The Notebook of Molly Pitcher

The following is a collection of snippets culled from a journal that remained unclaimed at a public library for many years. The title is taken from a person’s name on the inside front cover.
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Stuart Pulkok came running into the kitchen where his parents were arguing and holding up mom’s dildo triumphantly exclaimed “mommy, I found dad’s brain!”

“YOU tend to that” dad uttered viciously to Stuart’s mom as he left to go hide out in the garage for the rest of the day.
“Don’t forget your brain” she said.

Was gonna refer to his father as a tool, making Stu a Stool. But that wouldn’t be very nice to little Stuart Pulkok, who would take out his ineptitude at sports by picking fights on the playground with the kids in the class below him. Later, as an adolescent he would have an inferiority complex because the other kids’ brains were bigger than his.

It also brings up the problem of Stool-like symptoms. Are they Stoolish or Stoolie, making stoolie a descriptive adjective rather than a proper noun. Which would be a bit of a problem when they went to grandma and grandmas on Sunday, where Stuart’s grandfather referred to Stuart’s father as “Stoolie” just as his father did to Stoo…er, uh, Stuart whenever he was jealous mom paid more attention to Stuart.

(2)

Dear Director,

While my phone is charging I just wanted to offer a little constructive observation of your latest film. While I can appreciate the more mature audience you are engaging with with your cast of 30 something mega celebrities, if you are going to do a crime thriller with a serial murderer you might want to make the denouement scene a little more realistic or risk coming off campy. For instance, given the unlikely event that the dickish police investigator captain expires instantly due to a knife wound, during the shot on his eyes-opened face he shouldn’t be looking as though he were sleeping with his eyes open. The look on his face should resemble a Munch painting.

Also, if a half ton hydraulic bed smashes a man’s hand against the rail he would probably pass out or go into shock. If he pulls his hand away all he will have are nubs and sinew hanging from his wrist. If you don’t want to show that to your audience don’t have the actor hold his hand in front of the face of your star character for 5 seconds with only a big gash on his hand.

I’m sorry, I have more to offer but I’ve got to go. Mom is being bitchy because she said I wasn’t any fun to go to the movies with. Idk, but your movies don’t scare me as much as going to church. Thank god I go to dad’s on the weekend.

(3)

Then the old man said,

“I mean, fok, if politicians are going to start the scare propaganda over criminals in an election year and that it is righteous and satisfying to kill a drug dealer while so many kids are at risk for their lives every day at school… why don’t we just save all the bullshit and get to the fecal point with a well funded anti drug campaign- Make America Shit Again – stop taking all the pain medication?”

Dad told me to never answer questions when a stranger is talking to me so I just told the old man “I got to go pee.” And then I waited for dad at another table.

The man had left before dad came back from the can. But when I told dad what the man had said he thought about it for a minute and said “I do kinda wonder why that Shkreli character gets 7 yrs. for illegally dealing drugs while it is somehow more satisfying to issue a death warrant to another drug trafficker. It seems Foucaultian. Like a human sacrifice more than justice.”

When I told Mom what the man said she demanded to know why dad hadn’t complained to the manager about the man talking to me. I told her the man was just sitting there talking and not bothering me. Dad told me not to answer anyone so I got up in left. Mom sent dad a text. I am sure dad ignored it.

Dad says the key to winning an argument with someone is to never ask them a question. Mom says that’s stupid. The key is having the right answers. “Whose,” I asked, yours or the other person’s?”
She said there are only right or wrong answers. Dad says mom really isn’t as stupid as she sounds. She’s just obstinate.

(4)

Dad said “I was actually told by a sandwich artist the other day, after she asked what kind of cheese I wanted and I told her to just sprinkle parmesan cheese on it and toast it “we don’t do that till the end. Would you like mozzarella?” “No,” he said.”Sprinkle some parmesan cheese on it and toast it.” That was the 18 yr old supervisor. The 50 year old part timer who has made about a dozen sandwiches for dad (under a dozen different supervisors) completed the sandwich for him with a smile. I told a few people this who seemed more preoccupied with dad’s apparently novel idea of pizzafying a roasted chicken sandwich rather than the dumb response from the Subway Nazi.

(5)

The Subway line was too long today and I was fukeen starving so it was either gas station sandwich or Mcdonalds, all that the small town had to offer. Either way, a gastrointestinal issue was surely to occur. So I went through the drive thru. Wasn’t wearing my glasses so I couldn’t read the menu but saw the big pic of the chicken tenders and ordered the muthafukkas and the voice on the other end asked me what kind of sauce I wanted. The blurry menu offered me no clue as I stammered “uh, hmm, uhh…” I looked in the mirror at the 6 cars in back of me, turned to the mic and blurted “hell, I don’t know. Just put something in the bag for me. I never order this sh…stuff.”

The pleasant voice who told me she was putting such and such sauce with my order turned out to be a woman in her 50s who told me to let her know if I liked the Szechuan sauce. Which translated means “you, too, are a goober, just like the rest of us, and you are welcome here. Just make sure you have some money to spend.”

(6)

I mean, fok, if politicians are going to start the scare propaganda over criminals in an election year and that it is righteous and satisfying to kill a drug dealer while any kid is at risk for their lives every day he goes to school, why don’t we just save all the bullshit and get to the fecal point with a well funded anti drug campaign- Make America Shit Again – stop taking all the pain medication.

(7)

Flowers Forgot about my friend, Otis Scoli. The gym and American History teacher, Mr. Hindsivefelt, reading his ledger calls him “Scoli, Otis” every Wednesday morning.

(8)
“I see the day coming…the end of the pension system. A financial crisis that causes the government to cut off all pmts to private citizens so only the richest and powerful oligarchs own all the assets. Marx’s revolution may not be so far fetched. Our lives are cyclical. We exhibit the same patterns of behavior every generation. Same bodies with their same senses, same desires, same needs utilizing ever sophisticated new tools to do the same things. There is a need to belong to a wider community, but there an infinite number of societies under a nationality. Such nationalities see great hope in unity. Which is conveniently voiced as the reason to police itself and to respect authority. All birds on the branch screeching at each other in the excitement of desperation.”

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End of Journal

(I originally planned to separate these individually into their own posts, but then I had such difficulty getting the right photo edited in the editor to lay well in all devices that it may have created too many pings. For some reason I cannot get the WordPress photo illustrator to lay out a picture that will work in all devices. It is so frustrating because I never really had much of an issue with it. I get tired of seeing the same featured images for all my posts. But I liked the way all of these entries lay as a group. They work well conjunctively. The photo I used is from one of my paintings titled “Meeting with the Teacher.” rjh)

Ronald Hoffman