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.