The Penny King's Blog Thursday, June 10th, 7:07 A.M. PST.
A week ago would have been my 25th wedding anniversarry to my first wife who now goes by the name of Aerial Tiger Long who was formerly known as Kenny Lynn Cartozian when I first seduced her away from a former Armenian very highly paid marketing executive who worked for the Black Angus Steak House chain which was eventually bought out by a fortune 500 company and he lost his job some time in the mid 80's.
When he found out we were having an affair before their divorce was actually final he threatened to cut off my balls in a Church. Ironically, he helped advise our newly formed mortgage company in 1990 and gave us the recommended name, Source Mortgage whose logo was a triangle inside a circle. This should send the PI's some more fodder. His name was Haig Cartozian. His son became my step son in 1977 and almost a decade later we made peace.
That Church was of course the Church of Scientology where I had met this most gorgeous, stunning blonde haired 34 year old genius and very talented lady who I to this day liken to Gwenivere of Sir Lancelot and King Arthurian legend. I was 21 at the time.
I met her during a "word clearing" session and asked her out to coffee. She had been crying in our session due to the stresses of her not yet final divorce at that time.
I broke the first cardinal rule of spiritual counseling. Never get sexually involved with one of your clients. It's a big no no and it will never work out, no matter how much love there develops between both of you.
There is enlightenment in my words if you understand them. I will not go into any greater detail about my first marriage, it is pretty much being re-written from what was originally published about it in "Confessions of a Sex Crazed Money Man", a book that every lawyer in the country who has read has told me that I should never have started a new genre of writing called "Kiss and Tell on Yourself", something that many celebrities of late have chosen to do in order to keep the facts of their rise to star power as accurate as possible.
After all, if it didn't come from the horses mouth it probably came from the horses ass and that in general means you are being fed a big line of horse manuer.
I just found out that my children have been kidnapped. And I need someone to assist us with grant applications.
The Penny King's Blog Friday, June 11th, 11:06 A.M. PST.
Today it is my deceased mother's birthday. She died at the age of 38 in a Detroit hospital of cancer of the breasts.
I'm not sure that I had any causal relationship in that unfortunate disease, however I do know that I put my mother under a severe amount of stress as a child.
I used to burn mice in the field behind my house in empty five gallon paint drums, mixed with paint thinner, gasoline, lighter fluid and the left over oil paints from the hundreds of model cars I had built from plastic. On occaision I would throw in a few plastic models with some engine oil to make the effect look more charred.
I would watch them burn and loved it but the dead mice and their spirits eventually came back to haunt me.
I never made the connection until just recently that several months later I was first accused of rape as a 14 year old boy whose date didn't tell him she had a 9pm curfew from her parents.
Her twin sister, who I was also attracted to and fond of, became so jeoulous and enraged that she made up the story that I had held her sister against her will during a football game, in the back of which a field did lay with the both of us doing some very heavy petting in a fort I had built for just such a purpose about a hundred yards from the visitors goal posts.
My mother used to get very enraged and angry at me for my evil ways and evil intentions and the more she pounded me and screamed bloody murder at the charred remains I would show her on occaision, the more mice died.
I even used to sick my dog on them after I would lift up a huge piece of plywood out in the far reaches of the grassfield behind my Sterling Heights mid suburban home in 1970. I would thoroughly enjoy watching my female bitch, who had been properly neutered by my mother and father, chew up a mouse with its guts flying out of its mouth.
Yes, Buffy was a very ravenous dog, especially after tasting the delectible leftovers of pheasant we used to eat every other day during the winters there.
The same ones I used to catch in rat traps with a bit of corn hiding the trigger that sets off the head-smacking club that knocks them silly long enough to ring their necks with my bare hands.
Fortunately, I believe I handled those evil intentions not much later in life and by the following year, my mother then had to deal with the smoking habit which I taken up for the very first time.
It is also the year I first got laid, how sweet those precious freeing moments of fleeting wind were.
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