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Random Thoughts (re-post)
Blog Posted:9/26/2012 3:15:00 PM
Someone on the Soup asked if Harry Horsman is my Father.
I found this to be quite an intriguing question,
especially considering our surnames(re-marriage, etc, could
make such things possible, I suppose).
Harry isn't my Father, but if he was, I am sure that he would
be a good Dad.
On the topic of Fathers, I was wondering how many people on
the Soup know about all of my Dads? You see, I have four Fathers;
two of them are biological.
Now, most people don't believe that two separate sperm belonging
to two different donors, could fertilize the same egg.
I say bullocks to the non-believers, as I am living proof~!!
I never understood why this was such a hard thing to believe,
especially when considering some of the other facts about my life.
Such as the fact that even though I was born in 1973,
I was arrested under the guise of McCarthyism in Ohio,
during the spring of 1953.
Now THAT is much harder to believe than the possibility of two sperm
from separate donors successfully fertilizing the same embryo, right?
Yet, I was arrested as a Red in 1953, and imprisoned for 4 years,
a full 20 years before I was born.
Add to the confusion, the fact that I was also born in 1975.
I have led a crazy life so far.
At the moment, I am raising a pack of Triceratops....
....needless to say, it is an expensive and time-consuming venture.
Alright, so now back to my two biological Dads.
Dad number one is, Mick Jagger, and Dad number two is, John Lennon.
The most amazing thing about this, is how much both Dads detested
each other(not so much publicly, though),
yet they ended up in the same bed....
....well, you know wot I am talking about.
I call(ed) them: Mick-Dad and John-Dad.
I got my cheekbones, nose and hair from John-Dad;
my lips and libido from Mick-Dad.
Most people feel sorry for me that my Fathers are Jagger and Lennon -
you know, the whole bad example analogy surrounding Mick-Dad,
and because John-Dad was murdered by Mark D. Chapman(may he die a
Ok, Mick-Dad almost ruined my life, I can admit this;
but I still love him as a Dad.
No questions asked.
The problem wasn't so much Mick-Dad, as it was, Uncle Keith.
Keith Richards isn't really my Uncle; I just called him Uncle Keith.
One of my Mick-Dad's worst judgement calls, was to have Uncle Keith
babysit me a lot. Uncle Keith partied, but contrary to belief,
he spent a lot of time getting drunk and high in a more private setting,
inbetween tours, albums, and drug-induced orgies.
By the time I was four, Uncle Keith had me drinking booze
like a fish drinks water.
By the age of six, I was smoking cigarettes and experimenting with narcotics.
I vividly remember being six years old in the summer of 1978(remember,
since I was also born in 1975, I was simultaneously 6 and 4 years-old~!!).
Mick-Dad had a year-long lease on a penthouse apartment in
downtown Barcelona, Spain.
Uncle Keith was babysitting me, because Mick-Dad was visiting one
of his many mistresses.
He turned to me and said:
"Heahernnnnnn 'aveah chumun ovah shishiloumbah."
99% of wot Uncle Keith said was indecipherable by me.
I simply took a wild stab, guessed at wot he meant.
He held out his hand, showcasing a blue pill in his palm.
Because I was six, I figured he was offering me one of those
Uncle Keith poured me a triple Scotch, no water,
to help wash down wot I believed at the time to be a multivitamin.
20 minutes later, I was so high,
that I had cranked up the stereo and was dancing.
I believed that my dancing was generating the electricity
needed to run the building, and how if I stopped dancing,
there wouldn't be any electricity to power the stereo....
....or anything else, for that matter.
The sun was going down,
and the prospect of hanging out with Uncle Keith in the dark,
filled me with nightmarish trepidation.
He was scary enough with the lights on.
For me to keep the lights going,
I had to keep generating electricity by dancing.
Uncle Keith was clapping along, rolling around on the couch,
laughing himself silly.
He kept shouting:
"Hupargh ah lil' butah loudah boooooiiiii!"
I believe he had been telling me to crank the music louder
because he couldn't hear it?
Regardless, he seemed to be having a blast watching me dance,
while he snorted massive piles of cocaine from off the coffee table.
This was just the tip of the iceberg.
6 months later, I was snorting cocaine with Uncle Keith.
The lines were fatter than two finger widths.
Then, just as I was becoming addicted to shooting smack with Uncle Keith,
John-Dad came to my rescue.
John Lennon was nothing like the media and fans/haters believed him to be.
Yes, he didn't help raise my half-brother, until Julian had turned 4 years old.
Yes, he didn't intervene with me, until I was 6 years old.
Yes, he had done copious amounts of drugs, and had been a
violent prick during his 20s -- but that was in his past.
He was a resilient man.
He wasn't the space cadet that people made him out to be.
By the time he saved me from the clutches of Uncle Keith
and my sex-addicted Mick-Dad, John-Dad had turned over a new leaf.
He wanted to be a good Father, even if it meant hardly recording any
And wot a wonderful Father he was. Sincerely.
After sending me to a great rehabilitation centre in Maryland,
John-Dad was nothing short of a loving, nurturing and aware Father.
He was a full-time, stay-at-home parent by this point.
He did all of the grocery shopping, laundry, cleaning, cooked our meals,
and even home-schooled Julian and I.
Unfortunately, this was less than 2 years before he was murdered by Chapman.
Even though our time together was short, he impacted my life for the positive.
I remember how he would wear disguises because he wanted to be able to
traverse the city without guards, chauffers and the whole deal.
We would walk, bicycle, take public transit and cabs all over New York City,
bringing along our sketchbooks. We would simply observe everyday life
together, jotting down quick sketches as we went.
After returning home, we would cut out the newest sketches using
exacto-blades, fix them up, finish them off with water colours.
If it wasn't raining, we would do this exercise out on the balcony,
where we grew all sorts of vegetables together.
In a way, I am thankful that I wasn't in New York on the fateful night
my John-Dad was shot in the back with 4 hollow-points from a .38 Special
revolver(Mark D. Chapman, may you die a violent death~!!).
I had been in the Kremlin on a 3 week visit with one of my other Fathers,
It wasn't until 2 years later, when the reality of the incident truly set in,
and I broke down into a deep spell of depression.
Uncle Paul had Julian and I live with him for about a year.
He really helped us get through this dark period in our lives.
I have fond memories of performing "Blackbird" with Uncle Paul and Julian.
All in all, I feel lucky to have had so many interesting Dads.
Not sure why people feel sorry for me.
Especially when considering the $100 million in my Swiss bank account.
I have nearly fully recovered from the influences of Uncle Keith....
Wot can I say? I was born to Rock & Roll.