Like a legally blind & toothless rodent, "Mr. Itch-ter" in a rare itch-less moment chowing down on a giant Sugar Daddy caramel lollipop.

My home life sucked. My father, mother and their religion were a piece of work.

My father grew up with an obsessive compulsive scratching disorder where he would constantly scratch himself 24-7. He had been institutionalized and had electric shock therapy. Even when he was facing you, appearing to be normal, he would be faking you out, his arm behind his back, scratching himself. You could tell he got more pleasure and energy out of scratching than crack-heads got smoking crack. It was truly amazing. One day, it seemed, with all the energy he put into scratching, he would burn out like a lightbulb.

My mom, the "hamster." I don't even own a picture of her, more on this born again hamster later.

The Emmus Bible School was part of the Moody Bible Institute in Chicago.

As a young man, my father, after losing a series of high-paying jobs (perhaps from scratching), found God and moved to Chicago to attend the Emmaus Bible School where he met my mother. They both were strict fundamentalist Born again Christians. After graduation they married, moved to New York to spread the gospel and start a family. I wasn't even born yet and already my life was a fucking nightmare.

Growing up, I always had a vague feeling something was painfully wrong. Some of it was from my father's insanity, some of it was from the Christianity.

The young Teddy, was not allowed to go to movies, attend rock concerts or dances. By the time he was sixteen he had memorized over six hundred bible verses by heart. He was not allowed to have non-Born again friends unless he was "witnessing" to them to convert them. There were no born-again Christians at school or in the neighborhood so therefore he had no friends. When bullied, he was not supposed to fight back, but turn the other cheek which only encouraged more bullying, it sucked.

Years later, while doing research for my story, King Dong, I contacted the Moody Bible Institute and asked them to send me a student handbook. Upon reading the text above my head started swirling with all the bullshit I grew up with. I was literally dizzy, that vague feeling something was painfully wrong started to make sense. I now understood I, as the young Teddy, was brought up in strict accordance to the teachings of the Moody Bible Institute. Why did they have to be such motherfuckers?

At church the young Teddy was exposed to Chick Tracts, created by Jack T. Chick. He found the tracts horrifying, but was fascinated by their artwork and dramatic style. Even though the tracts scared the shit out of him, he read them over and over again. Years later, as an adult he used them to promote the evils of raving, Satan be praised!

In addition to scratching, my father had some other peculiar behaviors. Mr. Itch-ter would rock himself back and forth, rubbing his arms between his legs like he was masturbating. He had a blank stare, totally oblivious to everything around him. Sometimes he would masturbate at the dinner table during family devotions and bible readings. One day, while Teddy sitting with his father at the mall, Mr. Itch-ter started rocking back and forth. "Oh no..." Mr. Itch-ter started masturbating. People stopped, looked in disbelief, and looked away. Other people, including some of Teddy's classmates, stood and watched, laughing until it was over. The young Teddy just sat there in dumb frozen humiliation. It was a "Mr. Itch-ter demon of masturbation humiliation" that would follow him the rest of his life.

Years later, while watching One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest I noticed Jack Nicholson gesturing like my father, making a similar face as he masturbated in the movie. On the DVD, in the extra features, it showed all members of the cast living in a mental institution for months so they could observe and mimic patients' behaviors. This must have been where Jack Nicholson picked up his Oscar winning masturbating act, in an institution similar to the one my father was in. Again, while watching the DVD, my head started swirling with all the masturbation humiliation I endured while growing up. I was literally dizzy. Why did it have to be so fucked up?

With all the fundamentalist Christian rules: no movies, no dancing, bible memorization, cheek turning mental/physical bullying abuse, the forced "witnessing" to people, Teddy's parents were grooming him to be a Born again missionary. A family is supposed to help you grow into the person you are, not someone else. The young Teddy was fed up. He decided one day he would move away from his family, never to return. He would leave and exercise the "Mr. Itch-ter demon of masturbation humiliation." He would change his name and change himself into the person he was supposed to become. He had made up his mind, it was going to happen.

>> work in progress <<

Outline

Break this section up into two parts. Religion, masturbation.

Richter dinner table sound file. Convert casette tape of family devotions to sound file, and upload!

Crop both pieces of Moody Bible Institute text. Remove underlines, make same width, 720 pixels.

Add mother reference. No photo (?). Check old photograph box.

Add Masturbator deflector scans from King Dong.

Granny-knots & Passing Gas On Your Own First-born Son

One summer, when I was growing up, my family went on vacation to Florida. We didn't have enough money to fly, so we drove in the family Ford Falcon station wagon. My father was so cheap he wanted to save gas, so he drove real slow, it was like a three-day trip for us.

So my father is driving like 45 mph in the slow lane; my sisters and I are hanging out, looking out the back window of the station wagon; and I see a car behind us, speeding toward us at about 70 mph. I can see the driver is daydreaming, he doesn't realize we are going that slow. So I am frantically waving at the driver, trying to get his attention, and I'm thinkin', "If we collide, me and my sisters are going to die." I'm just a young boy trying to do the right thing in a screwed up situation.

At the last moment, the driver realizes we are about to collide, and vears off into slow lane. But he doesn't check first, collides with another car, and both cars spin off the road kicking up lots of southern state dust.

My father starts looking around like Mr. Magoo going, "What? What happened?" shrugs his sholders, and keeps on driving oblivious to the fact he just caused a major car accident and almost killed us. Me, I'm just a young boy trying to enjoy our family vacation, and I'm in the back seat of a Falcon station wagon tramatized like I almost died.

So every morning my father would tie the family luggage (and my precious surfboard) to the top of the "Theo-mobile" Falcon stationwagon. My father was completely incompetent, couldn't tie a knot, he would tie multipule granny knots and I would follow him around checking the ropes, making sure all the luggage was secure.

One morning, I woke up late, and didn't get a chance to check the knots. That day, I didn't enjoy a minuite of senery driving through Georgia, I had my eyes glued to the back windshild the whole time, making sure our luggage didn't fly off. I had visions of our suitcases exploding out into the open road, and my prescious surfboard destroyed.

So the next morning I woke up early, and I am following my father around the car, checking for granny knots, so we don't lose the family luggage and my precious surfboard; and my father is farting on me, passing gas on his own first born son.

It was so disgusting, I thought, "this sucks, there is no way I am going to start a family." I didn't even know what sex was yet.

The moral of this story is, if you want to continue your families linage, "don't tie granny-knots and pass gas on your own first-born son."

It broke me,

If you are an adult, and you can't properly tie a knot, how can you handle the responsiblity of a family?

But I can't enjoy my vacation because I am worried about losing my precious surfboard and the family luggage because my father can't tie a knot.

I'm a kid, I want to enjoy my vacation, I don't want to worry about the family luggage on top of the car.

BUFFER

Driving to Florada on family vaction.

this is what family life is about,

If this is what having a family is about, there is no way I am going to have one, I thought.

Farting on the Family Camping Trip. No family for me. Farting tieing knots surfboard story.