Frequently Axed Questions #2 -- How Did I Figure It Out Edition

A Go Thank Yourself Story Told in 2 Parts

This is Part 1 is entitled Hey, Don’t Beat Yourself Up, and takes place mostly in late 2020 where I explain the set up. Part 2 is entitled “Go Thank Yourself and takes place in January 2021 and finishes out the story. That’s where I totally slam dunk the ball for the win. Take that, chipmunk faced mommy-pig!

The Question that I Am Frequently Axed

I get asked a lot how I finally figured out that my mom, Hannibal Anne, was a psychopath and my dad, Fredo, was a totally brainwashed weakling -- in my totally First Amendment protected opinion that is.

This is a short story. After Myron had to flee Houston and started hiding out in Amarillo in March 2020, and after my family started becoming increasingly more aggressive, belligerant and nasty in May and June of 2020, and after my sister(?) and Hannibal Anne blocked me from my Nieces (whom I love and miss dearly) in August 2020, I started looking into things for my own darn self, going back through everything I thought I knew, forgetting those things, and starting over.

I then asked myself the basic questions. What changed? Who benefits? Who is behind this? Why is this happening? The answers to those question made me believe I was way wrong about my family. So, I decided to do a little looking into things for said own darn self.

A Missile to Remember Me By

So I launched a series of surprise attacks totally unannounced visits to Amarillo to see the situation in person: two in October and November of 2020 and the third in January 2021. What happened on those three visits flicked on the lights. All the lights. Thus allowing me to see all the shifty plans and manipulating going on at that time. I also could see everything that came before as well. And, boy, was I ever wrong about everything I ever thought about my family! I could see clearly now, and how.

Listen to Johnny Nash I can See Clearly Now

So that is the short story.

Tuns out, as you might imagine, that this is also a long and complex story. So grab a seat, sit down and listen up, peoples!

Once upon a story . . . .

You may recall the fundamental Rules of Handbook which help guide us along.

Rule #1 -- The One Person Rule, that in any given situation anything bad happening can usually be traced back to one person;

Rule #2 -- Everything You Need, is right in front of you;

Rule #3 -- Who benefits? That’s actually from my friend Cicero -- oh, man, never invite him to dinner! He will orate for hours on everything from the cheese plate to the decorative potpourri arrangements;

Rule # 4 -- Rule of Thermodynamics, that in any given situation the amount of energy coming out of must equal the amount going in -- if not, you are missing something.

There is a 5th rule.

Rule #5 -- Believing is Seeing

You know the saying “I’ll believe it when I see it”? The exact opposite is also true: “I’ll see it when I believe it”. In other words, if you don’t believe something can be true, you will never see it to be true.

That is what happened to me.

For most of my life, I thought I had the greatest family, and I loved them as much as possible -- despite all the cruelty, selfishness, fakery, takery, etc. I never believed anything was wrong. I never believed Hannibal Anne could be the chipmunk faced monster she is or that my family was aligned against me and using me the whole time. I didn’t see it. Because I didn’t believe it.

Well, that sure changed.

The events that took place in late 2020 and early 2021 -- which I am about to relate in two parts -- led me to believe my family was messed up. They had always been. And when I believed that was true, only then I could see it.

Happy Halloversary -- Here Come Old Flat-top

It is November 14, 2020. I am on a flight from Dallas to Amarillo for another surprise attack unannounced visit. Before going to Amarillo, though, I stayed at the Mansion on Turtle Creek for a few days and went to places like Mi Cocina in Highland Park or Cafe Izmir on Greenville Ave, just off the M streets (love those places).

The first attack took place from October 22 - 23, during which Hannibal Anne got into bed next to me on the last night . . . for some reason . . . and I experienced the overnight of evilness as more fully and accurately described in the Episode entitled
“Is this the way to Amarillo“?

So, my radar was up. I knew something was terribly wrong. I had been blocked from seeing my nieces (who I love and miss dearly) for almost four months by my sister(?). As Hannibal Anne says about me “you just can’t let things go.” She should have probably listened to herself on that one, because I will not let things go. I will, in fact, blow up before I will give up, and I will melt down before I will break down. And, by the way, if I blow up and/or melt down, I’m taking some folks with me.

So, when Hannibal Anne says things like “you can’t let things go”, it’s usually a pre-cursor to being asslighted . . . oops, I mean gaslighted. Actually, I think I mean the first one. You know, because you’re being lit up by total arses?

There is a Lesson in this Tree: If you have a psycho mom (or maybe an average level bad one) and she does not break you, chances are you will become stronger. You may even become the boomerang that brings the whole house down, as I hope to do. I know several daughters of bad moms or sometimes dads. Many of them came out of it stronger, driven and determined. Several have thrived. Two examples: a good friend of mine is a really successful real estate broker in NYC. Before that, she was a graphic designer and made a bunch of greeting cards. She is also one of the most astute art and design collectors I know. Another friend became an interior designer and does big projects and great work.

Anyway, back to the surprise attack unannounced visits.

Happy Halloversary -- The Set Up

It is November 14, 2020, which is my parents wedding anniversary -- their 45th. That date is funny in itself, seeing as how their wedding announcement set the wedding date as November 21st. I think that was an effort to head-fake-out Nelda Tackett, Hannibal Anne’s fake adoptive mother. See the Episode entitled “Never Have I Ever . . . Been Adopted“ for the backstory.

So, back to November 14, 2020, as a “gift” for my parent’s 45th wedding, I made them a reservation at the Amarillo Country Club for a romantic dinner. All expenses paid! Note: I don’t love country clubs as a general rule. However, there really aren’t many restaurants in Amarillo that serve edible food, so one’s choices are limited. For example, there is a steak restaurant called OHMS. I call it “Old Homeless Man Steak”. Though, I must say, they serve a great chocolate cake. Public House is also pretty good. Rudy’s does have pretty great brisket, though that is a drive through take out place and so, technically, not a restaurant.

Before running through the story, let’s go back a week, well four days to be precise. Hannibal Anne had texted me pictures of her mugly. She said she had a lot of dental work done and so her face and mouth were all swollen up and red. Really quite ghastly. If I didn’t know better -- which I don’t -- I would say she was beat up. I mean, I would have offered to beat her up for free! Just sayin’

“What in the fresh hell happened?”, I texted back, “Your face looks like someone landed a few well placed punches.” Her face was distorted and swollen with bruising throughout. Hannibal Anne just brushed it off as a rough appointment at the dentist. Hannibal Anne is a habitual dentist go-er . . . for no actual known reason known to mankind. I don’t think she has any of her original pearly whites (greys?). I imagine that is pretty convenient. After all, wouldn’t want any dental record matching up with bite marks on the numerous unsolved cold cases in the greater Texas panhandle/ Oklahoma/ Missouri/ Arkansas metro area. Also, I had been present for her more severe dental appointments and had never seen a hint of what these mugly photos looked like.

The pictures are behind the paywall below -- kidding, everyone needs to see this. Check ‘em out! Looks like Hannibal Lou Who to me. Or maybe the Grinch.

Also, she looks like a fat chipmunk.

Happy Halloversary -- The Spike

November 14, 2020 | Fredo & Hannibal’s 45^th wedding anniversary. I am “gifting” them a free (their favorite kind!) dinner at the club.

I am sitting on a Southwest plane at Love Field in Dallas, waiting to take-off. It’s 4:20 pm. I text Hannibal “you have an ACC reservation tonight at 6:30, for your anniversary. They made something special for all y’alls so you have to go. Happy Anniversary!” She replies with “Yes we will go. Thank you. Do we need a #” -- meaning membership number. That in itself is also funny. They knew my membership number. My brother(?), Myron, and his wife, The Marm, had been using it without my approval -- which I would not have granted.

What no one, except me, knew was that one hour later I would be in town, in Amarillo. I was looking forward to surprising them. I dropped by Party City to pick up 45 large gold candles for the cake. Normally, when I am at Party City, I would get a piñata for my nieces.

Here I am with a piñata.

In a Gadda Piñata

Not this time, though, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to see them. That made me sad and I had a tear or two well up.

After Party City, I headed over to the ACC, arriving around 6:15pm, met with the chef, went over a few details and handed over the candles. My parents arrived just after 6:30pm and sat down for dinner — totally unawares. Given the troubles going on at the time in 2020 -- you totally know what I mean -- the restaurant was otherwise empty.

At 6:45pm I walked into the dining room sashayed behind them and yelled “SURPRISE!”. Hannibal, with her large iced tea, was glaring, smoldering, and slowly recoiling from the table. Then it came, the jutting out, juttling jaw. Fredo’s back went straight up and he looked off to the side. I could hear the pit in his stomach forming and filling up with butterflies. This look is often observed in the wild, as documented in National Geographic, when Fredo is about to be busted or wants to weasel out of something.

Hannibal hissed -- like a petulant mountain lion when barista boy misspells its name on the double “expresso” cup he just ordered. “I can’t believe you are here.” Really. Open up your eyes. Or are you blinded by the rage in your own heart? I should have said.

Here’s another funny part. The reservation was for four people. If Hannibal and Fredo weren’t the Incurious Bastards they actually are, they might have figured out someone else was showing up. I know I would have noticed that. So would most people, I reckon.

So, we sit down to dinner. Ribeyes, Ribeyes, NY Strip, Chicken Fried Steak. Sides.

Fredo is texting on his phone. I could see the reflection of his phone coming from the glass window behind us. I can read backwards pretty easily. What an idiot . . .ooops . . . I mean . . . what an idiot? He was texting Myron “she’s here again”. “She”? Usually I get a name, usually not my actual one, but a name. “Again”? I might have been confused by that. For more than 20 years, all I would hear was the constant how soon am I coming - or - when can we meet up - or - want to go to Vegas, Santa Fe, Denver Zoo, on a cruise to Nova Scotia in the middle of heavy storm, with giant waves (that was fun), etc., which I would organize.

We sat through dinner. The cake was delivered with the 45 candles. We took a picture. Do they look happy?

Help indeed.

Also, did you notice Hannibal Anne’s face was completely healed up? In one week, well four days to be precise?

Really, I mean REALLY how did Hannibal’s face heal up so quickly? In less than one week, how did the bruising and swelling completely disappear?

Or, maybe that picture was taken at some other time. Our tech overlords now strip all the metadata, so I got nothing.

However, one must ask, in what universe is it OK to accept a free (their favorite kind) anniversary dinner -- all expenses paid! -- but then pretend I no longer exist (sorry, I do)?

And, not to mention, they take my money . . . . when they in need.

Listen to Kanye West Golddigger

At this point, by my calculations, they have stolen somewhere in the low to mid seven figures . . . and I am not talking mythical figures like Zeus or Bigfoot or maybe Shopkins. I am talking actual dollar figures, e.g., in the form of designer goods, jewelry, other valuable items, agricultural land, oil and gas royalties, farming proceeds, and so on and so forth.

The Aftermash

After the free dinner, we went back to #6 Accosted. Fredo watched TV. Hannibal slithered back to her room and sulked.

The following day at #6 Accosted, I was in the garage and I saw it. A large treat box that I had shipped to #6 Accosted for my nieces birthdays several months earlier. Hannibal Anne had been texting how much my Nieces had loved everything and their reactions to the different treats. Obviously, a complete fabrication. A lie. A porky. The box was sitting there unopened. I walked it into the living room. I said “hey Hannibal, this box hasn’t even been opened.” She just shrugged her shoulders and said “sorry.”

Within minutes, as if it had been planned, my sister(?) walked in the front door. She seemed like she was a clam shell and her smile was off. I handed her the box as she was talking about volleyball or some other such nonsense. Volleyball? Seriously, is volleyball a thing? Anyway, she could not get out of there fast enough. Faster than a mumbling cannonball.

As I went to close the garage, a neighbor flagged me down. Friendly guy but this time his face was flashing concern and bewilderment. He skipped the usual greeting and the how are yous --- which in Texas usually has numerous “y’alls” thrown in if addressing a single person. When addressing more than one person, it would be “all y’alls”. Anyway, he went straight to “what is going on with your parents?” I said “I have no idea, really I don’t. What do you think?” He went on, while grimacing, “Something is going on. I barely see them anymore and your dad (aka Fredo) told us that he bought Myron a house.” He did -- with money that rightfully belonged to me. I just shook my head, while I could sense he was truly baffled. Then he said “and you, when you are here everything seems to go just fine.” I assured him that somehow everything would come to light. He was a mile marker for me. The neighbor was the contrast showing what my family was not. He demonstrated empathy and care while my family was lying and deceptive.

I flew out of Amarillo a week later.

When I landed, there was a text from Hannibal Anne. “Always know I will always love you, no matter what.” Implying, of course, this might not be currently the case? Or that some “what” was about to transpire. This is when I sensed there was a plan and she felt their plan was going well. The conspiracy seemed to be on track for Hannibal and her crime syndicate family. I mean the text was laughable. Almost like Hannibal thought she would someday be sitting across the room from Keith Morrison for an episode of Dateline saying “you see, there’s the text right there, I love my daughter.” Nope, Hannibal this text was a laugh out loud moment, given all of the tumult she had been orchestrating and dishing out.

Oh yeah, Keith Morrison has to totally narrate my story. It would start out something like this: “It was a cold crisp fall morning, with fresh cottonwood leaves scattering like tumbleweeds across the driveways and byways of Northern Texas. Everything was right with the world . . . Or was it?”

Oh yeah, did I mention that Hannibal’s face was completely healed up?

Questions that I am Just Asking Myself

Back to the key questions.

What changed, Myron and the Marm had moved to Amarillo. That shouldn’t have anything to do with me. They go to sports bars and everyone is fine with her dad,
Dr. Creeper, having over 75 Patriot Act charges against him, not to mention having been booted from TECADA[1], and subsequently convicted for manufacturing and distributing meth in Dothan, Alabama -- that is, according to “open source intelligence” sources a.k.a., the internet (even though the TECADA files have been pretty much scrubbed but thank God for the Internet Archive and Wayback Machine).

By the way, here is another funny story. Fredo told me, I think it was August 2021, that he had sent flowers to The Marm because her father had died. Nope. For a dead guy, he sure gets around. Last time I checked he mysteriously got out of prison -- wonder why -- and is roaming around between California, Georgia, South Carolina, and Florida, amongst other places.

Anyway, I don’t fit in with this pack of thick as thieves, grifters and miscreants.

[End of Part 1]

Get ready for Part 2 -- in which I laugh at them, not with them.

Here’s a preview of Part 2.

P.S. Oh yeah, did I mention that Hannibal’s face was completely healed up?

---

[1] Texas Commission on Alcohol and Drug Addiction, now defunct; The Marm’s dad, Dr. Creeper had been appointed to a position there by George “W.”