue. I've never had a shotgun pointed at me, and consequently, I can't stop thinking about you.

I guess I love you. Maybe it's the rum talking, but I love you, Irv Rorg. You're young and muscular and troubled. You have questionable sexuality, and you have low self-esteem. My gray hair is hanging over my eyes as I write this. How could you love an old woman like me?

I'd follow you out to the desert if I knew where to find you. That hot sun beating down on the two of us together. I'd help to fix you, you misguided social outcast. I love you, Irv. I love you.

Whewwww....I just fell off my couch. Did I say I love you? Well, I do! I just do! I'd sit you on my knee and bounce you up and down and make you laugh. Gawd, I've got to stop drinking. That's how I lost my last job.

Irv, come back to me. We only just met, but I know we were meant to be together!

I've got to go now, my love. Super Nanny is on. I'm kissing this bottle and pretending it is you!

Monday, September 10, 2007

Customer Service

Hey, it's Vick -- "Uncle" Vick --

Workin late at Complete Wrap Health Insurance Hotline. Just told a guy we can't cover his broken arm. Setting the arm is "too experimental" for our company to cover. That's what we tell everyone. The only people we actually cover are the families of the CEO and his VPs!

Been 3 days since Kwan and Irv took off in Irv's piece-o-crappo Honda. That red Prius belongs to my brother, Lonnie. Yeah, I really do have a brother. An older brother. He just turned 55 and he's still pissed that Irv killed our parents. Hell, he's pissed that Hillary Clinton is the Democratic front runner. Said he'd go get Irv and the bitch who used to be my girlfriend. Go get 'em out in the desert. Lonnie's a PI, so he knows how to stealth follow people.

Lonnie has issues, yeah. He once threw the neighbors pit bull over the fence when it ate its way through into our yard. That's the first time that dog was ever scared.

Go get 'em Lonnie. Irv deserves it. Irv is Lonnie's son, I guess you figured out by now. God, those two never got along. I thought I could help Irv find his way. Stop bein' so depressed.

Lonnie said to stay out of it and jumped in his Prius and took off after Irv and Kwan.

Hey, Kwan! I miss ya! I can find me a new girfriend anytime, y'know. Pick 'em up every day when they call Managed Care. Sick women are the easiest.

Never said I was nice. But, I'm good in bed, huh, Kwannie? :-)

Uncle Vick

Friday, September 7, 2007

Hot Spot in the Desert

It's Kwan again. I'm writing this by firelight. We are out in the desert but I won't say where. There's WiFi here, which is hilarious because there aren't even any electric outlets.

Vick, if you are reading this we won't be here tomorrow.

I'm watching Irv stoke the fire right now with an old skinny treebranch. His shirt is off and he's got a great body. With those pointy long sideburns...I guess I'm lonely. Irv doesn't seem to care much about this blog anymore. He's more concerned with the red Prius that we've seen following us every day.

The wind is blowing that thick black hair of his and I can see flecks of firelight in his eyes. He keeps looking behind him into the darkness. It's actually cold out here tonight. Summer went so fast!

Things change so quickly. I read that social worker's blog. She says Vick says Irv is the killer of Vick's parents. I don't know what to believe anymore.

I didn't have feelings for Vick. I refuse to have any for Irv.

But what do I really know about him except that he started this blog...?

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

A Report From Social Services

My name is Cynthia. I am the social worker for the family of Mr. Victor Rorg. Victor suggested I make an entry in this blog in order to contact his nephew and a woman named Kwan.

Nephew Irv, if you can hear me, your uncle would like you to come home and deal with your issues as a family. Your two aunts have gone home. I must say that the Caucasion aunt looked very much like a man, but that is not pertinent to this case at this time.

I have notified the police regarding your assertion that a previous social worker is buried in the backyard. They came out today and put yellow tape around the alleged burial area. They plan to dig tomorrow.

I am writing from my office in the city. I am afraid to go home after the incident on Labor Day. I have not had a shotgun pointed at me before. Not in all my years of social work. The worst that ever happened to me before last Monday's barbecue was I was once locked in a closet by a woman who said she was possessed by demons. Ironically, the woman was a psychotherapist. She had been verbally abusing her husband and putting printer cartridges in her mouth.

Irv, please return to your Uncle's house. He is uninjured. In fact, after you ran away, he ate two more chicken wienies and a half pound of potato salad out of a pewter mug. He claims you killed his parents and not he.

The police have been notified. It is best if you allow them to question you.


Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Irv's Honda

It's Kwan.

I've finally left Vick! Irv and I drove 480 miles last night. We're here in the desert now. Irv had some money saved. He's 38 but he looks much younger. He doesn't have hair on his chest like Vick.

Irv said I looked like my father when I showed him the family pictures from Vietnam. I held Irv's hand, the one missing the fingers, last night when I took my turn at the wheel.

I know Vick can access this blog, but he'll never find us. He probably doesn't care about us anyway.

All I've got are the jeans and shirts in my travel bag. I'm a refugee again.

You can see so many stars out here in the desert.

Is it possible to laugh and cry at the same time?

I won't say where we're staying. We thought we were being followed.

I'm so angry and so restless. How can I run for Congress when I've left my Congressional District? How can I do anything now?

Monday, September 3, 2007

Happy Labor DAy!

This is Irv --

Our Family Labor Day Barbecue "party" is still going on.

Uncle Vick is lying face down on the collapsed condiment tray. He's breathing. We can see mustard rising and falling on his shoulders.

Keep typing, Kwan.

I'm holding the twelve-gauge shotgun, pointed at my two "aunts," while the new social worker, Cynthia, runs around in circles on the backyard lawn, freaking out and screaming.

The neighbor's pit bull nextdoor is too frightened to bark.

I punched Uncle Vick in the face fifteen minutes ago. He's still unconscious. Vodka and a fist to the jaw will do that.

Keep typing, Kwan.

Kwan had shown up early to the barbecue to warn me that Vick was going to do to me what was done to his parents last Thanksgiving.

We had three beers each and I told her I'm fed up with being bullied and threatened.

Around 9, Vick had finished his fourth chicken wienie (he hates ostrich), when he stood up and announced to everyone that I had killed his parents last Thanksgiving. That his mother had shot my fingers off in self-defense.

My fingers itched.

I said, "I'm not the one that came flying out of the garage using the 'German baking knife' like we were at Benihana!" I told him, "You deny people their health care for a living. I know for a fact you don't have any sisters. All your mother said last Thanksgiving was that she had gone through your room."

My two "aunts" jumped up.

Cynthia, the new social worker, used some kind of social worker technique and told us all to breathe deeply and think of the ocean.

I pointed to the corner of the yard and told Cynthia that's where Vick had buried the previous social worker.

"And the police believed it was a plane crash..." I added.

That's when Cynthia started flapping her arms and screaming.

Uncle Vick grabbed Kwan.

I punched Vick in the face. He fell flat onto the condiment tray and sent relish into the trees.

Keep typing, Kwan. Look how scared those "aunts" of mine are!

We're taking my car and the twelve gauge and we're leaving here for good. Just you and I. Right now. Before Vick's brother gets here. If he really has a brother.

Happy Labor Day!

Sunday, September 2, 2007

Barbecue Prep

Irv here.

I've been dreading tomorrow's barbecue, as you know, for the past few weeks. With Uncle Vick and Kwan gone, this house has creeped me out. Plus, it's so hot outside, all I can do is crank up the air-conditioner and watch videos on YouTube. Saw a video today called "My Cat Wore a Wig and Went Dancing."

I'm not alone tonight. The new social worker has arrived and she's moved in already. Her name is Cynthia. She looks like Angela Lansbury (before she died). Cynthia's here to help our family cope with the first holiday since the killings. She was supposed to be here last Christmas, but there's a backlog of cases.

Cynthia packed the fridge with beer, potato salad, and ostrich burgers. I hate ostrich burgers, but Cynthia says her family used to breed ostriches.

Cynthia went right to work decorating the patio with American Flags left over from the Fourth of July. Really, what is the proper decoration for Labor Day? When she asked me, I said since most companies had cut out their pension plans and employee health insurance, why not little cardboard gravestones?

Cynthia didn't laugh. She told me I should shave off my sideburns since many employers didn't want "alternative lifestyle fashions" in the workplace.

I told Cynthia she should shave her legs.

We haven't spoken to each other since.

I keep remembering that awful meal last Thanksgiving when Uncle Vick killed his parents and the last social worker.

I hope tomorrow goes better...


Saturday, September 1, 2007

Horrible Women

Kwan here. It's hotter than Hades tonight. That's what my parents on the refugee boat used to say, and it's true now.

I'm back at the Paradise Motel. Vick's out drinking at the gas station with some guy named Morongo.

I met Vick's two "sisters" today. One of them is white and one of them is black. The white one is very tall with very big hands. The black one looked uncomfortable and wore a man's stetson hat.

We went shopping at Ralph's -- for food for Monday's barbecue. Vick stole twenty chicken sausages from the gourmet freezer. His white sister stuffed ten of them in her clutch purse. The black one used her hat.

We actually paid for the potatoes and the vodka. I tried to run away but Vick's white sister held me with one of her giant hands in a grip like a Yeti. "This is an important national holiday," she whispered in my ear. She had to bend down to reach my ear.

Vick bought some new bathing trunks on sale, 38 waist.

We watched beach volleyball all evening, and then the women left and Vick went across the street to drink with Morongo. Morongo manages the motel.

I found a way to open this bathroom window. By the time Vick reads this, I'll be gone.


Friday, August 31, 2007

Vibrating Bed

It's me. Kwan.

It's 10 p.m. and I'm writing from the Paradise Motel, Unit 18. Vick knew where I was because I stole his American Express Card and rented this room last Monday night. The room is in back by the freeway. When trucks drive by it shakes the glass in the window.

I'm in the bathroom with the laptop. They have WiFi here which is hilarious because they don't have bathmats or soap.

Vick is sleeping on the vibrating bed. It's still vibrating. The machine is jammed so the bed hasn't stopped vibrating since Vick got here Tuesday night. It's great for lovemaking but I have to actually sleep on the floor. Vick likes sleeping on the jiggling bed. He says he grew up in earthquake country so it's nothing new for him.

He's going to force me to go to the Labor Day Family Barbecue on Monday. I told him we were through, but he said I was through for stealing his credit card and he would call the police. I'm running for Congress next year so I figured I'd play the good girl.

Vick said he would get me a job, in the meantime. He said one of his sisters at the Barbecue Monday would help me out.

I'm all alone in the world, and it's so hot outside, even at 10:20 p.m.

There goes another freight truck speeding by the bathroom window. Makes the glass chatter like teeth.

Is anyone out there?


Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Bum Rap

Hey, it's Vick again!

Yeah, my mom shot off Irv's fingers last Thanksgiving. I was there. I baked the holiday squash. I molded the yams into the Traditional Pilgrim Face. And when that little "Meals On Wheels" Sugar Plum Girl tried to force her pumpkin ice cream pie on us, I dropped it on the floor to teach her a lesson. Nobody upstages Uncle Vick!

I don't know how my mom balanced herself in her walker and held up that shotgun at the same time. She was plucky!

Look, Irv. You happy now? We even got readers reading this adorable blog of yours. They care about your damn fingers! You want me to write down how you're really the one who killed my parents...and that little Shirley Temple social worker girl...huh?

I told you I'd get revenge at the Labor Day Family Barbecue next Monday. They got some new social worker comin'. And my younger brother. And my two aunts. They're all comin' and you'll be there, too. Eatin' Veggie Party Wienies. You have no choice. I've got the photos from last Thanksgiving. And I'll post em on this blog if I have to, and then who'll be sorry?

And now, Kwan is gone. I know where she is, too. I know she's reading this. I'm going to her place tonight after work. She'll be at the barbecue, too, whether she likes it or not. I'll see her tonight. Runnin' for Congress. Don't make me guffaw!

I'm a health care professional. I might eat and drink too much - and I might break a window or two at the mall with a hammer, but hey, 20 percent of America is obese, so what's the crime? My sideburns aren't cute like yours, Irv. I've got some gray, and I'm goin' bald. So what! Kwan likes it. I know she still likes me. You got me all wrong.

I'll prove it tonight!

Uncle Vick

Monday, August 27, 2007

Ghost Finger Phenomenon

Kwan's still gone. Uncle Vick is at work. I'm alone in his dead parents' house. It's hot enough to melt diamonds outside.

I'm feeling "ghost fingers" again. I know I'm missing the two middle fingers on my left hand. Uncle Vick's Mom blew them off with her twelve gauge shotgun last Thanksgiving. But sometimes, like today, I feel those two fingers aching, and I reach with my right hand to massage the tips, and....they are gone!

Creepy. I'm getting used to it, though. Without Kwan here with me to get high and watch the giant plasma wall TV, I'm feeling even more depressed.

Uncle Vick's mom should never have been allowed to own a gun. We had all been sitting around the holiday table, around a smoldering plate of sliced meat. She claimed she had shot the turkey herself, but the only wild turkeys around here are in liquor stores. We all knew that "meals-on-wheels" annoying girl had brought the meat. But, you didn't argue with Uncle Vick's mom. It's really her fault. All of it.

"Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader" is saved on the DVR. I'm debating if I should watch another episode, or if I should check to see if I got any job responses, or maybe if I should shave a different geometric sideburn pattern into my "burns." I've got the sharpest "burns" and they go all the way down to my mouth. I've had women and men get turned on by them.

But now, I'm alone...and my missing fingertips itch, and Labor Day is only one week off. I figure if I can find the twelve gauge...


Saturday, August 25, 2007

Cake at Zero to Sixty

Irv here.

Kwan left this morning before sunrise. Uncle Vick had baked her an anniversary cake the day before. I guess the first anniversary since they began fucking, since neither one of them loves the other. Uncle Vick just likes sweets so he probably baked it for himself.

I came down the stairs in my nightshirt when I heard Uncle Vick shout: "I'll just go online and find a new whore to diddle!" Classy, huh? Kwan shouted back, "Go ahead, and while you're at it go on Ebay and find a couple of midget stilts to hold your fat lard belly up when someone gets on their knees for you. It's like sucking off the collapsing Hindenburg!"

That's when I saw the anniversary cake shoot across the living room. Remarkably the blue-iced cake remained intact even after impact on the red and yellow stained glass panes of the front door.

Kwan is gone. Uncle Vick smoked four cigarettes, ate the cake, and went back to bed.

I've got to get a job and get out of here before the Labor Day Party. I'm running out of time!

Friday, August 24, 2007

Kwan at Midnight

This might be Irv's blog, but looks like me and Vick have taken it over.
I met Vick through his job. I called him at the "Complete Wrap" health insurance hotline to get a procedure approved for my ex-boyfriend. My ex-boyfriend had a urinary tract infection which Kaiser said had spread to his brain. "Wrap Care" said that "urinary brain infection" was not covered.

Vick was very consoling and invited me to call him any time day or night for a "friendly voice." No one would help my ex-boyfriend in the states, so I drove him to Tijuana for a treatment of garlic cloves and three unapproved synthetic triglycerides.

My boyfriend became my ex when he died in the back of a farmer's truck in Mexico. I called Vick on my cell and he invited me to come and live with him. I thought this was rather forward, but I agreed, since my ex-boyfriend had paid my rent previously and now I would be homeless.

Thank you, Vick. You're a pig to me now, but thank you for your support back then.
I'm moving out of your house tomorrow.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Move Over - It's Uncle Vick!

Okay, look, my nutbrain nephew Irv started this blog 4 days ago. I know his password because it's the same for everything -- his online bank account, his storage unit gate code, his medical records online access at the insurance company where I work.

He was bla bla-ing about how depressed he was because the Labor Day Weekend Family Barbecue is coming up so I told him to start this friggin' blog. Hey, Schmo! You didn't have to say I was "pot-bellied." What are all those Internet Ladies going to think?

Oh Yah, and that I'm a killer! There's a romance-inducer! Dude, we all know what happened last Thanksgiving. Irv lost his fingers when he lost his mind and took out my parents and that little girl - what's her name - from the church. Little Goldilocks or whatever with the Meals-on-Wheels. May she rest in peace.

Hey, and Kwan, what the Frig are you thinkin' when you write on this thing that you're going to "use" me to get elected?? Boat People?? You came over on a yacht with a swimming pool! You better just delete this blog before you announce your "candidacy."

Hey, you two forget that I support both of you! Huh! I don't see any paychecks comin' from either one of you. Psychopath?? Dudes, it's this government that's gone psycho. Capitalism is evolving into "Screw-You-All-Ism." How Psycho is that?

I'm just a regular guy that tells people off, and sometimes is too close to multiple murders.

Hey, my parents are dead! Ever think of that? You know how close I was to my mom. She taught me to bake.

"Meat Cleaver"? It's called a "German Baking Knife."

We have to have a talk before Labor Day...

Tuesday, August 21, 2007


Yeah, it's me, Kwan. Vick gave me the password to this thing. His nephew, Irv, started it.

I don't know how Vick got the password. It's true, I guess. Vick is a psychopath. I've told him so to his face, so if he reads this -- fine.

Look, I'm no stranger to troubles. I came over here from Vietnam on a refugee boat 20 years ago. You think that was easy?? We were one of the boats that got through. We didn't sink. We took on water, okay, but we didn't sink.

Now, I'm running for Congress. I haven't told anybody yet. But I'm going to run. You know why? Because I've got ambition. My family and all my ex-lovers - none of them had ambition. Sure, the stereotype is that Vietnamese people who come to America are hard workers. Not my family! Just me! I'm the one!

I sleep with Vick because he pleasures me. I know he doesn't love me. Love doesn't exist, really. Just addiction to adrenaline. Vick gives me my adrenaline rush.

I'll use him to get elected. He knows people. Some very big people in politics have chronic health conditions that they get treated with "Complete Wrap Care." Vick has spoken with them. He's gotten to know them.

I know what I'm doing and I've got plans.

Irv just pulled up in the driveway. Why is he back so early, I wonder?

Monday, August 20, 2007

Monday Blues

Uncle Vick went to work today. He's a customer care executive for "Complete Wrap" Health Insurance. He manages a phone bank of "customer care professionals" at an office in a grimy yellow strip mall. They don't know about the murders last Holiday season. No one does, but Me, Kwan,and Uncle Vick.

When he drove off this morning in his KIA, cigarette smoke billowing out his open driver's window, Kwan started bawling.

We both stood on the porch. "He's a psycho," she said. Her black hair covered her face and she was stooped over like she had a cramp.

I put my arm around her shoulders. "We just have to get past the Labor Day Barbecue Party. It's only two more weeks."

"I can't do it," Kwan said, in almost a shout. She stood up straight and threw my arm off of her shoulders. "Pretending to care what other people are doing. Not getting drunk. Getting gas from macaroni. I can't do it!"

The neighbor's pit bull was barking again.

"You've got to," I said. I was feeling the little stumps where my two middle left fingers had been. It was already past lunchtime and we weren't even showered. "It's our last chance."

Kwan had stopped crying. She never cried long. "Are you going to write that in your I Love Cats blog?" She didn't smile. "What if we don't make it till Labor Day?"

Sunday, August 19, 2007

I'm Missing Two Fingers

Uncle Vick and I are hanging out at his house. His girlfriend, Kwan, is here with us. They just finished the loudest love-making I have ever heard. They scared the birds off the power lines outside and made the neighbors dog bark for forty minutes.

Kwan says blogs are just a bunch of people writing about their favorite TV shows, and making lists of the "100 things that drive them crazy" and dumbshit self-absorbed crap like that. I think she's bitter because Uncle Vick doesn't love her anymore.

"How can you type without your two left fingers?" she just asked.

I'm grinning back at her. "Same way you can let Vick fuck you without his loving you."

"He's a murderer," she's saying.

And we are both just watching each other now. I guess, wondering why we're both at this house on a hot summer Sunday with the man out in the living room.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

The Barbecue

Uncle Vick killed 3 people during the holidays.

Uncle Vick got me to start this blog.

Uncle Vick always needs a shave and he's got what my parents call a "pot-belly." He told me since I was depressed, I should start a blog because it would help to get out my feelings.

I stared at him a long time - because Uncle Vick's way of "getting out feelings" involves a meat-cleaver. But, as they say, there is good in everyone. I was tired of screaming in the car when I was upset, so I took Uncle Vick up on his suggestion.

We have a family Labor Day Barbecue coming up. I'm dreading it...