Christina Flora Joy


 

ImageThis is a picture of my girlfriend Christina.  Her last name is Schwarz these days Christina Clarissa Schwarz.  However, that is not the name she was born with.  When she was born, in 1991, at Torrance Memorial Hospital, her name was Christina Flora Joy.  Beautiful name right?  Yes it is.  Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

When she was six, she and her brother Timothy Edward, were taken away from her birth mother for reasons unknown for the most part.  Her mother’s name was Renee Joy.  We just found that out tonight.  Christina had been thinking that her mother’s first name was Kathy for some reason but her dad (adopted but still very much her dad) told her that it was Renee.

Since Christina Schwarz and Christina Joy are both pretty common names, if her mother Renee, was looking for her, she would have a pretty hard time finding her.  ImageWhen we googled Christina we couldn’t find any real hits, apart from like Facebook (under her birth name) and we couldn’t find even one image of her on the internet.  That would make it really hard for anyone to find her even if they were looking.  So I’m writing this post and putting it on my blog in the hopes that if her mother is looking for, she can google her now and there will be this reference.  Its going to be easy to find this because I’m an internet pro hahahaha.

In a way its kind of a big step because any adopted kid wants to believe the best about her real mom and in this case I’m sure Christina wants to believe Imageher mom is looking for her.  I certainly hope she is looking for her because she is missing out on the life of the Great Christina, Imagean awesome, funny, cool, sexy, beautiful, good, kind hearted young woman and it would be a shame for that to continue.  If she is looking she will find her if she is any kind of internet savvy lady.  If you are Christina’s mom then its easy as hell to get in contact ifImage you are reading this post.

Start by commenting and saying something.  I know that the absence of her birth mother from her life causes my girlfriend anguish and stress that she really doesn’t need at all.  ImageLife is hard enough without that shit.  So please, if you know anything about Christina’s birth mother or you are her birth mother or just wanna say hi or something, feel free to drop a line via this website.

Christina’s a bad ass chick.  I love her a lot.  So hopefully something good comes from this.

beware the wrath of /b/ 4chan/b/ versus @flyguyparsons


Screen shot taken from the twitter account of Aaron Jacob Parsons

Its been an interesting day in Cyberspace.  A perfect storm of sorts has come together and unleashed her fury on  krashthrills.wordpress.com in the form of thousands and thousands of views of an article I wrote regarding Aaron Jacob Fosters yesterday.  As of 7:01 p.m. tonight I have had 6,938 people from 11 countries visit my website and read what I wrote. There 3,583 clicks of links that I provided that contain more information/corroboration of the crimes that are proven alleged by what I have written, all of which originated on the /b/ forum on 4chan.org.  I want to take this opportunity to give props to the guys and girls who reside at /b/.  They might be a little warped but collectively they hold a great deal of power in their fingertips.  It was awesome to be a witness to this power as it unfolded.  Awesome as in I was awestruck and still am.  Certainly it is not a good idea to get on the bad side of a group that has this kind of power at its disposal.  Even worse to do it when they are bored and frothing at the bit for something to do.

It seems a bit of a foregone conclusion that the consequences are going to be severe and swift for the individuals responsible for the degrading beat down and robbery of the still unnamed victim in this case.  I feel absolutely no sympathy for the perpetrators.  I don’t give a shit what they have to say about it or what their excuse is or if they even remember what they were doing because of intoxication levels , temporary amnesia etc.  I really hope that prison is the end result for Aaron Jacob Parsons and everyone else involved, especially that annoying drunk bitch wearing her black panties parading around the street like she was some glamour queen.  Fuck her.  (man she STILL pisses me off)

The haters calling me racist can all suck it to be honest.  I am not even going to bother addressing that accusation.  It’s not true and my life and anything I’ve ever written in the past will attest to that FACT.  So, hate on haters.

I got a call from a reporter named Justin from the Baltimore Sun.  We talked for quite a few minutes about the origin of this situation, 4chan’s /b/ forum and more.  His view, stated to me anyhow, was that this is an instance of the internet being used for good and he was quick to show his admiration for the detective work done by the /b/ forum lurkers.  I agree wholeheartedly with this sentiment.  Choosing to fight against the “forces that /b/ is the ultimate example of the idiot who brings a knife to a gun fight”.

Have a good night everyone……Anthony Mandich

ImageADDENDUM: I replied to an email from the reporter I mentioned.  Here is what I had to say.  And I quote:

hey justin it was good talking to you.  i’m sending you this stuff before i even blog it so i must think you’re cool.  just don’t get me killed lol.

 
here is a quote from me if you want
 
“aaron jacob parsons is a wanted man”….post after post on /b/ repeated those words. it was late i was annoyed.  the arrogance shown by @flyguyparsons and @CASHton-Kutcher by posting the video of themselves proudly separating a man from his dignity really angered me.  they acted like it was so funny and so cool.
 
to beat down a guy like that, seemingly with impunity when: 
 
(A) he didn’t deserve it  and 
(B) couldn’t do anything about it but bleed and sit there bewildered, humiliated and alone and 
(C) further add to his pain by taking everything of value in his possession, stripping him naked, and letting some ugly drunk annoying bitch slap him open palmed across his face while he’s on his back  just didn’t sit well with me.
 
and the poor guy took it like a champ.  he didn’t defend himself (which was probably smart in this instance because this was a bear that you had to play dead against for sure.  so yeah he didn’t defend himself but he also didn’t bring further dishonor to himself by crying, pissing or moaning.  
 
two things resonated strongly with me.
 
1. the images of parsons mugging for the camera before the humiliation began and then creeping up and start digging through the guys pockets like it was a big joke.  i really hated that.
2.  that ugly chick wearing her panties with her big old ass all drunk grinding on the guy before it all started and then when he was down on his back she’s there standing behind his head and starts slapping in his face HARD and he can’t even see where these blows are coming from because she is standing behind his head.  that was particularly cowardly and thinking about it right now gets my blood boiling.  
 
you asked me what was different about this video as opposed to the many other millions of videos that are out there on the internet.  I am going to answer that with a post i did on some girls from a sorority at bowling green who were tragically killed in a car accident a few weeks ago.  my answer is obvious.
 

People Who Died: Trevor McGrew


I’m trying to remember exactly how long ago it was when I met Trevor McGrew.  I’m thinking I need to backtrack from the present to get to anything resembling an accurate year even.  That’s not saying much for my memory I know but shit…it gets a little bit hazy.  The easiest way for me to put things in their sorta proper time frames is to base it off of my daughter Ciara Mandich’s age and go from there.  I definitely know that Ciara is 14 years old and was born on May 16th, 1997.  I found out Heather was pregnant with Ciara sometime in September of 1996ish.  I was working at TSA Clothing as Accounting Manager at that time and our warehouse was still at the end of 18th Street in Costa Mesa.  I remember that me and Jim Waataja went to some cell phone place on Harbor Blvd. that day and that Heather had given me a little cute letter all folded up that I opened while me and Jim were getting our cell phones.

Not that it matters but the letter said, Dear Tony, It’s true.  I have a bun in my oven.  Love Heather. Cute huh.  I’m chuckling at that right now because what does it really have to do with the topic of this story about Trevor?

So…..

Anyways……

I found out Heather was pregnant.  That was September of 1996.  I was living on Superior right across the street from Hoag Hospital with Jim Waataja.  Rene Prospero and Chad Muska also sort of lived there.  Chad slept on our couch a lot.  Rene had the tiny closet downstairs.  That was his room ha ha ha ha.  It was literally like six feet deep by three feet wide and he made it into a bedroom and I would always boss him around and tell him to get to his room.  We called him Stick Dog.  It would be like this:

“Shut the fuck up Stick Dog.  Go to your room Stick Dog.  Shut the fuck up”.

For some reason he would totally listen and go to his room with his little ass blankets and stay in there.  Strange kid.

Again I digress.

I met Jim like five months earlier then that so maybe April of 1996.  At that time I still was working like at FHP Healthcare or Talbert Medical Management Corporation and I was living in Huntington Beach.  I had just gotten my convertible BMW which was a sick sick car.  I lived on Pensacola Circle with this idiot named coincidentally Jim.  He was a total moron but fuck that I’m not gonna get into that.  Believe me I could but I won’t.  Before Pensacola Circle I was on Fern Street in Newport Shores living with Scotty and Gerald.  I only lived there for a short time because they had this friend named Monica who sold coke and weed and one night when I was totally fucking wasted I went over to her house and pretty much robbed her.  She had this dude there like some friend of hers I don’t remember his name.  She wasn’t there.  I forgot where I was earlier that night but I’m pretty sure it was like El Ranchito with Trevor McGrew, Joe Huff, Joe Todora and some other dudes.  Like I said I was so fucked up.  Long story short, the dude didn’t wanna let me in which is totally reasonable seeing that I was fucked up as hell, Monica wasn’t home, and he didn’t know me.  Total asshole move by me, I ended up getting into a long and drawn out fist fight with the dude.  He was about my size and sober and relatively tough but I think I ended up getting through him and into Monica’s room.  She had this jar, like a Mason jar, full of little baggies with one nugget of crip weed in each one but I wasn’t there for that.  I hate weed.  I wanted coke for sure.  I know I didn’t find any coke.  I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking like I said this was a total bad move by me.  I ended up grabbing a couple of twenties of weed that I didn’t even want and fought my way back through the house and outside.  By this time Monica was arriving home as I was running down the sidewalk.  I lived like one street over from her.  Duh.  So anyways, the dude I fought with must have told her what I did right.

Pause right there and keep in mind we are in Newport Shores which is totally densely populated as fuck so the ruckus I had caused getting into the room to begin with to steal the chick’s weed that I didn’t even want had woken some neighbors or something and someone called the cops I guess.  I don’t know because I never saw them that night I only heard about it the next day when I was so insanely hungover and bumming so hard on my out of control self and the shit I had caused.  So as the dude tells Monica that I stole her drugs and I’m hop scotching it the fuck down the sidewalk, Monica, righteously furiously angry is screaming, “That dude stole my drugs……”.

I guess the cops heard that, went into her house, searched it, (she had a warrant anyways, like a bad bench warrant for a third DUI she failed to appear for), found the drugs, arrested her and wow.  Just made my stupid drunken idiotic move even that much worse.  So yeah bottom line, my friends I lived with who hadn’t even really known me that long to begin with and were totally long time friends with Monica were totally pissed and I had no choice but to run from the scene basically.  Luckily I found that place on Pensacola Circle in HB.  Otherwise I would have been living on the streets for sure.  I’m thinking that must have been maybe January of 1996.  Backtrack a little bit more and I was living at 116 37th Street right down in the war zone or fun zone or whatever its called down in Newport.  I lived there about 8 months.  Insanity for sure.  Not even going to tell any stories about that right now or else this won’t even be a story about Trevor you know what  I mean.  I’m reaching as it is.

So that puts me at when?  Like May of 1995 or so when I moved to 37th Street.  I moved to 37th from Fern Street.  Same street I was living on when I did my big weed heist which got Monica put in jail for like 200 days (MY GOD I felt like such a fucking dick about that).  This was Fern Street Part I though when I lived at 202A Fern Street, downstairs from my life long friend Thadius Daniels.  I lived with this chick named Carrie Babbitt (who coincidentally hates my guts to this very day for an incident that I wasn’t even involved with but according to her I had the power to stop from happening and failed to do so etc….long story).  I probably moved in with Carrie somewhere around August of 1994.  Total guess there but I know I was on unemployment after I had already been living there for a little bit and I ended up going to Las Vegas to work doing tile with my friend Conley Massey and this dude named Dirk (Morganstern?).  For sure I was living in Vegas with Conley and still had my room with Carrie during the winter of that year because I remember it being cold as shit over there.

So August of 1994 is the approximate time I moved to Fern Street.  We’re going to say anyways.  Now I had been coming down to Fern Street for maybe 3 months prior to that and hanging out with Thad and getting wasted etc.  So that takes us to about May of 1994.

And thats when I ‘m going to say I met Trevor McGrew.  Trevor had a little house right next door to Thad, on the same side of the street and everything.  So I guess his address was 204A Fern Street, Newport Beach, California.  He was five years younger then me.  I just verified that by looking at one of the newspaper articles about his death so that’s a pretty accurate number.  He was 36 in 2009 when he died.  So minus fifteen years off of that and that puts him at 21 when I met him.  For sure he could go to all of the bars because we went to millions of them so 21 is a pretty good number.

Is anyone still actually reading this.  I just realized how schizo this story must sound but whatever.  I had to go through that little process just to get some kind of a somewhat reasonable estimate of when I met the dude.  Damn that was complicated though.  Sorry.

Back to Trevor.  This is probably one of those stories that if certain people do read it they will totally hate the fact that I’m even writing about him.  This is due to the circumstances in which he died.  And while I’m definitely sympathetic and understanding of everyone’s point of view about Trevor, how he died has nothing at all to do with my relationship with him or any times I ever shared with him.  He totally had an impact on my life in a good way and I loved him for sure so lets just say I’m telling you my own life story and I can’t omit the chapter having to do with Trevor so there it is there.

Trevor was a blond surfer dude with a little gap in between his two front teeth if I remember correctly.  He was a good looking guy and had a hot girlfriend named Suzanne Blackburn.  They lived together and I can’t remember if they had a roommate or not but I’m pretty sure that they did and it might have been Joe Todora.  Don’t hold me to that part though.  Anyways Trevor loved to surf and skate and drink and fuck around.  He was a wild and crazy dude and totally funny and had millions of friends around Newport and all over.  Like a totally popular dude.  I had been coming down from Corona to party with Thad and all of our friends most weekends and Trevor was around and I would hang out with him too.  I thought he was so fucking cool because…..he was man.  Even though I was like this kooky idiot from the Inland Empire and didn’t even live in Newport, let alone Newport Shores, which was such a “locals only” environment, Trevor was still cool as hell.  We would get wasted as shit and Trevor would get wild.  I mean he was crazy wild.  In a good way but still a crazy and kind of scary way.  He wasn’t scary in the sense that he was going to get all violent with any of us but he would do crazy shit when he was drunk and he wasn’t scared of jack shit, I mean nothing.

After a just a short time of me going down there to party with Thad, I started hanging out with everybody on Fern Street, not just Thad and our crew from Corona like Gordy, Rick Hagaman, Conley Massey, Mark Hudson, Rob Gubion, Steve Jacobson, Jason Clark, Jason Rhodes, Matt Hopkins, and Frank Colapinto.

These dudes from Newport were nuts and I liked them and definitely wanted to be part of their little crowd.  Everybody that lived on Fern Street partied together and went to the bars together and represented the Shores and Fern Street as a little mini kinda gang.  Thad was my intro to them all in general but Trevor was the one who made me so easily accepted by everyone who lived down there.  Like I said, Trevor didn’t care where I was from.  Me and him got along super super super good and hung out all the fucking time.  He was definitely like  a made man in Newport, liked and accepted by everyone, questioned or harassed by no one.  No one fucked with Trevor period.  He just had it like that.  Chicks loved him, dudes loved him, he had all kinds of fans.  I was always with him so nobody fucked with me either which was cool because I didn’t know nobody, I didn’t grow up there and I just wanted to fit in and have a good time.

Trevor made that happen for me and I loved him for it.  Here’s a quick run down of who else lived on Fern Street at that time okay.  So there was Dave and Isaac and Joe Todora and Joe Huff and Joe Huff’s girlfriend who was so fucking hot my God I would have given anything to be naked with her.  There was Jason Haught, and he was another one that had all the charisma and good looks and surfing ability and chicks and friends and I hung out with him alot too.  Jason is a way cool dude.  He was with this French Canadian chick named Marie Claude.  She was hot as fuck too with no makeup either and she barely understood English, she was just visiting Newport and fell totally in love with Jason.  He had it like that.  All of the chicks fucking LOVED that guy.  He worked at Mutt Lynch’s as a bar back and girls were constantly throwing themselves at him.  He got laid like EVERY night.  I remember this one chick wrote on the back of her business card “Here’s my number, I want your lumber” and gave it to him.  I thought that was so fucking cool man.

Jason lived upstairs from Gerald and Scotty with this dude named EP (Eric Peterson).  EP didn’t think I was cool I don’t think.  He never really liked me.  Guessing he thought I was a try hard, Inland Empire kook who didn’t know how to surf and wasn’t local.  He was totally right.  I still liked him though.  Which is neither here nor there actually.

Trevor had tons of friends like I said and not just on Fern Street.  All over.  It was rad going to parties and bars with Trevor because you felt totally safe.  Trevor liked to get drunk and fight.  When he got in fights he always won.  He kicked fucking ass man.  I guarantee that whoever was stupid enough to get it going with Trevor, especially when he was buzzed, regretted it immediately.  He was good for a black eye, busted ass lip, broken nose, lumped up head….shit like that.  I never saw him back down, or lose a fight.  He never started them on purpose though.  He also never held a grudge after.  You could fight Trevor, get your ass kicked big time, stand around and bleed and feel sorry for yourself for awhile, but when you were ready to talk about it later that same day or whenever, he never held that shit against you.  Trevor would be gracious in victory and humble about it hahaha but really it was better to not fuck with him.

Some of Trevor’s friends that I can remember are dudes like Johnny (Stogie), Litzy (Eric Litzenberg), Jeff Lonzway and his chick Gina and his brother Snowy, and this dude Smitty.  They all had known each other forever and it was cool just hanging out with all of them and listening to all the shit they got up to and stories they told.  We would go down to bars like Mutt Lynch’s, Stag Bar, and especially Cassidy’s.  I always felt so cool if I was with the dudes from Fern Street, especially Trevor or Jason.  Couldn’t even begin to tell you how many times I got laid just by hanging with them, especially Jason, because Trevor had a live in girlfriend like I said.

This hasn’t been like some kind of glowing testimonial about what a great guy Trevor was and really that’s my fault because he was a great guy, at least to me.  He was a good friend and would totally be cool with anyone that wasn’t a pussy and that would be cool with him.  He always made sure that I was included in on everything and he made me way tougher of a dude because he wasn’t into being a coward in any way.  I remember not long after that night where I dicked out hard and got that Monica girl arrested and basically acted like a piece of drunk shit, Trevor was still my friend and didn’t join in the bandwagon of people calling me a kook and calling for my head.  Trust me I deserved that and in my own mind I totally had an ass beating coming if not worse.  It never happened but still I deserved it.  Even though I deserved to be shunned and scorned, still though, a lot of the people pointing fingers at me were just jumping on the bandwagon.  It was such an easy call you know what I mean.  I wouldn’t have blamed Trevor if he joined in as well.  He had known that girl for years and years and was totally tight with her.

God bless him though, he stuck by me as my friend.  Trevor lived to buck trends and do the opposite of what was expected of him.  He was rooting for the underdog always and I was grateful that he didn’t turn his back on me then.  Like I said, I didn’t deserve that sorta mercy, but I got it from Trevor.  And I can never forget that.  The only thing about it was that he didn’t want to see me pussing out about it and hiding my face.  We went to El Ranchito like two days after it happened and I’m not gonna lie I was scared.  I thought for sure I was going to get jumped by Monica’s friends.  I didn’t want to go in the place, I was like whimpering to Trevor before we went in, “what if her friends are there, what if they wanna kill me, what am I gonna do????”

He pushed me against the stucco wall.  Hard.  Right outside the door of El Ranchito.  “Don’t be a fucking pussy.  Get in there and don’t worry about it”.  That kind of set me straight in my head and I went in there like I belonged.  Acted like I owned the place like usual.  Nobody had the balls to come up and say a word and the whole story died down pretty fast.

Trevor loved salt water fish tanks.  So did I.  We both were always buying shit for our tanks and competing on who had the raddest coral and coolest fish.  While I knew Trevor in those Newport days, he was always a hard working guy, no matter how fucked up he got the night before he still always went to work every day.  His place was always clean and he had a pretty good relationship with Suzie.  He definitely loved her I know that.  And she loved him too.

Okay so that’s pretty much where my story with Trevor ends.  I loved the guy but I ended up moving out of that area and didn’t really keep in touch with anybody.  I still did talk to Trevor every now and then.  I heard stories that he was getting into all sorts of trouble like doing speed and just out of control drinking and that sorta shit.  He got married to Suzie and they had a daughter and I heard that he like left her for awhile and stuff.  This is just through the grapevine talk.  I personally didn’t see Trevor again after about 1996.  The last I heard, right after I got home from living in New Zealand in May of 2008, was that Trevor was living in Lake Havasu with Suzie and things were good. Jason Haught is the one who told me that.  We found each other on myspace.com and were chatting back and forth for a few months.

Fast forward to September of 2010.  I’m going out with this girl from Newport, April Shand.  She hooks me up with this dude (no names mentioned) who sells meth and I wanted some.  I go over to the dude’s house and his roommate is a friend from back in the Newport days with Trevor.  It’s Eric Litzenberg.  I hadn’t seen him in years so we are chatting away for a while and I ask him about Trevor, hoping he had his number and stuff so I could get in touch.  And then he dropped the bomb on me.  Litzy’s like, “haven’t you heard?”.

Uhhhh no.  Heard what, I say.  And he tells me this crazy fucking story.  He tells me that Trevor was living in Havasu and was having marital problems with Suzie to the point where she basically left him and is seeing some other dude.  Trevor I guess was pretty out of control, either on drugs or alcohol, or both.  I’m not clear on that part.  Anyway, I guess one day in January of 2009, Trevor knows Suzie is seeing some dude and he follows her secretly to the guys house.  I have no idea what was going on in his marriage or in his mind, I only know the facts as they were told to me by Eric Litzenberg and then what I read on the internet.  So, he follows her, waits a little bit I guess and then goes and knocks on the dude’s door.  This is in Lake Havasu somewhere.  I know that Trevor did have some friend of his with him and they were in Trevor’s truck.  Obviously the friend didn’t know what was going to happen.  Trevor had a gun with him.  Trevor knocked on the dude’s door.  I heard that Suzie and the dude were both at the door.  I also heard that Trevor put the gun in Suzie’s face.  I don’t know if that’s a fact or not, it’s just what I heard.

What is a fact though, is that Trevor shot the dude, 36 year old Matt Gandy.  Killed him in fact.  Right on his doorstep at about 5:30 p.m. on January 15th, 2009.   Then Trevor jumped in his truck and took off.  His friend that was with him sustained minor injuries when he  jumped out of the truck after seeing what Trevor did.  Obviously like I said that was unexpected and the dude didn’t want to be in the truck with Trev after that.  Totally understandable.  Trevor’s friend was a guy named Brian Corners.  I am not familiar with Brian or the guy that Trevor killed, Matt.  I’m pretty sure Matt used to live in Newport and knew Trevor and Suzie from California but again I’m speculating.  Anyhow, Trevor left the scene and went to his house with the .45 semi automatic pistol and killed himself.  I’m not sure when he did that but I do know the SWAT team entered his house a little after 11 pm after several unsuccessful attempts to communicate via the phone and whatever other means they normally use to negotiate with people.  When they entered his house, he was dead.

I have to be honest when Litzy told me that story I was floored.  I mean, in shock, mouth open, disbelief.  Crazy fucking story.  Tragic, sad, horrible story.  Not a good way to go out.  Not a good thing to do killing someone.  Not a good way to deal with his situation with his wife.  Just bad news all around.  I’ve read lots of stuff about Matt Gandy and from all accounts he was a great guy who didn’t deserve to die that way.  I believe what I’ve read.  I’m sure he was a good guy.  I’m really sorry that he died, sorry for his family, just sorry period.  I’ve also read that Trev was a monster and all this other shit.  That I don’t believe.  I know he did a horrible thing.  A horrible thing.  I’m not taking anything away from that fact.  That was wrong and bad.

I’m sorry though, I knew Trevor really well and he wasn’t a monster.  Regardless of how his life ended, he wasn’t a monster.  He was a good guy with a big heart and he wasn’t evil.  I swear he wasn’t.  I don’t know what was going through his mind that day but the fact that he committed murder notwithstanding, Trevor, in his heart was a good person.

I’m sure that the family and friends of Mr. Gandy don’t agree and who can blame them.  Their son, brother, friend, uncle, nephew was taken from them at such a young age and for no good reason.  He was only 36.  That totally sucks.  My condolences to his loved ones.

But my condolences to those who loved Trevor as well.  He was also 36 and died tragically, albeit through circumstances he brought upon himself.  It’s still tragic either way and I’m still sad and blown away whenever I think about Trevor.  I’ll always love Trev and consider him one of my best friends of my life.  I’m sorry I couldn’t have been in more contact with him or helped him in some way.  It really sucks.

Anyway that’s the story of  Trevor McGrew.  A friend of mine that died.

People….they don’t understand


I am literally blasting my music so fucking loud right now its sick.  Taking full advantage of having a five bedroom house that I share with only one other human being and a bevy of friendly ghosts.  May 1 is D-Day for Anthony Mandich, Artist and Urban Legend.  I’m going to miss this house and Sean Stenlake my very good friend and his  Playmate girlfriend Natasha (who is a hot little piece of ass let me tell you).  I’m going to miss them for sure but I will still get to see them…probably more often then I do now actually.

Its the ghosts that I’m really going to miss.  I don’t really think they are going to be following me and that causes a pain in my heart that you just wouldn’t understand.

I’m a creature of the night no doubt about that.   I love being alone late late late as fucking hell at night on an empty freeway cruising to or from playing poker or just alone here in my room.  I feel in tune with the ghosts that live in this room with me.  Both of my grandparents used to live in this room.  Both of my grandparents are dead.  But not dead to me.  You see they live in here with me.  At least a part of them do.  My grandpa Archie actually died in this house.  Not in this room but downstairs surrounded by who knows how many people.  The spectators, his children and grandchildren, nephews and nieces and cousins were kind enough to see him off as he began his journey…..back upstairs to my room hahahaha.  He’ s here for sure.

He’s gotta be here or  else tell me a reason why I get this insane urge to go out back and check on the fucking pigeons all the time!  My grandpa loved pigeons and he used to raise them in Trinidad and in California.  He was a funny and bad ass little bird man.  Then there’s my grandmother, Granny Bayne.   She didn’t really consider herself my grandmother in reality though.  My mom had me when she was only 16, and of course still lived with her parents.  She actually found out that she was preggers with me while the family was on the bloody boat to America.  How funny is that?  Hot.  Anyways my grandma definitely considered me as her son.  When I talk about Archie and Brenda Bayne in a special issue of People Who Died:  Roll Call I’ll tell you guys some funny as shit stories about my granny.  She was so rad and believe me she inhabits this room for sure for sure for sure.

There is one more ghost that stays in this room with me and I feel like she is protecting me and I am protecting her.  She makes my heart hurt so bad sometimes that I almost can’t handle the overwhelming enormity of the pure emotion that washes over me.  Tears goosebumps and all sorts of familiar (since Valentine’s Day 09) and oddly comforting feelings.  That’s my sister Natalie Ann Mandich Amador.  My little sister Nat.  She loved to stay awake late too and she lived in this room for a few years.  She’s my little voice of reason a lot of nights, I swear she actually talks to me and I know that sometimes she is a bit jealous that I’m taking off to enter the world of the night outside this room.  I’m sure she cruises other places too but I get this feeling that she is as comfortable as an old family dog when I’m here just internetting it up or doing my paintings and pantings hahahaha.  She loves it when I’m here and I’m going to miss her so much when I am forced to leave.

People that read this are going to say that they are going to be with me forever in my heart and all that shit.  I don’t want to hear it honestly although I do truly appreciate the effort.  Its just not going to be the same.  For instance I’m currently blasting 2+2=5 by Radiohead as I type this.  I got this guy Aaron Maturino over at my house right now.  I’m pretty much ignoring him and I’m lost in my head but not totally lost because my grandparents are there too watching me…I can sense my granny always getting ready to give me some sort of advice like she always did.  Even as a ghost I just brush it off like I always did.  I loved giving her shit so she would cluck away like a wounded chicken it was one of my favorite pastimes.  Nat’s here too she wants to go to the casino with me I can feel that and since I’m going and she can’t she’s not that stoked and she wants me to hang out here all night.  I can’t do that but I will leave the Radiohead blaring away for her.  Fuck it.

This entry is about me just cherishing the tried and tested and dysfunctionality of my life here on 2654 Steeplechase Way for the last ten days.  Part of that is of course leaving for the night at 2 in the morning to return when the sun is out.  Doing what I want as one of  God’s children free to roam the planet as a living human being for at least one more day.  This entry is about me going to challenge fate and destiny and the sheep that live here while evading the true forces of destructo nightmares that are always chasing me and beckoning me closer.  Thank God I have Nat to steer me clear of that riffraff.

Come with me Granny Grandpa and Natalie.  Follow me wherever I go and lets continue  our ludicrous adventure forever can we?  With Radiohead providing the auditory stylings of course.  I certainly hope it all comes out the way I envision it.  Purple skies and floating along with all of my   thousands of  girlfriends, all of us  just being hot forever.  I can’t believe I’m going to post this nonsense but I am.  I have no shame so fuck it and have a good night for the three of you that read all the way to this point I love you thanks a million.

People Who Died: Charles


Karma Police have pulled me over it seems.  I’m hoping I don’t get arrested by these guys because I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take to be honest.  The universe seems to be against me or maybe I am just against success.  Do I owe this life to mediocrity?  I stand in my own way.  I do.  I do.  I really fucking do.  There is a sick part of my heart that jumps all over any impulsive idea that springs into my mind and I’m seemingly too stubborn to stop it.  How many times have I relied on the goodness of strangers to get my ass out of a sling?  So many it boggles the mind.  Blessed and cursed was I…good looks and charm….I rely on both of them way too much.  This rut I’m in just keeps digging itself deeper and deeper.

When does the digging stop and the burying begin?

Scared to find that out to be honest.  The enormity of the task that lies in front of me should I desire to continue battling just seems overwhelming.  All systems are failing lets not mince words.  Is my core still intact or is it rotten and poisoned?  I can’t tell anymore.

Cerebral thinker, polluted well, the water smells off, have I been living in hell?

Surrounded by demons or are they just ghosts? Calling to me.  Beckoning me closer…Closer to what?

That’s the scary part.  Half of me already knows the answer to that and it spells only darkness and a reunion I’m not anxious to have.  I don’t want to be a name on the list of People Who Died, as much as I love them, I don’t want to see them anytime soon.

Yet…even now I hear faded whispers, see smiles in the dark, hear chuckles and scraping,  the moon is so full tonight, translucent light from an unnatural source the sickly green phosphorent beakers of decadence.

Calling to me from  the ancient past, promising details to questions and mysteries I didn’t ask and had no idea remained unsolved.

Regicide, the killing of a king, regicides, the killings of kings…

Who slipped him the poison with a smile on his face and teeth in his heart?  Who whispered my name to the wolves that run the action wherever I journey?

What kind of insect bit Charle’s killer, infected him with madness, forced him to pull the trigger?  You see that’s where it all started for me I believe.  The slow whirlpool spinning me around and around, unable to climb out unable to drown just spinning and spinning….faster and faster.  It all started with Charles McEldowney, Bo Kai Di, Chuck,

Vietnamese….American….Devil….Angel….dead.  For sure he is dead.

It’s been 5 years and 9 months since Chuck was shot by a young and angry Vietnamese kid.  5 y 9 m since the kid knocked on Charlie’s door.  It was in August of 2005. Charles lived real close to Dodger’s Stadium.  I wonder if the Dodgers were home that evening?  Or was the stadium as empty as the soul of the kid who put the gun up to Chuckie’s chest when he opened the door.  Pulled the trigger.  Walked away.  Somebody took Charles to the Emergency Room.  I don’t know what hospital he died at.  I don’t even know how to properly spell his American name or Vietnamese name.  I just know that my life hasn’t been the same since I got the call on the third floor of the Stellar Bar in Melboune, Australia from Heather Batchelder.

Charles drowned on his own blood.  That’s what I’ve been told.  I’m going to let you see this letter that I wrote to the world when I could find time to console myself back then.  From what I understand a printout of this letter was included with Charles when they put him in the oven that incinerated his flesh.  A copy of this letter is intermingled with his ashes and spread everywhere and nowhere.  Charles drowned in his own blood.

Who was there to see him off?  This was an unplanned journey to eternity.  When did his thoughts shift from whatever nonsensical things he was doing 5 minutes before the doorbell rang to “oh my god I am dead god please jesus please oh my god I  can’t breathe help me “.  His eyes must have been frantic.  Or maybe he was just that badass that he accepted it and floated away.

Come to think of it…a lot of things would be easier if I knew what happened to Charles.  I would like to see everything from 5 minutes to door bell ringing to where he is now.  If anywhere.  I’d like to know if he can still have thoughts in his mind.  Where did he end up?  Or is he just gone, not even rotting because of the cremation but just gone as if he never existed?

For at least 6 months after he died, somebody paid his mobile phone bill so his answering machine was still working.  I used to call that number from Australia all the time just to hear his voice.  It would rip me apart but I did it so many times.  I wonder who else used to call and leave messages for Charlie.   Did he ever get them?

I wrote this back in 05 when I was part owner of a bar in Melbourne, Australia.  Got some bad news from Heather Batchelder and Mike Barnes about my very good friend Charles.

—————– Original Message —————–
From: HOt sex and Greed
Date: Aug 11, 2005 1:14 PM

Aug 9, 2005 12:29 AM
Subject: The Legend of Bo Di Kai——–I am Fucking Shattered
Body: Honestly in all my life experiences I have never been as distraught, emotionally wrecked, torn to pieces, sad, angry, and overall just a mess as I was and AM STILL over the stupid senseless killing of my friend and companion and kindred brother Charles McEldowney on the Second of August, 2005 in LA.

Some fucking jackass who obviously can’t handle their drug intake of ice tripped the fuck out of his head and had some delusion of Charlie doing something threatening somehow someway and actually killed my friend Charles.

I have suffered through many fucked up things in my wonderful life to date. None has affected me quite as much as this. I live in Australia now and I can’t fucking even go home to the funeral. It’s so fucked.

If you never met Charles your life is not as fulfilled as it should be let me just tell you that. He was a great personality and the most funny, generous, twisted and delightfully evil man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I know that I will never meet another like him.

If you only knew how many nights in the last twelve years that Charles and I have seen the sunrise together, talking shit, philosophizing, tinkering, drawing, partying, driving, planning, laughing, eating and just being brothers it would boggle the mind.

Fuck yah we were on drugs. Hooray for that. After Charles moved from OC to LA, I got a job at Ticketmaster in LA and was working down on Wilshire Blvd right there in Chinatown. And he lived there off of 8th Street and Grammercy. Literally 5 minutes walk from my work. I used to go over there at lunch and Charles would rescue me from the hellish hangover I would be enduring, with some hits of that dirty pretty ice pipe and we would have the best times. I don’t give a fuck if you think its lame. Drugs or any of it to tell you the truth. It was real and it was never the same and the adventures in LA with Chuck were legendary.

When I moved to downtown LBC with my Australian chick Ella, me and her used to go to Charles mobile house about three nights a week and pick up shit like maybe a half gram or something. It would always be like at 4 in the morning seriously and I would be covered in paint from whatever masterpiece I was working at the time and it was just so NOT THE SAME as the millions and billions of sheep living in California.

Charles sold drugs. Yah for Charles. I trusted him more than I have ever trusted anyone in my life. Implicitly. You know what that word means? Implicitly. Well I don’t know the exact dictionary meaning either but it’s a word that comes to mind when I think of Charles and trust. Like as in, it goes without saying. The dude had my back, any time any place. When I had money I gave him money. When I had none, he took none. It would not be an exagerration to say that Charles has actually given me my stash for the night AND GAS MONEY TO get back home AND A LITTLE MINI STASH for my chick and some sort of tool or gadget, a porno, and some food at least 100 times when I was living in Long Beach.

I would always be broke, being a degenerate gambler, yes its true. But Charles never gave a fuck about that. Literally didn’t give a fuck. Always made the time for me. Always. I tell you what. Straight up. The man meant more to me than almost anyone in this world. I love Charles. I thought he was the coolest person ever and he is my hero. Seriously my life will never be the same and the prospect of visiting California again isn’t even half as appetizing now that he is dead. I am that crushed.

I just found this shit out yesterday and I can’t stop welling up with tears about every 5 minutes. Is there anyone in your life that every time you see this person you feel this swell of affection in your heart and a smile just comes to your lips? Like you guys are so genuinely stoked to be in each others company whenever you get the chance in your busy lives? And once you start talking, all the other people in the room can’t even follow what you guys are talking about because they are just not on that wavelength. That is what we had man. Not in a gay way either for fucks sake. But in a non gay way Charles was a soulmate of mine and I really miss him so terribly much as I am typing this right now on a cold and rainy Melbourne Tuesday, the ninth of August, 2005. I miss you Charlie and I am fucking not very happy about any of this let me tell you.

As always with me and Charles he is paving the way. Charles was the stuff that legends are made of. Let the storytelling start now. I would say Rest in Peace but Charles liked staying up. Not resting. I do too. So all I can say is I love you brother and I miss you and not a cliche here: I will think about you every day for the rest of my life and thank you so much for every little thing you have ever done for me. You fucking rule. Bye Chuck.

meth kills fast cars cheap thrills


I came across this letter on the internet in May of 2010.  At that time I felt an incredible affinity with the guy who wrote the letter to his wife.  I wish I could remember exactly where I found it.  It could have easily been written by me.  I’m not saying that in order to influence your opinion on this topic.  In fact , I am just curious what others think about the issue of drugs and society.  It’s definitely a complex and polarizing issue for most.  Surprisingly, I suppose, my experiences on all sides of this topic have given me a flexible open minded approach in a sense.  I have a hard time saying yes or no, black or white, right or wrong.  Drugs….many shades of grey.  That’s my best answer.  A copout?  100% LOL but…I just don’t think you can deny that its impossible to sum up this issue in a sentence, a paragraph, or even several pages.  What do you think?

dear charlotte…

i know you don’t want to believe this but i‘m not suffering in the slightest

it’s easy to write me off as drug addled and to send me your dramatic texts about not sleeping for a week because you are so worried about me.  and fair enough, i suppose i deserve that but regardless, i am not the same person.  i am different. and different for the better by far.  i’m on the road to a better place 100% for sure.
an open mind, a  friendly attitude, the knowledge that i can persevere under impossible circumstances, somehow hold on, and in the end come out alive and fully intact mentally and physically….these are nothing but states of mind.   but thoughts control your world.   period.  yes i think i am different then everyone else and yes i think i am special and that i am destined to make a direct, positive impact on the world by doing  something amazing and unique to me.  sounds stupid.  whatever. i realize fully that every single person in n.a. and a.a. would scoff 100% at that statement.  in fact, my guess is that the more militant n.a. nazi types would be using profanity laced, high decibel, somewhat frenzied speech to make it clear just how pathetic, self-deluded, idiotic, and dishonest i am to even have the nerve to pretend to be different in any way.
narcissistic maybe.  different? never.
and they will eat this next sentence up like a wino eats trash.
ha ha ha.  i can hear the “oh my fucking god”s and “this pathetic prick”s and the “who does this fucking creep think he is charlotte?”s now.  i’ve read material on quite a few crystal meth abuse oriented websites and it’s like a pattern.  on the blog portion where people write in to share their experience, strength and hope in the form of letters, it never fails.  as soon as a person writes in and freely admits to still using meth and tries to say anything whatsoever other then “i am a hopeless, hell bound addict, please help me before i destroy everything i come in contact with”, the bloodthirsty, incredibly hypocritical, judgmental, bible & big book thumping, cliché laden zealots jump all over him/her like a pack of wolves.
it’s terrifying actually.  lol.  i remember this one letter this guy wrote and he admitted using meth almost daily for two years.  he wrote an incredible, cogent and well reasoned thesis basically, on his experience with crystal. to be fair, he definitely did not advocate drug use, admitted freely that it ruins many lives and in general did not write even one sentence that could have been perceived as inflammatory, boastful, or slightly mocking the community he was addressing; namely recovering addicts and maybe the codependent types from their immediate family/friends.
now charlotte, you know i am a decent writer and i’m telling you like it is.  it was a good, solid 2-3 page document, written with a humble approach.  he simply explained his personal views and his actual journey. this guy got massacred.  he was ridiculed to the point that it was stupid. they just refused to read anything he had written once they saw the part about still using.  once that was out there, nothing, and i mean absolutely nothing he had to say had any credibility in the judgmental eyes of the people who responded to him with hatred and scorn.
it turned me off to the idea of organized treatment in a similar way that i am turned off by the idea of organized religion.  any approach that has “one size fits ALL” and refuses to give credence to individuality makes me want to vomit. i have no idea why but this bible verse from the book of romans “professing to be wise they became fools” comes to mind..  but of course you know me and i’m a bit of a scoffer in general. so when i saw the way that they picked this guy apart, i was over it before i even finished reading the first barb filled response.
the guy was basically asking for advice and said that he gets benefits from using and that thus far in his life, the benefits (delusional or not) that he still receives, compensate for, and, in fact, still overshadow whatever negative consequences he has had to face. and like i said, i read his letter in detail a couple times, and what he was saying, i could totally see as being truthful and realistic.  he actually asked what the others thought, if they could give him some direction, asked if he needs to quit or at least slow his roll, asked if he was an addict (he didn’t believe that he was—fully, anyhow) etc.  basically a guy wanting to tell his side of the story.  clearly he wasn’t at  the point where he could totally relate with addicts who had hit the bottom and were totally fucking out of control.
he wasn’t out robbing, cheating and manipulating everyone and everything to stay high. that’s not to say he wouldn’t end up there nor was he claiming a miracle approach to using that allowed him to be different then everyone else, special or unique.  he made sense though, you know what i mean?  that’s what really got them all so fucking pissed  because he did give some guidelines that he used for staying one step ahead of the drug overtaking his life.  things like drinking water, not using everyday, going to sleep everyday, staying in his social scene, family scene, being employed, exercising, having varied interests and activities, eating plenty of healthy food, taking care of his teeth and hygiene, stuff like that.  and he was asking for some more similar guidelines and just the point of view of some people who knew better etc. well, his point of view did not sit well with anybody.  they tore him a new asshole and quickly dismissed him as an untrustworthy, pathological liar, and a deluded addict who was out of step with reality and doomed.  not one positive word, no encouragement, no welcoming explanations on why his approach, though sincere, was still misguided….nothing.  the guy probably went out and hung himself after reading the barrage of personal attack laden hate mail that he received in the way of responses.
this from a bunch of addicts who obviously had forgotten what its like to be one themselves.  he admitted he was still using you see and he gave common sense principles that worked to delay him reaching that level of hopeless addict and he was ridiculed hugely for doing that.? speaking for myself i was pissed off because of how damaging i think their attitudes would be to someone who was wavering.  not that i was wavering ha ha ha fuck that shit but IF i would have been and i saw that i wouldn’t be wavering EVER and i know a lot of kids feel the same way.  its like if you don’t conform to their dogma that your life is so hopeless and unmanageable that you can’t live without “keep coming back it works if you work it” then you should be cast out and ridiculed.  a big reason people use drugs  in the first place is that whole rebellious, anti authority thing, not wanting to be a square and all that.  reacting  like the guy was satan made me feel even more rebellious.  i was like “if this is what you get when you get clean then i wanna stay dirty baby”.
exclusion because you are different……….  how is that approach pragmatic?  the only reason they attacked is because of the fatal mistake the guy made when writing his letter.  he gave an ALTERNATIVE option that didn’t revolve around the principles of narcotics anonymous and EVEN worse didn’t force a person to abstain completely if they chose not to.  and that’s what i hate about twelve step programs in general.  again, you know me, and the whole “it’s my way or the highway” doesn’t sit well with me and in fact makes me do the opposite most of the time.  i’m not the only one. believe me i know that they reacted so strongly because they didn’t want anyone who had already decided that their shitty lives had become unmanageable to change that decision because of this dude’s words and come to the conclusion that maybe they could possibly go back to using and control it.  delusional thinking for sure and not a good idea by any means.  however, the bully tactics employed by those who responded to this guy did way more harm then good.  you could tell they felt super threatened by this seemingly harmless guy and his calm and reasonable approach to the situation.
i truly hope you never take the zealots approach to your treatment and recovery.  far better to be flexible in every area of your life and use the knowledge you have gained in rehab and in meetings etc to form a living, breathing, powerful, and INCLUSIVE set of guidelines for sustained recovery from addiction.  to give you a perfect example i’ll just say this, the responses i read all reminded me of my hypocritical brother, a guy who gets fucking wasted, pisses on peoples couches, does shit loads of cocaine and then deigns to give me advice on me and my fucked up life to a point where you just want to vomit at the hypocrisy.   enough said.
hysteria in any form either from an addict or the cured set, is ugly and scary.  please don’t harden yourself ever, to the realities faced by people who are out in the world with nobody to share their lives with, unhappily existing in a vacuum without an iota of faith that their life has a chance of becoming fulfilled and happy. sure that fucking marine drill sergeant approach may bring some hardcore addicts in for treatment.  long term though, intolerant ranting type name calling and angry tirades will push away the people who really probably have the best chances of success.  i’m referring to people who are considered as “functioning addicts”. lol, i’m too much of a coward to send my letter into the website so i am addressing my complaints with your community in a more personal way, one on one with my ex wife lol..you should make it your mission to come up with some groundbreaking way of solving my issues.  that would be awesome and it would help a lot of people because i’m positive that many people out in the world would agree with my point of view number one and number two belong to that “functioning addict” group, and still possess enough individuality and strength to veto any treatment option that is going to talk down to or ridicule them.
only fucked up, rogue, third world piece of shit, hellhole countries with despotic tyrannic leaders  rule their people by eliminating the brave souls who dare to voice a contrary  opinion.  ever hear of the khmer rouge?  google it.    charlotte you need to bring n.a. out of the dark ages, they are using methods of governing their people that are also used in  iran, china, north korea, haiti, africa,   i think you are amazing enough to actually pull n.a. out of the twentieth century and into the modern world. anyway i remain yours,

 

toby

check out this site:  http://www.kci.org/

Brenda Bayne might roll over in her grave if she knew that her grandson Anthony Mandich used her image in such a way!! Hahahaha I love you granny!

By the way, if you read that letter and you thought that it was written by me, its because it was.

Sorry I don’t own a pair of Roller Skates


two young kids Anthony and Natalie Mandich before we were actually Mandich's

I’ve got my ex-girlfriend over here right now babbling about roller skating upstairs on the hardwood floors.  I had to tell her sorry but I don’t own a pair of rollerskates.  I’d rather push around on a skateboard even if I do it badly.  Apparently, I’m a “son of a bitch” too, which would not make my dear, dear mother very happy to hear hahahaha.  At least that’s what I just overheard in a conversation the ex was having with her drunk momma .

Apparently I am now persona non grata in the South Coast Metro area.  I’m not really very shaken up about it though.  I have other, more urgent, fish to fry at the moment.  As to what I did to earn “son of a bitch” status I have no idea and I don’t really care to tell you the truth.  Drunk wind baggery if you ask me.  Never been a big fan of drunks, even when I was one for a few years back in the nineties.  Its kind of funny or rather kind of ironic that I’m so hated in that household because I have truly never been anything but nice to that woman and I even get along splendidly with her dog, a little yapping barking ingrate who I managed to somehow cultivate quite a bond with.  Dogs do like me.  Maybe because I am one?  Topic for another day.

I’ve got lots of shit going on in my life, most of it not exactly on the great side.  We are losing the house here in two days.  It is getting auctioned off on March 23rd, 2011 and that is when my bubble is really going to burst.  I’ve really gotten accustomed to having the run of this place, its been amazing and I will really be sad to give up my Cowshit Castle when that dreadful day finally comes.  The entire house is pretty much empty right now except for mattresses without sheets and the contents of my art studio/office where I am typing this fascinating shit right here and now.

I’ve got no idea where I’m going to go.  I’ve got no money to get there.  All I have is my talented hands, my paintings and art supplies and my sexy self and not so sexy car.  Plenty of people are sure to be thinking that if I end up homeless and in the gutter its only my deserved reward for being such a jackass.  To them I offer a hearty “Fuck Off….but I do it with a smile on my face because I’m not really serious.  Shit, they are probably right.  I don’t really give a shit about the rights or wrongs of the whole situation.  It is what it is and I’m a fighter who will never give up.

This is all just a wakeup call for me to start being a little smarter with my assets and less inclined to procrastinate and lollygag my way through life.  Time to pump a little Ouspensnky urgency into my everyday life and frankly I welcome the challenge.  Stay tuned for updates on the living situation.  Whether you, constant reader, are a friend or foe, a hater or a supporter, you’ll be anxious to hear the outcomes of this somewhat urgent situation.  LOL.

Fairytales

I’ve kinda gotta run right now for a couple of reasons.  My sister Theresa has commissioned me to do a painting of a baby giraffe for her daughters room in their new house in Norco.  I agreed to do it for the insane price of $100.  So I’ve gotta knock that out here tonight.  Not only that my friend Ian McCall is in New Jersey right now for an audition/tryout for Season 14  of The Ultimate Fighter and I want to call him up and find out how that is going.  Anyways thanks for reading and I welcome any comments or suggestions, constructive or venom laced it matters not.

Oh yeah one last thing.  We went to mediation in Los Angeles last Wednesday for the case involving the death of my sister Natalie while in custody of the Riverside Sheriff’s Department on Valentines Day in 2009.  I have nothing to report as far as results, conclusions, new information etc however.  This time it was much ado about nothing as all we did was stand outside the mediators palatial estate in Century City while he met with representatives of the County of Riverside and our attorney, the capable and effervescent Richard P. Herman.  Rather disappointing, especially for my poor mother, who seemed crestfallen at the lack of new information regarding the exact circumstances of my sisters passing.  Stay tuned for further updates on this sad tale as well.

the fucking title says it all foolio

All is not misery and strife however!  Be sure of that.  I skated a good 35 miles last week which felt great and that’s always a good thing right?  Talk to you people later.

P.S.  Apparently my real father, Maurice Lloyd is very sick right now and in hospital.  My thoughts and prayers are with him and his family in Vancouver.  Get well soon MO!

Sincerely,

Anthony John Mandich