Max, Taylor, Mike, and Connor Kenan at Meyer family reunion 2009 at lake house of my cousin's, Mary Beth (Meyer) Lernihan and her husband, Greg Lernihan, who owns one of the largest internet security firms in the world.
Uncle Bob's children call the Lernihan family "The Stepford Cousins."
Which smiles do YOU believe are natural???
Good Morning Connor!
No, I did NOT confront the mayor of Puerto Vallarta last night -- I didn’t even get to the festivities. I had actually intended to, but only to put my tall, off-white self (wearing my bright orange T-shirt that I bought at the Decatur, GA Book Festival a year ago. Giant black letters: “GOT BOOKS?”) close enough to the podium for “El Presidente” to be unable to miss seeing me. I really had wanted to shout “VIVA MEXICO!!! VIVA MEXICO!!! VIVA MEXICO!!!” with the crowd afterward, and enjoy the fireworks.
But Enrique Rojas showed up at my apartment late morning -- exactly as I had requested in my blog a few days before -- and also as requested there (I used “visit the bucolic regions” or something like that, which I knew he’d know meant going to the cow pastures near Tuito to partake of magic mushrooms). Well, we did that, but there were no mushrooms -- their season has ended. We traipsed up and down hill and vale for at least two hours, and then went for a long swim in the ocean.
Once home (7:30 PM), I collapsed, exhausted, and slept until 3:30 this morning. Enrique must have suffered the same fate. He went to take down his laundry from a clothesline, and was then to return. He never made it back.
You shouldn’t be surprised that I’m palling again with Enrique. We are past his failed, paid attempt to assassinate me. HE never wanted to do it, and he seems to no longer be smoking the crack he was so into then -- his addiction, the means by which Fernando Merino had manipulated him to try to murder me.
I’ll get to the sexual revelations about my immediate family members at the end of this message. If you are an Enquirer-loving person, you can skip ahead now.
I learned an interesting thing from Enrique: HE was the one who had left the sweet bread at my apartment. This makes perfect sense because through all, he and I always have given each other food, cigarettes, and pesos when the other was in need. That’s why I knew he was ENTIRELY redeemable. He told me he had dropped the 12-inch diameter loaf of bread (bagged) through my window. This ALSO made sense. Although I found it on my counter -- not the floor -- it was slightly flattened from the impact. At the time, THAT had made no sense.
Now, I see that whoever entered my apartment with a key to find the original of the Kenan/Fernando Merino/Hector-the-Engineer land-scam document (and boldly made sure I knew they had cracked my briefcase’s lock code), had thoughtfully put the bread on the counter.
I DID see landlord Mauricio yesterday, and I did give him as much of the back-rent as I could. He remains patient, which is a damn good thing, considering the evidence I have been able to collect against him.
You see, Big Guy, Mauricio’s deputy whom he had had first show me a couple of apartments here, works as a security guard with his best friend from across the street. The best friend is the person Enrique smokes (smoked) crack with. Big Guy’s apartment number has been changed twice and illogically since I moved in. Last I looked, the number was still completely painted over. Big Guy is the one who convinced me when the cops came to get Enrique out of my apartment after the beating -- I thought he still might be there -- that I would be killed if I persisted in filing charges.
The cops witnessed this.
They also (060 vehicle as well as contingent of Tourista Police) ALL refused to give me their names, and in fact refused to keep the business card on which I’d written Enrique’s name as well as his prostitution-business (massage. LOL!!!) web address and his email address. I am looking at it now, sitting on the table exactly where the police left it. (Later, at Police HQ on the road to “Las Juntas” police refused to talk to me and a fist was shaken in my face “FUCK YOU!!! FUCK YOU!!! FUCK YOU!!!” was what they yelled at me as they disappeared behind their locked doors within their gated quarters.)
In the past two times (before yesterday) that Mauricio visited me, he brought a lawyer, hoping to entrap me legally. He/they didn’t.
Yesterday, Mauricio told me how I could pay someone else to get my lock re-tumbled. Excuse me, but providing a secure lock on an apartment is ENTIRELY the landlord’s responsibility. Mauricio still has not explained how to make my air conditioning work or why I had to pay an 80-pesos fee to change the electric account to my name -- and then the electric company absolutely REFUSED to change it without showing THREE documents. They should have waited to charge me until I had those documents -- if, in fact, they are necessary. Mauricio never mentioned their necessity when he told me to change it to my name.
I now believe Mauricio is the one who entered my apartment to find the document. I also believe he operates directly under Fernando Merino, and he, himself (or through Big Guy) arranged for for my assassination through Enrique.
Moreover, I just went to buy a pack of cigarettes, and found that Enrique had cleaned the car out of the pesos that I had told him had fallen out of my pocket, and I would collect later. Additionally, he had tried to drink my one remaining yogurt after eating ALL of my cookies yesterday -- the yogurt without my permission. He saw that the only other food I had was two eggs, which he had asked for and which I had given him. He DELIBERATELY was again operating for my enemies to clean me out of all food and peso -- unlike when he is himself.
For these reasons, I will see that in proper timing, Mauricio and Enrique (if he doesn't COMPLETELY straighten up IMMEDIATELY), and Big Guy are prosecuted to the full extent of the Law.
Nacho, who owns Frida Producciones, CORRECTION and DELETED material was here. Nacho and Frida Producciones have been great to me. My earlier suspicions were in error. Roberto, the handsome guy whom I dealt with most, and Charley, the Buddha-like money man in the back of the store who reminds me of my friend Phil Dietz in Cape May, are totally cool.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX.
Now, to my family.
This gives me no pleasure, but I must honor my commitments. And in fairness, I’ve given them EVERY opportunity to avoid this: Three days ago I called my brother, sister Jane, and mother and told them EXACTLY and in detail what I would reveal. I will reveal no more. Then I sent a message to my nephew Connor by email and Facebook message (these ALWAYS go through -- thank you Facebook!!!) If Connor had responded to me asking me not to do this, I’d have relented, regardless the money.
I should also say that I have not checked email since yesterday morning, so if anyone has relented, I’m not aware of it, but the deadline was midnight 1.5 days ago, so it wouldn’t matter. I feel I have Connor’s tacit approval -- maybe even encouragement. I’ll try to be brief:
My father, whose feats of “swordsmanship” were so well known that by high school he was nick-named “Middle Leg,” had many homosexual experiences after marrying my mother. Many of these he shared with me (including that the one time a prostitute rolled him and he lost his wallet, it had been a man -- not a woman -- as my mother thought she had to tell everyone). Dad sometimes called me from the road when he was traveling on business to ask where the gay bars were.
My brother and his girl friend in high school faked suicide with shallow wrist-cuts. Mike was seen as a handsome, built stud by all -- a super athlete -- but he could not cut the mustard with his girlfriend. The pressure to perform eventually got to them. Since the release of Viagra, Mike has not been able to get it up for a woman without the drug. He had a long-time woman on the side, but that eventually ended. I doubt my sister-in-law, Gail (whom I like ENORMOUSLY), has seen any action from Mike in quite a while. I hope Gail found a REAL man to help her out.
I don't know how many times Mike has had sex with men (other than the time he called me in Key West and sheepishly asked "Ya know how they say cocaine makes ya queer?. . . .") But he DID have a cocaine problem that began then (1981) and got worse as it continued into 1990. So bad, that it began to effect his family's financial stability. Eventually, I felt forced to call his secretary at Sun Oil and tell her.
Immediately after that, it stopped, and Mike also joined AA, a spiritual organization that had been so corrupted after the death of Bill Wilson, that it has been actively used to psychologically prep people to serve in drug trafficking. That is why you will never find winners-in-life attending meetings after they get off the sauce. They KNOW AA is absolute spiritual poison. It is where you learn homosexuality is "against God's Law," although the "straight" attendees at the Tucker Ga meetings LOVED to act out the Village People's song "YMCA," -- and they went EN MASS to see the boys in concert when they came to Atlanta that year.
Disclaimer: I knew the Village People from when they visited Key West in 1980 -- and stole my best bartender (Gary) at the restaurant Tux -- and then later (2002-ish), when a nut-case invited me to visit him in Palm Springs. Turned out his roommate was one of the original members. I just checked, and the page in my physical address book that gives all their names and addresses has been ripped out. I last saw it in place three months ago.
And that same Tucker, GA meeting is where my father (during the half year he stayed with me during and after I was jailed) had so many important meetings with Lee Gosney of Pentagon Publishing -- the person who sent me an email later to say that GA Congressman John Linder's "boss" had ordered my assassination. It was Gerry Flynn, another Pentagon Publishing employee who had regularly raped my contacts and stolen my sales -- but DID have the decency to tell me I was going to be killed and I had NO idea how big this operation was.
I DID eventually find out the truth of that!!!
My sister Jane lays down for any and every black man, and believe me, I’m a bit jealous!!! When we went on the Windjammer cruise in the Caribbean, she slept up on the deck EVERY night so she could ball black, male crew members. She quickly got the reputation as the “Slut of the Boat.”
When he was in second grade, my nephew Connor (Mike and Gail’s oldest, who eventually graduated from UNC Chapel Hill), when the teacher left the room for a few minutes, got up in the front of the class with a classmate, dropped his friend’s pants, and proceeded to give a cock-sucking demonstration for the class. The teacher caught him (and if I correctly remember, was so flustered, she temporarily locked him in a mop closet).
Imagine the tizzy THAT sent his and my parents into!!! After much talk throughout the family, a code a silence about the incident descended.
Connor’s best friend and roommate at Chapel Hill was gay. I never met him, but he was cute as a button and so nice that even my parents had to pretend to like him. They sent me pictures of the two of them with their arms around each other!!! And the whole family says Connor is my spiritual heir -- he’s TOTALLY smartassy!
I dig my nephews and niece like no other people on earth. They are all three so amazing and have every possibility from which they can choose in life. I believe they will all choose well.
Secret note to Chuck and Hilary: We all know why the Mafia-connected Bill Johnson moved to Big Canoe, GA -- to be closer to Newt Gingrich, your ally (whether you knew it or not). Hilary: Remember how the pop guns from Japan were too cool and you insisted we had to peel off the "Made in Japan" labels and sell them despite our advertised policy of no sale of Japanese goods due to Japan's whaling policy? Chuck DID eventually stop us from that. You are so incredibly corrupt, you might hang from the gallows. Chuck too, although I doubt it.
Whale's Talers: Prepare to buy the business!!!
THIS JUST IN!!! I just checked Enrique’s apartment to see if he’d give me back the 5 pesos he stole yesterday from my car’s floor. He was GONE. A crack pipe sits on his door sill -- it wasn’t there when I checked by right before we went to Tuito yesterday. His neighbor in the building -- a known crack dealer -- has cleared out his apartment and fled.
I wonder if my mother has committed suicide yet. I doubt it. Like Hitler, her Savior, she will take as many down with her as possible before doing that. I wonder if she can buy True Blue Sunoco gasoline in Raleigh to be doused with and incinerated after she commits the act.
Stay tuned.
Scott
THIS JUST, JUST IN: I went to the cyber cafe near el Coyul liquor store in my neighborhood to file this report. This is where Enrique goes to use the internet and is owned by a narco-trafficker (although managed by a great guy). It is closed, inexplicably, this morning.
I MUST say that when we got to El Tuito yesterday and saw a virtual Army camp of Federal Narco cops amassed, Enrique nearly shit two bricks!!!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
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