Lady Gaga fanmail address

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Hi

Below is the amazing story of a man who was mistaken as gay because of a misinterpretation of one word in a short conversation.  He suffered 30 years of bullying, exclusion and violence yet not once did he tell his tormentors that he was not gay.

We are running an explosive promotion for the opening of LADY GAGA‘s LITTLE MONSTERS social networking community.  This movement can only work with a heartfelt effort by you, our LADY GAGA fan sites.  We need you to promote Rashomon by a mass email to your members and to display the saga on your site if possible.  We have put a post in LITTLE MONSTERS directing LADY GAGA’s fans to your site.

It’s time to stop bullying, homophobia and hatred.  Become part of LADY GAGA’s team by doing your part for the underdog.

All my best.

Karl Doucet

UMSG

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ps

Rashomon is a 1950s Japanese movie showing different perspectives on one heinous crime.

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This is the true story of a man who was mistaken as gay for 30 years.

Malicious lies were told of him and he was ostracized from his society.  He collected his tormentors lies and misdeeds until the day that he would take his revenge simply by reveling the personal secret that each hid in shame.  This is that day.

Each actor in this play can confirm only their part in this ridiculous saga, which can be seen true as a whole only after all of the pieces have been proven on their face.

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First Contact:  Gordy McLelland

Gordy hired a hooker to be the nanny for his 3 children while his wife was away for 2 weeks.  He had the hooker parade half naked for 100 basketball players and several sworn officers of the law.  story below.

email:   gmclennan@ newtonfalls fp.com

Employer:  Newton Falls Fine Print who seem to be having some trouble with mill closings

Work Tel:  (315) 848-2406

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Rashomon

I ask you to email this story to 10 friends and ask each to do the same, in the hope that someday this letter will end up in the mailbox of one of the protagonists and that they will search out the others to confirm my tale of woe.

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“the tragic or the humorous is a matter of perspective”   Arnold Beisser

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The Tale Of  Mr Poo Hands

My platonic friend Colin MacDonald liked an attractive girl at his work and was making his moves for a date when a new good looking male employee was hired.  Colin’s object of affection was wooed and word got around the office that she wanted the new guy to ask her out for a date.

Realizing that his window of opportunity between the boyfriend and friend zones was quickly closing Colin concocted a daring last ditch plan to put up a cock block.  Colin waited for the new guy to go to the bathroom and then followed him in.  After they both washed and dried their hands at the same time Colin followed him out then made a horrendously disgusted face behind his back, in the direction of a couple of coworkers. 

“He went in the stall for a shit and then walked right out of the bathroom without washing his hands, it was disgusting!  I am never touching anything that he’s picked up and I’m going to watch him so I’m sure.  Mr Poo Hands!”

And that was it, all that it took.

Once the rumor is spoken twice it becomes a fact that would follow the new guy through his job and life outside of the office for the rest of his life:  “Don’t shake hands with him, he’s Mr Poo Haaands!  He gets shit on his hands and doesn’t wash after going to the toilet!  The guy is fucking disgusting!”

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I look back on my life not as a continuous stream of time but in moments, instants in time that can alter the course of a life forever.   A loved one dying, being told that you have cancer.  One second – one word – of miscommunication that can turn the course of a life forever.  After that instant in time nothing is ever the same again, like walking through the looking glass.

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Tracey Bowie (aka Smiley): The Love Of My Life

I met Tracey when I was a councilor at a UPEI summer basket ball camp which she attended as a player.  I was immediately smitten but according to the unwritten camp councilor honor system suggestions one does not approach romantically the players.  So each time I was laying beside some girl that I had drunkenly picked up at Gentleman Jim’s bar that week I thought – “When this camp is over …. “

A few days after returning to UPEI for the fall semester I broke up with my long time girlfriend Jen to go out with Tracey.  I wanted Tracey to feel valued and for her father (ex RCM Po-lease who might have shot me) not to think that I was just going to ravish their teenage daughter, so I thought that I’d wait a week before getting to the ravishing.  

7.  Whole.  Days.

Tracey and I were together for 4 days, the happiest 4 days of my life.  Then she jumped ship and landed on the virile Jimmy Dowe of the Charlottetown Rural boys basketball team.  She was rumored to say about me: “It was like going out with my brother Trevor, a girl has to get some action.”

So I took Jen back, who had lost 23 lbs starving herself over the 4 days Tracey and I were together.  I knew that Jen must’ve been really happy going out with me because no matter how poorly I treated her or how many times I broke up with her or how many times I cheated on her – she always found her way back to me to apologize.  And then put the weight back on nicely.

I knew that Jen would always treat me fairly when speaking to others.

I tried to set Jen up with my platonic teammate Ron Valentine, sitting Jen beside Ron at team gatherings.  Nothing happened and I think that Ron thought that I might kill him out of spite. 

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Mike “Bunny” Morgan:  Alpha Male of the shower stalls

Mike reminded me of a velociraptor – great big legs with skinny little arms and upper body.  He always jumped off two feet and had an incredible move for getting open to get his shot off.  He would jump off two feet and land on both feet about 3 feet to the side where he’d launch himself with another bunny hop and sink a great 10’ jumper.

I thought that Mike would be great at breaking a full court press, he could jump around like in a Mario Brothers video game, turning sideways for two jumps to get around the defense then turning back to the basket and hopping away to the Mario Brothers music.

As amazed as I was with Mike’s bunny hop prowess I was equally amazed that this move was legal under CIAU rules.  But Mike went on to be an All Canadian player while I played in the Pedicodiac River Valley men’s winter basketball league so what the fuck do I know.

Mike had a peculiar habit in the showers after practice, he would walk into one of the two occupied stalls and pivot his hips back and forth to swing his ample penis while trying to hit his opponent on the hips or the buttocks.  Mike’s penis had been named The Weapon by Ayon, which told me more about Ayon than I could see about Mike.  All of the players would cheer on their favorite in a one sided battle which usually included Mike and Curtis:

Curtis: “AAAAAHHHH!  GIT AWAY FROM ME MIKE!  DON’T TOUCH ME O LORD JESUS SAVE ME!”

“GIT HIM MIKE!”

“GIT UNDER ‘IM AND BUNNY HOP ‘IM MIKE!”

“LOOK OUT CURTIS,  HE’S GOING TO CORNER YOU!”

This was the first time that I had seen a naked black man climb a sheer wall and hang from the celling.

I was somewhat concerned as I had watched enough prison movies to know what happens to pretty white boys who showered with 11 black men.  But I wanted to give them a chance, to really learn the inner city culture and to understand my teammates from their perspective.

After weeks of observation and analysis of this dance I finally realized my mistake:  these guys weren’t butt pirates, this was some kind of inner city shower ritual that ensured the alpha males a warm shower where hot water is a limited resource.  How could I have thought these guys were fags when all they were doing was slapping their dicks against each other’s hips and ass in the shower stalls then chasing each other around the dressing room naked to the cheers of the rest of the team?

I now understood why Ron would tilt his head 15 degrees to the side and shake it back and forth while he grimaced at the spectacle.  Ron didn’t think that Curtis was about to have sex that the rest of us had no business watching, Ron was thinking: “Damn!  My nigga’ Curtis be git’n schoo’ed!  Be cold showers again t’night.”

I was glad that I had taken the time to understand some of what it is to a black inner city ball player and that I didn’t ruin our blooming friendships but I had my grades to consider so I moved to a different residence where I could have a single room and shower behind a locked door with all the hots water I wants.

I figured that I would save a lot of time, what without all the shower bustling and penis namings, that I could devote to drinking until I could no longer remember the day’s practice.

Instants In Time

I was taking Psychology 101 from a 40 something professor who was still cool because he smoked pot.  We had an open discussion on Anal Retentive Behavior and I had to admit that I was myself obsessing on details and I had to relax a bit.  The professor also joked that “Anal Retentive” could be shortened to just “Anal” and we all had a great laugh and were smug in our new found knowledge.

After class I was walking toward my fortified dorm room when I crossed paths with Mike outside of the engineering building.  Mike was an always friendly, warm and smiling guy and chirped out a “How ya doing!” as we approached with each other and I replied “I’m stuck in the Anal stage Mike.”

For some reason Mike didn’t laugh and his face was frozen with his mouth fully open and I deduced that Mike did not know what Anal meant.  

The term anal-retentive (also anally retentive), commonly abbreviated to anal,[1] is used conversationally to describe a person who pays such attention to detail that the obsession becomes an annoyance to others, potentially to the detriment of the anal-retentive person. The term derives from Freudian psychoanalysis

My first thought was “Don’t embarrass Mike!” about his poor vocabulary.  Mike was a product of UPEI’s infamous “You’re accepted if you pass your first year” enrollment policy which afforded 11 of our 12 players a chance to earn a good education for a year. 

So I cut the conversation short, said bye and turned to walk away as Mike remained frozen in place, mouth still drop jaw open and his face showing a mixture of horror, terror and disgust in varying proportions.

It wasn’t until I took my third step that I realized that Mike did indeed know what Anal meant.  I felt a chill sweat travel through my body and I couldn’t remember what I was suppose to be doing and finally realized that I’m a breathing animal and I had to pull air in and push it out of my lungs via my mouth.

This was one of those instants in time in which nothing was the same after as it was before and the consequence of this short greeting would certainly affect the course of my life forever.

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Ayon Pettigrew (sexual predator) – the only black man to earn the title “Poor White Trash Lazy”

Some people thought that Ayon was slimy because he took the time to carefully plan a peep hole between the men’s and women’s basketball change rooms.  Ayon worked the equipment cage at night and used his time to drill a hole through both plaster board walls with a pen.  But not just a straight line of sight to the opposite wall as one might think.  Ayon took the time to measure the holes’ angles to give a line of sight straight through the two holes to the middle of the girls dressing room.  This was the most enthusiasm and work Ayon showed as both a basketball player and student while at UPEI. 

Other people thought that Ayon was slimy because he’d tape record young girls during sex then try to get them to say that he was good, then play the recordings for the team to hear while wearing his teeth together shit eater grin.  “eeeyeahaaa” was a sound that I would hear once too often in the coming months.

Still other people thought that Ayon was slimy because he had a penchant for driving other peoples’ cars, and yet once again Ayon was misunderstood.  You see what had happened, and what Ayon freely told the Po-lease, was that Ayon had rented the car for a week from a black guy on a street corner and there was no paper work because the black guy didn’t want to pay tax on the income.

Personally I was amazed that any black man could earn an income by renting their $75,000 luxury car from a street corner to strangers without asking for paper work or a driver’s license.

Unfortunately for Ayon the “a black guy on a street corner” defense only works for white people and I’ve always wanted to ask Ayon if was better to give a blow job or take it up the ass while in lockup.

The very best that I can say about Ayon is that he was the absolute worst university basketball player that I have ever seen.  Ayon was a 5’9” guard who could not dribble twice in a row with his left hand.  He could not move side to side while dribbling with his right and could only go straight ahead after revving up for 2 seconds, his tell.  Ayon could neither sink a 15 footer nor a left hand layup and was sketchy at best when defended on the right.  He could only pass to an open stationary man and could not remember the simplest of offensive plays, often blaming his missteps on the defense.  Coach Hilton openly called him “The Excuse Man”.

How did this happen?  Who was to blame?

Certainly not Coach Hilton who had inherited the team intact as the interim coach.  Cutting Ayon from the team would be the pleasure of the new full time coach the following year.

Certainly not assistant coach Courtney Betty who had somehow learned how to put Ayon out of his head during his previous year as a player.

And perhaps not even the stately Coach David Nutbrown who had recruited Ayon as a 31 year old working part time in a Mr Sneaker outlet.  It was actually the strain of coaching Ayon that was the catalyst for Dave’s decent into madness until finally Nutsy was banished to a locked gym at Acadia University, never again to enjoy the red sands of Prince Edward Island.

The first day of pick up I was playing defense on Ayon when he pretended a two handed pass over my head and when I turned around to follow the pass Ayon pulled the ball back over my head.  When I turned back Ayon, still holding the ball above his head with 2 hands, fashioned his best shit eater grin and through clenched teeth and said “eeeyeahaaa”.

I thought “Huh, they do that in university ball?”  I quickly made a devilish plan and the very next time up the floor when Ayon faked his pass again I put both arms straight up in the air, stood up and walked backwards, knocking the ball from Ayon’s hands.  I turned to pick up the ball and passed it to Billy Redman so he could do some kind of Larry Bird thing and I could learn something about basketball from the day.

Confident that I had seen Ayon’s entire repertoire I was awed when he adapted so quickly.  Instead of faking the pass Ayon would still hold the ball with two hands but was now moving the ball to the back of his head and bending forward at the waist while looking me in the eyes.  “eeeyeahaaa”.

Out foxed I retired to my own private dorm room (now named Masada), showered, then set about my nightly ritual of spending an hour meditating on the day’s hoops, from the change in temperature between the outer and inner gym doors to my escape from shower bustling after practice.

I came up with a move that would later evolve into a rebound steal that won me so many friends among forwards in the Moncton Beer League (MBL).  When Ayon took the ball up and back I would put my hand by Ayon’s forehead, palm away from head.  When he brought the ball forward, which he had to do at some time, I would flick my wrist and knock the ball out of Ayon’s hands, pick up the ball, pass to Billy.  I practiced the move in my room that night then again the next day in the gym during my 2 hour pre practice practice.  I was ready.

Fortuned smiled upon me that day as my defensive move worked one hundred percent of the time.  I thought that I was the cat’s meow until my physics professor told me that mater cannot occupy the same space with other mater so my ploy was about as complicated as dropping a coin in a gum ball machine.  She was Asian so I figured that she knew what she was talking about and I was humbled.

As time went on I saw that no one was going to do anything about Ayon so I decided to blind him.

The next practice Ayon went into his regular “eeeyeahaaa” routine and I moved my right hand from it’s usual forehead high to chin high, palm up.  When Ayon bent at the waist I drove the middle finger of my right hand into his left eye socket up to the second knuckle, using Ayon’s own forward momentum against himself.  He only got to “ee …”.   I thought that that ought to do it but when Ayon’s skull slowly feel off my finger and onto the floor I noticed that there was no blood or eye juice and I knew that couldn’t be good. 

I’m not sure how long Ayon was out of practice but as the maxim goes: a minute is an instant in the arms of a beautiful woman but an eternity over a flame.  Ayon was gone but for an instant and back for what seemed an eternity.

For all this Ayon might have been my best friend on the team.  After I became Mr Poo Hand’s Ayon tried to set me up with teammate Evan Forbes by telling me that Evan said that I was rugged.  I always meant to thank Evan for the compliment but I’d have to hurt his feelings by telling him “Sorry man, I’m not gay.”

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Down Town Curtis Brown:  The King Of Smooth

I have never had nor will I ever have anything but good to say about The King.  Like his soulmate Ron, Curtis was always a gentleman’s gentleman.

There were 3 distinct situations on the court in which all eyes had to be on Curtis and this was when he was at his best, a showman.  

The first is when Curtis ran fast down the left side of the court, catching the ball and changed direction 90 degrees, getting 30” off the ground in a quarter second.  Perfect form jumper from 25 feet that hits nothing but net.

The second was when he did his run from the left side dribbling right handed, turn sideways jump and dunk with his right hand over his head as he floats towards the baseline.  

And the third and most important of course was to do his pretend defensive slide back below our foul line extended after completing one or two, palms out chest high, eyes bulged, lips pursed and looking straight ahead into nothing while not breathing.

I needed a test subject and Curtis was it, easily the fastest runner from free throw line to free throw line on the team.  But how could I use my knowledge of Curtis’ game for the advantage of all humanity?

Earlier that day I walked by a TV that showed two guys running into each other full speed then flying backwards about 10’.  “No way!”  Little did I know they wore wires to pull the runners backwards and no one bothered to tell me.  This was an invitation to disaster. 

As the team warmed up for post season scrimmage I tossed the ball in the general direction of the hoop while I scanned the team with my peripheral vision, judging Curtis’ energy level for the day.  I had decided that the only way to get Curtis to terminal velocity while looking up was to create an open court loose ball situation that could quickly develop into a sideways dunk if Curtis picked off the loose ball in time, a rare pleasure.

I read the play like a book and I reached my maximum speed just before Curtis redirected his momentum to jump upward for the loose ball. Terminal velocity!  Criss Cross!  

I was shocked when my experiment didn’t produce results anything like those on TV.  My eye’s flashed white and my left arm was numb and I had a strange pain in the left side of my chest.  I circled Curtis’ prone body counter clockwise, opening and closing my left fist to work out the numbness in the arm.  My left lung was paralyzed too so I had to suck in air though clenched teeth and snort it out though my nose in what must have sounded like an angry predator snarling as it circled it’s downed prey because our team mates formed a semi circle about 4 feet out from my circling radius and watched Curtis wondering if he was going to die.

What hurt me more that the crushing realization that I’d never breath normally again was my fear that Curtis would be depressed by our failure.  But as Curtis had always been there for me in the past he came through big this time with his best William Shatner in The Wrath of Khan, reaching from death’s door as Curtis reached up from the floor:  “K’all!  K’all!” (You have to say each syllable with one outward breath, like you’re coughing the word, the last sentence all in one breath, start again)  “K’all!  K’all!  I’m going to kill you K’all!”

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Doris MacPhee: Jesus’ roll model

Doris was a cute little girl with nothing upstairs, neither in her chest nor her mind.  I helped her through a relatively simple finance class taught by professor Bob Rorak.  The 3 segments of this crippling business course were simple linear algorithms so I thought the tutoring would be easy.  Have you ever spent your night with a female Scooter?

Doris repaid me for my kindness one night by yelling to me “We’re going to pick up some guys, wanna come?”, then enjoying a good laugh with her clique  A true catholic if ever there was one.  I followed Doris to church one day to see what that might get me and Father Pete said “Good for you, I knew that you’d come to us eventually.”

Doris hopped groups for the final project of the degree so she could bask in the holiness of an all heterosexual group, just as Jesus would do.  So to fuck with her tiny mind I told her that I was going to get an 80 on the course then got exactly that.  I did George the same way after I got tired of class and flunked 4 of 5 courses just because I refused to be bullied into writing exams.  I told George not to worry about it, that I’d make the dean’s list next semester.  Which I did to the decimal point and zeros over 5 classes.

I met Doris for the last time at a women’s alumni basketball game, I asked her when she played next, that I’d come watch the game.  Doris replied:

“No don’t come.”

I came bearing three signs yet I was denied but again.

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Ria and Paula: A most unfortunate sequence of events

I had been working on the north shore of PEI for the summer, running a shock and awe campaign from my latest travesty of business.  When I went back to UPEI I dropped by the gym and met 2 of the most beautiful young ladies that I had seen in some time, Ria and Paula.

We talked and got to know each other a bit, but I was in a rocky relationship with a girlfriend who would later become my wife, the mother of my only child, and soon after my ex wife.  I had acquired the most perplexing habit of not cheating on girlfriends, which I would regret for years.  I could never ask out either Paula or Ria until I was single.  Code.

Later that weekend I made my way back to the gym, hoping that I wouldn’t have to pick between my two new friends.  I walked up to the equipment room smiling a “Hi” at my best buddies and they stared at me unspeaking, a disgusted look on both faces.  I had been at the beach all sumer and hadn’t thought about him for even an instant but I was once again Mr Poo Hands.