28 July 2013


[ ... ... ON puffing up / inflating / the tumefaction of one's Self with two BOGUS college degrees Dr Herry Edinsmaier never earned and never received ! = Me.hit.able's 'religion' of " image control " and " historical revisionism / negationism ! " ... ... p 216 of Chapter 26, An Opera in Three Acts – But with Five Parts Acts One and Two: Parts One, Two and Three – Their Overture in Book Three's Mother - Fucking ]

" So.

To begin then, “Wha’, Herry?  ‘From 1968 through 1972’ you taught junior high, then suddenly back in Ames you have, you swear, a grad degree in cell biology also in 1972?  But didn’t go to med school until 1975?  That ain’t so at all, now is it, Herry?  No graduate degree #1, Herry – zip, zilch on the master’s degree, right?!  That, well, along with all of your other procrastinations, well, … that just never did happen ever, now did it, Hype – ing Hypocrite Herry?  No diploma ‘tall!  Not even in 1975, which is when you left graduate school after I literally lived with and doctored you day and night, 24 / 7, back to life from a deathly parasitic pulmonary infestation from June 1975, right through till nine days before medical school began in late August 1975, when you were released from Oakdale Sanitarium outside Iowa City to where I’d had Devin drive you at top, breakneck speeds two weeks earlier and he thought those two harrowing hours in the car that you, coughing, gasping, cyanotic and doubled over, … that you were going to die on him right there racing down the interstate.  Okaaay, now that that’s straight, there’s more, isn’t there, Herry?!  How it is I literally saved that sacko’shit life of yours for you, isn’t there?!”

The tangible –– and screaming –– absence of Herry’s master’s degree in cell biology, something really, really easy to prove, well, did anyone bother ever to bring back to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor the actual “evidence” of its existence?!  Of its nonexistence? ! ! ! 
“In fact, the master’s degree’s nonexistence has, indeed, hasn’t it Hype – ing Hypocrite Herry, just exactly the same nonexistence to it as that of a supposedly earned bachelor’s degree in physics ! ! ! which You, the Good and Wonderful Doctor Edinsmaier, to this day in Grubtrop and in Montclank, West Virginia, also claim to have, at one time, merited and deservedly received ! ! ! – but in point of actual fact, continue several decades later to pad thereby falsifying your medical organizations’ and societies’ résumés with and there state (as well as at these several agencies’ websites!) that you once obtained this alleged physics degree at Iowa State University –– when you soooo never did do? ! ! !  Ha!” 

Of course, we already know the answer to that –– along with all of the other NOT! answers to the very same question after every written affidavit lie and almost all of them, if not all of them, most easily and equally ascertained as false and, therefore, lies and – and – and, therefore too, … the crime of perjury!   Ya’ know, the crime detailed at Iowa Code, Chapter 720.2.  IF only they had been.  IF only that other pillar of the community known as daJudge, Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor, had ordered up the tangible proof  of … what it is … ‘he said’! "

26 July 2013


[ I do not know what piles of lies, acceptance, practice and, when believed to be gotten away with, the celebration of aprovechar – taking / – swindling, jealousies, entrapment, hypocrisy, threats, neediness and insecurities, ultimatums and mockery are now operational in the Truemaier Boys' adult lives.   

What I do know are these two matters:  
    i) None of these are of my concern as I am done being the brunt of any of these acts.   
   ii) Deconstruction of one specific household unit did not occur because of me.  --- Dr Legion True ]

Chapter Twelve:  Book Two (A Mama's Long View Redemption) of Mother - FuckingThe Unimportance of Unconscious Women, pp 52 - 57: 

The Unimportance of Unconscious Women

“Woman Is Nigger Of The World.”
--- Song title and recurring lyrics by John Lennon, 1972

Rush hour occurred at the start of the Boys’ school day as well, of course.  We needed to be across town the other way five days a week allowing for plenty of downtime at all the train tracks laden with working, racing trains which Ames accommodated.  Someone said 65 times a day a train hurled itself along the two principle lines that crisscrossed the town, and he said he wasn’t exaggerating.  He was not.  We had to be belted, all of us, in the Diplomat by not a minute later than 7:20 to rest assured that the Boys’d be strolling through the school’s double – door entrance by 8 am.  What a trick that was. 

But then, too, there was the Foreign Language Program for elementary students.  German for Jesse and French for Mirzah.  I learned to say, from his teaching me, tOpe for taupe and mOve for mauve, both with that really long O sound, after Mirzah’s first session!  “I wore the mOve and tOpe skirt with the matching mOve heels!”  How correct I became.  None of Mehitable’s tawhp and mawhv anymore.  I still pronounce those words correctly now because of that miniature lesson from Mirzah.

So we had to leave home and Othello Drive even earlier.  Missed the awful traffic this early, still dealt with the darn trains and got to school in time for 45 minutes of language lessons before 8 but had to figure out what to take along with which to entertain Zane those two mornings a week.  Zane didn’t want to take foreign language.  So he read – reading occupying the top position on the list of all the many, many things which Z loved doing – or he slept a bit more, as did I.  Well, fitful sleep for both of us, if really much at all.

It wasn’t so hard to figure out what to do to keep him busy, I guess, except for those all – too – frequent mornings when we forgot to bring along reading material because we were all running from aft to fore through the Iroquois – sized long house to the garage at top speed.  It was just really, really hard to do, especially when the mornings, that early, were getting colder and colder.  School officials did not want children in the building alone unsupervised too early so that was it.  We read and waited out in the wagon, Zane and I, or we went to gas up at a neighborhood Casey’s.  Or, I made two round, road trips.  Two trips was not an option. 

Overall, school was fabulous.  The Truemaier Boys, all three of them, already possessed a highly developed and copacetic desire to learn and loved it; they simply loved learning.  This was good.  For the most part.  Each made lots of friends, easily and quickly, just as they had done in other schools in other university towns before moving to Ames; and very soon our lives both just off 13th Street at Othello Drive and down south in the Tea Garden Subdivision where Kate Mitchell was located and all those other   friends lived thrived.  Mirzah was in Unit A, Jesse in Unit B and Zane with Mr. Green in Unit C.  I did join Ms. Stuart’s Principal’s Advisory Committee and help put together recommendations to her for the School’s next – year budget.  We met in the School’s auditorium or in its awesome Media Center / Library which, I soon found out, hosted all sorts of parent committee meetings; and our priority recommendation, straight up, was to get the Center loaded with the latest in computer hardware and a keyboard artist hired to start teaching the required typing lessons as soon as possible, preferably by the next summer, that is, all of this proposal up and running by the middle of May 1988, if we could manage the bucks from the Board.  Summer keyboarding sessions would be quite a huge benefit to the kids.

Legion True was the only homeroom parent who objected, one weekday evening, to providing the Boy Scouts use of the school building for its after – school meetings so around the time of that paramilitary organization’s national 75th ‘jubilee’ year, my itty bitty protest was completely drowned out.  Most everyone there, men and women alike and themselves fairly progressive I was thinking wrongly, not     only turned around to check out who it was that could possibly be in disagreement with this early fall      and usually rubberstamped proposal but there were also all manner of slacked jaws with heads a – shaking to and fro as well.  

A local chapter continued its long – standing tradition of little – boy pseudoleadership training with its khaki, honors – bedecked uniform – wearing conformity right under my and my Boys’ pacifist Quaker noses.  I wasn’t vociferous or even ardent in my ankle – length blue denim skirt and cotton socks inside high – top hiking boots but not because, in my mind of minds, I didn’t want to be.  I did.  I just had had a lot of standing alone and being yelled off the dogs by Mehitable and then by Herry, that I really just hadn’t the fucking guts to carry my points any fucking further.  Not like I did have on those nights alongside David and husband #1 John, and hundreds of others actually, in front of the New York City Waldorf where Nixon touted the nation’s role in Viet Nam but we protestors outside in the cold faced down the entire cadre of the City’s mounted police all armored themselves inside full riot gear astride their side – by – side equines.  Mehitable would have been so happily proud of me had she witnessed me, of my own accord, back down, use a truly feigned soft voice, fundamentally shut the fuck up really and get all servile – like in deference to the patriarchal Scouts’ demand.  Even if it was in just a little neighborhood school auditorium.

*     *     *     *

Still.  I, too, made friends, also easily and fairly rapidly.  I knew Ames pretty much inside and out and did not have to expend a lot of effort or time, as had been the cases in our moves to and within Iowa City, Hershey, Columbia and Manhattan, learning their layouts or agencies.  I could delve nearly immediately into service for the Boys and their activities as well as research and continue a few of my own.  The branch’s Dr. Edinsmaier did his local lab thing and was also out on the road somewhat – up to little farming towns north and west and east servicing small hospitals in these villages by riding a circuit of approximately a 50 – to 80 – mile radius in those directions and then performing pathology lab things. 

Except for the two times Dr. Herod Edinsmaier slept in and forgot to go.  Oops.  Oops. 

Leaving two, separate and unrelated, unknown and faceless women anesthetized, that is, truly unconscious, on very cold operating room tables with their breasts bared.  And pointing straight up at strangers’ eyeballs. 

Or, maybe their breasts weren’t in full view of strangers after all.  These are small Iowa towns, for christ’s sake, where everyone knows everyone; but, now, these men and women who worked over at the community hospital were also ‘knowing’ her in the most intimate of ways – in addition to their folksy greetings to her up at their post office boxes six days a week and down at the Prince of Peace Lutheran church’s basement bazaar twice a year! 

Nameless they were not; Dr. Edinsmaier knew their names.  The two women’s names were affixed to the order forms faxed to his branch laboratory.  The orders requested by the attending surgeons in these two tiny rural communities involved a little matter about the pathologist’s expertise being needed to perform and read out frozen sections, right there nearly tableside, to check for malignancy.  Well, something a little bit like that, I am guessing. 

In psychiatry and psychology, this is called minimalization or minimization, maybe.  I’m not exactly sure which.  It really isn’t such a big deal now.  Why are you getting so bent out of shape, Lady?  It’s silly really.  Such a little thing you’re so upset about.  “You can see for yourself, Your Honor, just how hysterical and full of histrionics the Bitch gets.”  Such a small thing so blown way out of proportion.  “Ya’ know, Your Honor, for attention.  ‘Cuz she’s so needy and all.  She’s always doin’ this.  A real emotional basketcase she is, idn’t she?!”

Of course, now, if primary or metastatic cancer were to be found, why, that tumor, probably the entire breast, surrounding regional nodes, some lymph circulation and whatever else, would have to be lopped off; and she and her kids and her grandchildren and her husband all already knew that when she went under.  Possibly then, of course, to also be under the slicing and dicing and lopping scalpel as well.

Dr. Edinsmaier’s absenteeism during these two breast biopsy episodes was fairly well spelled out in the letter I came across while cleaning the den one December 1987 morning.  Yeah, I read it.  And others, too.  Yeah, I actually opened US mail addressed to Edinsmaiers and to Trues on Othello Drive.  Items addressed to only the Truemaiers, to one or to all three of them collectively, were numerous enough, and those I didn’t open.  Except for the pornography.  I didn’t open the pornography addressed to the Truemaiers,  but I did try to intercept it.  Even mail addressed just to Herod alone I opened.  Like an office manager does, I would later find out.

And – And therein I took care of all the matters – again like an office manager takes care of such stuff.    All the bills – all in the man – of – the – household’s name, of course, and none of them in mine – got paid on or ahead of time including the newspaper and magazine subscription renewals.  My Wisconsin, Pennsylvania and Iowa veterinary license renewals, even the Iowa and New York nursing license renewals although in the “inactive” category, the $1,400 – a – month mortgage on the pad which we had suddenly leapt up to paying out from just the $400 a month on the Manhattan rental, the Storm County property taxes, no small thing now those taxes, and the various insurances, even those on Herry’s two airplanes.

And those paybacks on the educational loads!  Loans, I mean.  Aaahh, but were they ever a shitload, too!  Both medical and veterinary medical student loans.  In addition to the low – interest National Defense Loans, there were the monthly installments still –  – on the many simple signature loans secured just for living expenses along the way.  None of those loans had been taken out from really quite wealthy Edinsmaier family members either.  Herry had made it crystal clear back in Hershey that that was not ever going to happen:  we were to stay current on everything yet we were to never borrow from any of that clan at all.  For awhile all of these continued to be paid up on time anyway.  Fortunately the two wagons were paid off, and I had started just after marching for my PhD to make rather decent headway in Manhattan on this get – us – debtfree – and – keep – us – solvent project of mine – – “Keep solvent!” Herry had loved to repeatedly order me to make our family finances be – – despite his airplanes!  My nursing school loans which John’d just simply ignored when he sauntered away I had shortly paid off anyway before beginning that pre – vet year of required Iowa State coursework and meeting Herry during its March month of 1974.

Upon dusting the walnut, built - in, flip – out escritoire in the northeast corner of Herry and the Boys’ walnut – paneled den opposite the placement of the walnut Haines console, two pieces of white paper sailed down to the beige pile carpet from where I had accidentally released them far atop the secretary.  One was ripped from a spiral notebook and lined with penciled words scripted on one side only, and the other one appeared to be on official letterhead from the White and Sons Law Firm, Kansas City, three short paragraphs neatly typed.  I didn’t know of the White and Sons Law Firm and, not knowing of lawyers really much at all except for the fine experience I had had with two of them in Manhattan who I thought had given me very sound advice about the nonrenewal of my faculty contract at Kansas State, I was neither daunted nor cowed by things lawyer – like either.  Yet.

I read.  There were words on this official letter about someone’s job, too.  About Dr. Edinsmaier’s job.  Herry was going to lose his job:  he was actually going to be fired by the parent laboratory company based in KC – if he didn’t get his act together and stop messing up so much.  And right now.  And this letter – straight to him from that lab’s legal eagles – was Herry’s official notification of that. 

Of the impending dismissal of Dr. Herod Edinsmaier.  For dereliction of duty as a medical doctor. 

Whoa.  Whoa.  Whoa.  I could not swallow because there was that choke in my throat again.  And I was the one slack – jawed now!  Not only over the wholly whopping whammy of the sudden job – and life – insecurity; but I was reading about and, therefore, knowing of these “two little incidents” in my husband’s most recent past for just the very first time.  Herry had said not a peep about this, and the letter was dated two months’ time earlier – back in October!  Just 90+ days into our all being newly minted Ames residents.

The chastising letter went on to castigate.  It seemed it wasn’t just the matter of the two women and their being put out and put off.  Yeah, they were let up from the anesthesia all right and, upon seeing their wholeness, both of them believed the absolute best possible news.  Only to find out, momentarily, that, well, ah, no, not exactly.  Not exactly the best news forthcoming at all … since, “Ah, we will need to reschedule this,” andah, ah, do it and, O JYeah, pain everyone all over again – as a matter of fact!  There was more than just this tragedy alone to the debacle which my husband, along with his common amnesia regarding ordinary women, had perpetrated.  As far as the actual business was concerned, there was more than … ‘just this’ much! 

Dr. Edinsmaier’s literally stolen hours of extra sleep those two mornings, it seemed, had really cost the laboratory and the two hospitals way more in real coin squandered and lost than just the unmeasured expenditure that was those two women’s angst and that of their two families.  “There is the economic matter, Dr. Edinsmaier, of deploying all of the lower echelon for the second time again, the rank and file workers, and the supplies, sterile or not so, the O R and the utilities and the beds and the anesthetist and the surgeon.  Get this right from now on, Dr. Edinsmaier, or you’re outta here.  Capeesh?!  Capisci?!”

Well, JYeah!

The only upside to this disaster?  These two specific women weren’t anesthetized awaiting frozen section results and perhaps further radical and disfiguring surgery at large, urban teaching hospitals.  Only within two tiny, rural county ones – whereat those medical staffers there most probably would not be found ‘practicing’ their vaginal – examination techniques on unconscious, er, I mean ‘relaxed’ and non – objecting individuals.  Had these particular two DEhumans been anesthetized, pre – surgery patients within, say, Johns Hopkins or Duke University Medical Centers, the teaching faculties there would have simply and easily set aside the rape criminality to it all – – and, like androcentric Herod’s dereliction regarding   “First, Do No Harm” and women, just gone ahead, as is also standard in patriarchal medical centers worldwide, with their intentional and pompous parade of routine, medical student – ‘entitled’ assaults on us unimportant females – upwards many times of five to six violators during any one anesthetized clip a recent federal investigation uncovered to a United States Congressional hearing.  And merely rationalized and justified it all away with the flippancy, also the same as arrogant Herry’s, that they were “just teaching.”  And, therefore, “making good use of the available resources” – who just happen to be us unconsenting, unconscious … women.  Itty bitty are the Voices of the faceless and anonymous majority … … in the grip of powerful medicine men and their “ … cycle of smugness substituting for … knowledge.”

*     *     *     *

That other piece of white paper with handwritten words in pencil and yanked out of its place in someone’s notebook was also a letter.  Signed by Zane.  “Dear Ann Landers, I am 11 years old and think I am addicted to cigarettes.”  Whoa.  First Herry, now Zane.  “I and my friend Ethan hide out behind a bunch of trees by our school and smoke cigarettes every afternoon when my little brothers are in chess and doing other stuff after school.  Our mom hasn’t come to pick us up yet.  She doesn’t know and thinks I am in the library waiting.  Ethan has an older brother and he gets them for us.  What should I do to stop?  I inhale and I’m afraid I’m already an addict.”  Whoa.  Double whammy. 

So.  Zane was watching.  All those times in Columbia on Lily Drive when I sneaked a few next to Thumper in his hutch alongside the clothesline and to whom I chatted in whispers about the truly important things of the day just fading while exhaling away to the secret breezes out back and my lungs’ content.  

Or …, discontent.  Zane and I had made a pact, and he was keeping up his end of the bargain.  The deal had been:  If I immediately brought to zero the number of Merit Menthol and Pall Mall filterless cigarettes I smoked up in a day’s time, then Zane would bring to zero, also, the number of his own brand of boogers that he munched on in a day’s time.  A fair exchange of a deal it was, too.  Poor me, though.

Now, it wasn’t that anymore – but this.  Seventeen years it had taken me to deal with my nicotine addiction and, well, I had had some truly elegant help in that, hadn’t I, by way of all those threatening ultimatums from Herry and the simultaneous years and years’ worth of juicy cracks from Mehitable, too, about my femininity being fucked up instead as a hardened ‘drag’ queen who puffed and reeked like old, farting tramps and despicable curs.  Poor dear, dear Zane.  Writing Anne Landers to get help with smoking cessation was a way better method than any browbeating I could deal him and a mighty fine idea I thought; and while this written confession of his at 11 years of age was, to me, just a terrible, terrible revelation,      it was nothing compared to what I now knew about Herry!

Zane always could pick ‘em, the strategic times to let launch a few exploding bombshells.  This one was freakishly fateful – – or was it?  Did my magnificently brilliant Zane already know about the letter from the White Law Firm?  And did he then masterfully station his plea for help really meant for me and not for Ms. Landers at all in and amongst the escritoire mishmash that also held that horrid one from the laboratory’s lawyers?  Something as potentially angering to me as his smoking cigarettes, surely Zane himself was dropping puzzle piece – like clues for me to find this time.  And Herry, about his being utterly dressed down, certainly was not!  Not this time.  There being no swagger and no braggadocio, let alone, any manner of catalyst that could enable the fulfillment of his unfolding flight from the marital bed that he could possibly fashion out of this particular job fuck – up, Herry wanted me to know exactly squat about it.

*     *     *     *

Among the friends I was making, there was not one in whom I could confide about this deal with Herry.  And not my parents either.  AmTaham?  AmTaham had never, ever wanted me to hook up with Herry       in the first place.  AmTaham’s only probable shortcoming his whole, o - so short 72 years on Earth was   that he never wanted his Legion, preciously born to him on his bloody cold 28th Winter Solstice birthday,  to ever hook up with any other man but him.  Pretty typical daddy, but I really, really was that selfishly special to him; and I always, always knew it, too.  An extra heavy burden on me in a way.  Herry meant and was synonymous with my mother’s god, ya’ know, money.  And now that he actually was a medical doctor and, to Mehitable, then made by that mere appellation as M.D. alone, no longer a milquetoast or a pantywaist, I pretty much knew to keep shut up about him to her. 

It was okay, more than okay to Mehitable as well, and one thing for Herry to upbraid me royally up one side and down my other about the contract at Kansas State not being renewed as part of a newly appointed department chief’s strategic reorganization plan that I’d had zip control over and certainly did not contribute to with my ever having been derelict as a veterinary microbiologist.  ““What now?!””  I recalled Herry’s words to me quite plainly, his coming at me from over his telephone in Kansas City the very first night I knew about the contract after I’d finally, alone again of course, gotten all the babies bathed and off to dreamland.  “You have the mother – fucking audacity to ask me, “What now?!”  No, no, no, no.  This one’s on you, Cunt.  You deal with it!  I have nothing more to say to you!  Ya’ll have to hump yourself on this one cuz ya’re not getting any here, and I’m hanging up!”  Click.  Nothing more to say.  And then there’s always something more to say, of course.  If Herry’d just used the word ‘Squaw’ to address me, then I wouldn’t’ve come so undone.  I liked Indians and things Indian, my being a fairly fresh Quaker and all, and, besides, I didn’t have any idea then yet about the meaning of that word.  I did know the meaning of the name Herry had called me.  And I was undone.  No one to grieve with on that one. 

And not on this one either.  No one to grieve with over this devastating and so destructive news either.  Herry’s censure of me in Manhattan was one thing.  But it would have been quite another for me to divulge Truth about this job matter.  And, most especially … Dr. Edinsmaier’s accountability in it.  Or, absence thereof. 

I determined, right then and there in Herry’s den, to shove on.  It was December, nearly two months after the letter’s date; and, unlike the sinking ship that had been that deflating and not – so – whole air mattress fatuity out at Finger Lakes State Park with all my children’s lives clinging to it, I would deal with this one by denying it!  After all, I had been instructed by Herry, hadn’t I, to do exactly that?  Nada had happened  to the kids, really, so forget about it, he had taught us all.  I remembered that one.  But on this?  On this one, I told no one.  Then.

Again, I cannot believe how into such a wuss my brainy and brawny and beautiful self had transcended.  Slumped into … is a better choice of verb actually.  And for soooo long now.  Mehitable is right about one thing at least:  there are milquetoasts and pantywaists and so damn many of them are women.  We give ourselves such a rotten rep that it makes me ashamed to be walking around now.  My sinewy feminine ancestors, those that “ever were only because I am now” and of whom that Amistad guy spoke, those that walked the World circa 10,000 to 70,000 BC looking pretty much then like I pretty much look today and not at all like the ancestor that is my most recent one, Mehitable, would be so disappointed in me and ashamed of us women today who are, indeed, over 53 percent that is the human World.  Those women were what I want to be today.  Besides my being only there for my future granddaughters and great – granddaughters, too.  Let alone, my sons.  And, so far, right now, I wasn’t doing nearly weighty enough a job of being there at all.  Not when I was right ready to push on like nothing had even just happened to me.  Which is exactly what I did.  “Deal with it!” Fucked mothers’ very favorite three – word phrase everywhere.  Utterly beats out “I love you,” it does.

One thing did change.  Every weekday afternoon I drove, very bundled up by now, to the Boys’ school about an hour earlier than I usually had been, using that extra time down at Kate Mitchell to catch up on more reading or the sewing on of missing buttons or the writing of brief update notes to now far – off friends.  I always had been a damn faithful correspondent even before e – mail, a piece of the opus that it is to be a true friend which a lot of friend – wanting folks apparently don’t get.  Or, don’t want to do the work of scripting themselves.  And other little projects that I could haul there in the shitbox Dodge along with plenty of apples, orange wedges, carrot sticks and Oreos not just for my three but also for the other six – and seven – year – olds, too; and while soccer was wrapping up its season, Zane had to help me end the practices.  I told him Ethan could not. 

And I never spoke of either letter to either man in my life.  Soft, servile, deferent.  Well – taught by Me.hit.able and such a good student I was.  I was only being there after all:  Ancestor – In – Training that we all are.

07 July 2013

DEFENSE v "solvent" v LIES, eg: "stay in Ames through high school"

pp 215 - 224,  Chapter 26 in Book Three:  The Opera:  We Were Mothers Once, And Young

“Okaaaay, Herry.  Am I about to rebut just nearly all of this “hard evidence” that are actually your lies … or what!  These four A, B, C, D sections, Jury?   Readers?  These – all four of them – constitute the crime of perjury, Jury!  Just, however, the first of many, many, many such, very same crimes of it, specifically for perjury from Iowa Code, Chapter 720.2, said chapter in general entitled, “Interference with Judicial Process!” 

I am trying not to laugh too hard here because it truly is conflagrant to me.  But I can’t help it.  This was choice.  “O shit, Herry!  Smooth.  Smooooth.  Ms. Frumpy Custody Evaluator Canard heard all of this smooooth, too, I am so certain.  Jury?  Do you know the characteristics, even just a handful of them if not all of ‘em, of the typical wife batterer?  That’s ‘batter’ as in the crime of battery.  Well … one, just one of them, is, and is as old as androcentrism itself is:  throw it aaaall back on her!  Everything that she says about me?  Deny, deny, deny and particularly project it all back onto her –– that of which she is trying to state about me.  And, for sure, because it is a he – said / she – said situation and she will not be the one believed if it is smooth enough and particularly when it involves a man and his spermary, a pillared one at that, why never, never, never admit wrong or error or that what she says could be even remotely true.  And, voila, you are home free, Mother - Fucker! free! of her, I’m telling ya’.” That’s pretty much the characteristic … also verbatim! right out of any women’s shelter handbook regarding batterers – except for the last – sentence, name – for – daddee embellishment there:  that one would be all mine …  that the Good and Wonderful Doctor Herod Edinsmaier is a literal Mother – Fucker!

But, otherwise, this is the researches’ and statistical reality:  fathers and their gametes are not to be messed with.  Both are only to be exalted.  Sperm exaltation.  Father and fatherhood exaltation.   

I say, “O O O … kay then.  Just exactly who is coming out here from the courtroom or from after examining the ‘sworn – to’ documents submitted to The Court’s files … coming out here into this, The Real World, and bringing back to daJudge, bringing back from it, The Real World that is, to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor, the absolute proof of the Truth of any of Herry’s muuuultiple avowals here, Jury?  Readers?  Who?  You?  And, furthermore, do you care what lies he’s told you and me?  Do you?  Does the judge?  Really?  Really and actually does daJudge, Judge Seizor, the man who once “legally” forced a first Mrs. Seizor into a certain prison way away from her very own four baby daughters, truly care?  It is easier to lie to and to deceive in an American court of civil law than it is to lie to and to deceive your … __you __ fill __ in __ the __ blank __, Jury.  Of course, depending upon … well, you know the rest of that sentence, too.”

I did not know it then, but I soooo know it now:  Depending upon who you are, it is easier to lie to and to deceive anyone inside an American civil court of law and get away with it than it is to lie to and to deceive one’s own mom and dad.  It is easier to lie to and to deceive an American civil court of law, which, we all know, is a judge or a bunch of ‘em, than it is to lie to and to deceive your own minister, your own teacher, your boss and co – workers, your spouse or even your own child.  It is, mind you, easier to get clean, slick away with lying to and with deceiving an American civil court judge about anything, depending, of course, … depending upon who you are, than it is to lie to and to deceive yourself! 

What the most difficult about rebuttal is … is doing it!  Having to do it at all.  Why should I have to?  Why again and again and again do I have to?  Have to defend myself.  Always, always, always on the defensive throughout the entirety of The Opera.  The whole mother – fucking thing.  This?  This I loathe.  And have, now, long – pledged to myself never –– never … never … never –– to have to do to Herod Edinsmaier inside of any format or venue whatsoever again.  Not one more time.  To defend myself.  No.   

But to You the Jury?  JYeah.  No problem.  One more time again?  This tome, this volume?  Nooooo problem.  In fact:  Ratchet it on up, that very volume!  Bring it on! 

Rebutting then begins, of course, right there within his, the Petitioner’s, Affidavit section A, continues throughout aaaall of Liar Edinsmaier’s four sections and finally ends then with, tah – dah, Respondent’s Affidavit!  That is, my personal history affidavit notarized and dated 10 February 1989!  Which weekday (of course!) date that horrid year happened to be on a Friday. 


To begin then, “Wha’, Herry?  ‘From 1968 through 1972’ you taught junior high, then suddenly back in Ames you have, you swear, a grad degree in cell biology also in 1972?  But didn’t go to med school until 1975?  That ain’t so at all, now is it, Herry?  No graduate degree #1, Herry – zip, zilch on the master’s degree, right?!  That, well, along with all of your other procrastinations, well, … that just never did happen ever, now did it, Hype – ing Hypocrite Herry?  No diploma ‘tall!  Not even in 1975, which is when you left graduate school after I literally lived with and doctored you day and night, 24 / 7, back to life from a deathly parasitic pulmonary infestation from June 1975, right through till nine days before medical school began in late August 1975, when you were released from Oakdale Sanitarium outside Iowa City to where I’d had Devin drive you at top, breakneck speeds two weeks earlier and he thought those two harrowing hours in the car that you, coughing, gasping, cyanotic and doubled over, … that you were going to die on him right there racing down the interstate.  Okaaay, now that that’s straight, there’s more, isn’t there, Herry?!  How it is I literally saved that sacko’shit life of yours for you, isn’t there?!”  

The tangible –– and screaming –– absence of Herry’s master’s degree in cell biology, something really, really easy to prove, well, did anyone bother ever to bring back to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor the actual “evidence” of its existence?!  Of its nonexistence? ! ! !   

“In fact, the master’s degree’s nonexistence has, indeed, hasn’t it Hype – ing Hypocrite Herry, just exactly the same nonexistence to it as that of a supposedly earned bachelor’s degree in physics ! ! ! which You, the Good and Wonderful Doctor Edinsmaier, to this day in Grubtrop and in Montclank, West Virginia, also claim to have, at one time, merited and deservedly received ! ! ! – but in point of actual fact, continue several decades later to pad thereby falsifying your medical organizations’ and societies’ résumés with and there state (as well as at these several agencies’ websites!) that you once obtained this alleged physics degree at Iowa State University –– when you soooo never did do? ! ! !  Ha!”   

Of course, we already know the answer to that –– along with all of the other NOT! answers to the very same question after every written affidavit lie and almost all of them, if not all of them, most easily and equally ascertained as false and, therefore, lies and – and – and, therefore too, … the crime of perjury!   Ya’ know, the crime detailed at Iowa Code, Chapter 720.2.  IF only they had been.  IF only that other pillar of the community known as daJudge, Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor, had ordered up the tangible proof  of … what it is … ‘he said’!  

To continue I must just shake my head, “Herry, you of all people:  there is no University of  Missouri – Jefferson City at which you could’ve ever taught, let alone, could have taught full – fucking – time!  And moi?  ‘… hired as Director’?  As ‘director’ of anything?  Sure, Mister, suuuuure … just try to inflate my workplace post so that your monetary, support – to – me amount will be judge – ordered down – down – down … down into the toilet!  Bloat the fucking hell out of my –– actual –– position before I came to Storm County so that here in Ames with all of the veterinary installations here, I can soooo make it without alimony, ‘can’t she, Your Honor?’  I was in my first fucking fledgling year after obtaining the PhD, and my title was nothing fucking more than that of Assistant Professor –– as is everyone’s in their very first year –– and you soooo knew that, the smart guy that you are — with such a passel of quite like – titled siblings at various times and the institutions you’ve been around, let alone … the little, itty – bitty frickin’ fact that      I was your wife, for chris’sake, and wouldn’t you, therefore, know my precise professorial ranking because of just that spousal title and association alone?!” 

More.  “Do you never proofread squat, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier?  You know full fucking well that nothing is ever referred to as ‘veterinarian school’ and yet at least three, if not more, times you term it … exactly that.  How fucking dare you diminish the naming of my educational endeavors when, with your own, you do not – ever – identify it as ‘doctor school’, Herry!  How fucking dare you continue that dissing of me and of my successes … just because you always have before – and in front of all three of my children, too?!?  How dare you?!?  Children whose birth date and, indeed, name you totally fucked up for Jesse and for whom you could never, not one fucking time, get correctly spelled for Zane.  What is up with that, Herry?  That is unforgivable from a blonde and bloodied secretary, let alone, when perpetrated by a goddamn, mother – fucking father.  Children who were never even being considered to be living one damn day, not to mention, ‘raised up’ in Kansas City!  What the fuck is up with that, too, Herry?  We were never even ever going to live or to school the Boys in Kansas City!  That never even fucking came up for discussion between us one time!  Ever!”  What a friggin’ load of fuckcrock from Herod, O He Who Hypes Himself Up! 

Moving into Petitioner’s Affidavit section B with continued and further refutal of “sworn” – to “evidence.”     “So, Herry, you know me so well, huh?  I’m your fucking wife and you can write about me under oath to a judge –– cuz of your wealth of knowledge on my background –– to a fucking courtroom judge, can you?  So if you know me that well, then which was it that I was married to John Silver, two years or was it four years?  Cuz one is, well shit, So – Many – College – Degrees – I – Actually – Never – Had Herry, you’re the mathematician, one is fucking twice as long as the other one, now isn’t it?!  I mean one is 100 fucking percent more than the other one!  So.  Which was it?  Two years?  Or, four years?  And what were you reeeeally stating here, Herry?  Implying just exactly – er well, not very exactly at all really – what, Herry?  What?!  That I’m a bad risk in the wifery category?  Is that really what, Herry?  Since that so is about what you were writing, then where –– also –– is the information to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor about your busted engagement to Theresa, the one she broke off with you that landed your smashed ego inside Ms. Rebound Edwina’s bed in Cleveland for a few years whilst simultaneously dodging Bass County, Iowa’s draft board ticket to Viet Nam by teaching junior high school in an inner city instead of being soooo draftable were  you to’ve taught in just an ordinary school, one, say, anywhere in Iowa?!  Where’s the whole scoop on   Ms. Theresa, Herry?  Hell, I worked alongside her as an ISU sophomore, same engineering department;   we were hourly workstudies together.  And, furthermore, you knew that I knew her because she and I’d met as student workers there, and I told you this!  So, Herry, she must’ve seen in you a bad husbanding risk, huh, to cleave it off with you and your upcoming nuptials back in the late 1960s?!  But where’s that written and sworn to, too, especially the part about how you wouldn’t ever consider marrying Edwina, no way, no how, never, never, never !!! –– cuz she was, well, what Herry?  Cuz she was what, Racist Herry?!  Cuz she was your great black fuck, wasn’t she, O Pillared One … O Doctor Edinsmaier?  And you told me you wouldn’t even take her home to meet your parents, would you?  Which, of course, you never fucking did do, not even that one christmas eve when Edwina so wanted to come back to Iowa with you and meet all   of your family, you told me.  Not even the fuck then would you bring her back to your kin, O Good and Wonderful Doctor!  Judge Seizor never knew any of this about you though, did he?  daJudge never knew that you’re a sexist and racist, homophobic, whore – mongering pig risk? as a spouse?  in the husbanding category?  Did he?!” … As if it’d’ve mattered to him anyhow … if he had known!  NOT!

Defend, defend, defend –– to which I am forced.   

Or, as icky are Herry’s sugary and honey statements about himself, especially about his fatherly fathering functioning.  Those pieces are so funny to me now.  Then, though, when I read them through the first several times, I was made simply livid by them:  the obvious blatancy at the puffed – up, hyped – up chestiness of himself –– of himself as “accountable Daddy”– to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor.   

Lumping these into Herry’s quoted phrases, his lies about me of Section B, “Marital History,” are

i)               “suffered from severe reactive depression disorder,”

ii)              “the reason we got married,”

iii)            “she dealt with small animals,” 

iv)             “her hours were from 8:00 a.m. until 5:00 p.m.,”

v)              “so she could nurse them,”

vi)             “Legion then felt the job too stressful, so she quit and began to babysit our children,”

vii)           “my salary as a resident was not enough for us to make financial ends meet, so Legion became employed,”

viii)          “She worked the night round from noon until 10:00 p.m.”,

ix)             “We were forced to employ many different babysitters,”

x)              “In 1982, Legion expressed a desire to become a teaching member … so she enrolled in the University of Missouri,”

xi)             “In June, 1986, Legion graduated,”

xii)           “Because I wanted her to pursue her career, I turned down various jobs and opportunities,”

xiii)          “In 1987, Legion lost her job,”

xiv)          “Legion has remained unemployed since we left Manhattan,”

xv)            “I have made a commitment to my wife that we would stay in Ames and the children would graduate from high school in Ames,”

xvi)          “since my wife Legion is unemployed.”  

Sixteen – regarding me alone!  Supposedly detailing the history of his wedded union Herry’s Section B is – but – almost all about me.  And about me … negatively!  Elaboration on just a few.   

How does one nurse an already weaned child?  Zane had already been weaned!  He and Jesse did go to childcare providers but separate ones; that was one of the reasons I left the house’s door at 7:00 in the morning with two babies to go to a job that didn’t begin formally until 8 in a town only 13 miles away:     so that I could drop off a 2½ – year – old at one place with all that Zane needed and a ½ – year – old at a caretaker of infants, someone different, with all that Baby Jesse needed.  “And You, Herry?!  You friggin’ slept in!  You, O Slacker and Entitled Sperm Donor, you slept in! Then on those same soooo cold, weekday mornings wherein I had dealt with the two babies’ labors, you bundled up only yourself and left the house to go mind – rape vaginal exam models in OB / GYN laboratory!  How hard a daily working parenting routine that must’ve been, huh, Daddee Herry?!”  And – and … I was on call every single day and every single night for six months straight; there was no one else to take call on both large and small animals, not just small animals!  “So, Herry, which of us two arranged for regular childcare?  Which of us arranged for childcare on an emergent basis?  Which of us arranged for childcare – at all?!?!  Is this where you’re again going to project onto yourself that which, really now Self – Centered Herry, that which we truly both know I – and only I – ever, ever did –– since the fucking first time Zane ever needed a sitter?!   

And about the ‘too stressful’ part and that I was a ‘babysitter’ for our own children?  “What the fuck is that, Parent Herry – Daddee?!  I fucking fell down on the cement floor.  Collapsed.  Flattened my exploding breasts right there in front of Miss Evelyn who was in to see me with a half a dozen of her 42 cats!  She’s the one who fucking telephoned the UI Med School Dean’s office to ask them to go find you in class somewhere and have you come collect the dropped corpse on the concrete that was … me.  She’s the one who stayed with me until you got there.  Completely pissed off you were too, ‘member that?  You drove the fucking 13 miles in dead silence.  You didn’t even ask me what I thought could be wrong?  Ya’ know, like say …  exhaustion!  Cuz you didn’t the fuck care what was wrong with me, did you, Husband Herry?  And – and … you didn’t even go back to Solon to pick up Jesse or Zane from their respective care providers after you’d dropped me off at the trailer!  You literal … Mother – Fucker.  Straight up.” 

And as regards our financial ends meeting, did Herry write daJudge about the fact that from $10 per salaried veterinarian hour, I would after taxes, gasoline and childcare costs for three children under five years of age ... I would … I would, winter – and holiday – time 1980, with Mirzah then just 13 months old, Jesse not even 27 months old and Zane himself a mere four years and two months old, I would only clear $2.75 per hour?! ! !  

“I literally begged you, didn’t I, Herry?  Over and over I begged you to borrow for us the money to live on, to borrow from your wealthy, soooo wealthy some of them, older brothers and sisters, from at least one or two or so of the four truly wealthy ones of your ten other siblings, didn’t I, Herry, when we were in Hershey?!  Mirzah was only a year old, Jesse 2 and Zane 4.  And the one word that I got back from you ––     the only one I got back from you –– about our borrowing from any one of these, your four siblings, was what, Herry?!  You remember.  ‘Cept you soooo conveniently forgot to tell Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor this.  That word, for my leaving my babies when I so did not want to but you forced me to instead of our temporarily borrowing from your family –– to clear a measly $2.fucking 75 an hour –– was what Daddee Herry?   


You said that $2.75 an hour was enough to keep us “solvent,” didn’t you, You Mother – Fucker?!  All    just to save your fucking face in front of your family.  No matter what my little, little Boys and I wanted.  No fucking small, small matter … that!”   

This ‘we employ’ thing?  I, it was I, wasn’t it Herry, who did absolutely all of the arranging for childcare?  Never the fuck was it ever you!”  Never the fuck any sort of ‘we’ about ANY part of the 26 in – home childcare provider – hires and six daycare facilities over 11 years’ worth, was there now … was there a ‘we’ to doing any of that childcare arranging!  Truthfully, Herry?!  Was there?!   

And the expression of desire to go to Missouri?  This is juuuust choice this particular lie so is!  Herry brought this up, and he fucking brought it up first!  “Big reason why, too, isn’t there, Herry?  Why you so desperately wanted to leave Pennsylvania and move to Missouri, isn’t there? –– Right there in the very middle of your medical residency program?!?  When hardly any such level of resident ever, ever does that?!?  Anywhere?!?  There is a biiiig, big reason why you wanted that, isn’t there, Slacker Herry?  But how come, Herry, how come you did not tell Judge Seizor how it was that Dr. Shark – your supervisor –   at Hershey had repeatedly turned you in to the Pathology Department administration on pink slip warnings?!  For FUCKING UP AS A MEDICAL DOCTOR! ! !  Cuz of YOUR FUCKING POOR, POOR SLACKER WORK HABITS.  Cuz of your fuck – off work habits and procrastinations every single day and not having your work done and god knows what the fuck else!  Like your trouble with taking orders from other men, your passive aggression, your narcissism and maybe they all knew about one – fucking – too – many of your hospital coffee shop tête à têtes with all of your twatly lab techs!  Didn’t they all?  Didn’t Supervisor Shark?!  He knew you to be an utter medical staffer fuckup, didn’t he?!” 

“All of those hours and hours and hours you frittered away.  Squandered, You Fucking Selfish Slacker, so we soooo just ‘had to have a lot of babysitters?’  Fuck that, Herry.  You needed a lot of babysitters, both literally for your sons cuz you so were not there for them.  And, figuratively.  Cuz Dr. Shark and the other bosses couldn’t get you to willingly and cheerfully accept their authority over you and get their assignments to you fucking done correctly and in a timely manner!  Now that is the fucking Truth, and you didn’t think I knew and Judge Seizor sure’s hell didn’t either, did he?!  That it was you who wanted to leave Hershey because you couldn’t get along, and they were about to fucking fire you right there in the fucking middle of your residency, something pretty much unheard of, huh?!  That is why we left Hershey for Missouri –– instead of just my taking graduate classes there!  True that is.  O so head bangingly true it is.  Straight up.”   

And this?  O, this could so easily have been tangibly proved to a judge, too.  Pink fucking slips evidentiarily scripted down regarding Dr. Herod Edinsmaier all over the pink fucking Hershey Medical Center personnel records’ landscape.  But, no –– never any such tangible proof did any judge see.  Or, as a matter of lamentable fact, did any judge care to see.  

I graduate not in June 1986!  “In June 1986?  In June 1986, Lying Herry, I am getting up at 4 am on every single Friday morning to drive four hours from Manhattan over to Columbia to sleep on cushions on my grad student office floor and then drive home Monday nights in June 1986, to be back to attend children before beginning my first assistant professorship which did not start until July 1986.  So no, Herry,              I marched and was hooded on 01 August 1986, after two grueling summer months to finish totally and completely in four fucking years flat – absolutely fricking all there was to an entire PhD dissertation and degree program in Veterinary Microbiology which you cannot even fucking spell correctly – something most persons, female or male, with three babies under five years of age have no idea of even starting, let alone, aren’t capable of finishing.  But I did.  I did that, Herry, didn’t I?  In four fucking years flat I did it all!  And, no … no, no, no.  No, soooo nooooo, thanks for any of it to you.  You, if you did anything at all, Herry, you so hindered me.  You so fucked with me, didn’t you?”   

“Two more I’ll make the effort of which to explain the Truths.  If I can get over laughing so hysterically here.  And those are the bloody ludicrous and mucked – up statements you, Daddee Herry, ... that you made about being ‘unemployed’ when a mama – when a mama anywhere – has three little kids.  That one?!  That one just fucking stands alone, so stupid and loud it is, doesn’t it, Jury?  Soooo stupid!  Soooo patriarchally stupid!”

And about Herry’s commitment to me and to the Truemaier Boys about us all staying in Ames for them to graduate high school?!  I guess really the only explanation necessary here is this one:  this is the mother – fucking first time I’ve ever heard of such a commitment of Herry’s!  In this affidavit, that is!  In other words, Herry, there never was such an avowal of yours for true, was there?!  Never before this affidavit!  You fucking made that one up!  Just to snow daJudge!  Gosh, on that one, too, I just cannot stop laughing.  Except for this reason.  That here?  With this particular lie of yours, Herry?  How could there be such hard – and – fast proof to a judge that there ever really was or there wasn’t such a promise made at all?  It was never written down so, Yeah Jury, it’s one example of the thousands and thousands and thousands all over Acts One, Two and Three of a family civil court phenomenon known as ‘he – said / she – said’.  We shall so read and hear many, many more of these thousands!”    

The lies of Section B about Herry’s involvement as a father with his children are hilariously ridiculous, too.  And, every fucked mother today 14 years out from these of Herry’s, tells me she reads in her “sworn” divorce and custody documents so such the very same ones.  And they get away with them.  Nearly all fathers do today, too.  Fathers, any kind of them, are back to wresting total custody away – that is, they are back to the taking of their perceived “ownership,” their self – directed, self – centered aprovechar – their taking away from biological and other mothers at a rate unparalleled for 75 – some odd years.  But not since before about 1920, or 1930, though.  Except for the last seven decades or so.  In other words, at a rate just the very precise same as that for the last 12 millennia.  Lies like Herry’s, besides the maleness – like – the – pillared – judge thing, are why, too.  

i)                   “Zena” instead of Zane throughout the entire affidavit, not just Section B.  For every instance where Zane is named in Herry’s sworn affidavit, Zane’s alleged “father” doesn’t get my firstborn’s first name correct ever.  Ever.  What does that say?  I mean, what the fuck does that scream?!   

ii)                 “Jesse, born December 15, 1978,”

iii)                “From 1974 through 1978, we jointed shared in all child care responsibilities with the exception of bathing and breastfeeding.  I cooked, cleaned, did laundry, and changed diapers. … the time demands required we equally share the child caring responsibilities,”

iv)                “During the 1978-79 school year, I commuted back from Iowa City to Ames every weekend,”

v)                  regarding Hershey, “we needed a babysitter,”

vi)                “because Legion was working nights, I would get up in the morning to care for the children and attend to their morning needs,”

vii)               “However, at night I cared for the children.  At this stage of the boys’ lives, toilet training became important.  Because my wife Legion is deaf in her left ear, when the children would get up in the middle of the night, as they often did, they would come and wake me up and I would tend to their toilet and other nightly needs,” 

viii)             “I became quite involved in taking care of the children during this period of time,”

ix)                “I played a primary role in deciding the choice of school, and the age in which the children would enter school,”

x)                  “I continue to hold their education part of their wellbeing and my main concern in life,”

xi)                “I have done everything I could to help [Zena] accomplish that [art] skill,”

xii)               “On Mondays, Fridays, and on the weekends, however, I helped to those things.  We employed no babysitters on those days I was home,”

xiii)             “I still helped with all child rearing responsibilities,”

xiv)              “I consider the children to be my primary responsibility regardless of how tired I may be ...  But my first commitment is to my kids … I made a commitment to my children that we would stay in Ames and the children would graduate from highschool in Ames.”   

How many are these?  Fourteen?  Just in The Lie Department alone to daJudge, I – I, Legion True ... that’s Doctor Legion True, – I rate more lies about me from Herry than do even all three kids!  Well, that –– that right there must be something upon which to brag, not?!   

But about them, those lies about the kids?  Jesse?  Born 15 December?  “Shit, Herry, that means you up and fucked this mother that I so am right after, well, … probably in the goddamn hospital delivery room, doesn’t it?!  Like the vag exam models you were mind – raping back in med school?  Why do I say that?  Why?  Well, do the frickin’ math, So – Many – Degreed Herry.  How in the hell, if you didn’t fuck me right there and then after I’d immediately just bulldozed Jesse out, then how in the hell did I go on to grow, also propel out and begin lactating Mirzah in just nine months and two weeks later!?!”   

“JYeah, I know you knew I, twice, twice in just that nearly identical four – year length of time, I Legion was gestating and lactating at the very same goddamn time – twice!  Pregnant with Jesse and nursing Zane, then pregnant with Mirzah but yet still nursing Jesse.  Hence, the reason for the exhaustion collapse onto the fucking Solon veterinary practice’s floor with Miss Evelyn, we come to find out the next day when I – alone, of course – visit my doctor, don’t we, Herry?  Don’t we?!  You, Husband Herry, who did absolutely fucking nothing as a spouse, let alone, as a scientist or as a physician about birth – controlling!  But, hey, even for me, being fucked and impregnated right there on the delivery room table in order to shell out Mirzah in just another nine months flat, ... even for me!, that’s damn near mighty fuckin’ miraculous, Mormony Catholic Herry! ! !”   

“So Jesse wasn’t born on 15 December, was he, Herry, but exactly four months earlier than that, wasn’t he, Herry –  that is, on 15 August instead!?  What another hoot!  The so – called “father” of child #2 – and a man of medicine at that – can’t even get Jesse’s fucking birthday, ah, er … that’s Jesse’s birthing day … correct!  Yet I’m the one who went into that courtroom the first and every time after Act One thinking … believing … that this sort of thing would matter to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor – about who was primary in our lives and for whom were we each primary –– when … it, so very clearly, never did matter!  In just telling this – it becomes even more so when considering all of your lies of how responsible and of how accountable you swear that you were, Herry?  Getting up in the goddamn nighttime with the Boys, getting up in the morning with the Boys and having them ready for the goddamn day.  These?  These lies projecting onto yourself that which I am responsible, truly responsible for, fucking diss me the most – because, god knows and so does every other mother whether single, staying married or becoming single again, that the Boys and I soooo could have used that accountability from you.  Every one of us mothers can, but this daJudge already knows before you even lie to him.  His ‘Honor’, daJudge, has lied to himself about how it is that his ex – wife only ‘babysat’ his four daughters like you, too, called my mothering –– my parenting –– of the very own babies whom I alone … grew! … ‘babysitting,’ Herry.  daJudge tells himself, too, just how splendid and just how fantastic a housekeeper and a mighty fine childcare provider he, too, was.  So when you say you are, you did, you made, you got up, you coached, you drove, you cleaned, you cooked, you encouraged art and mechanics –– you soooo sacrificed your own wants and desires because you gave the Boys your very all –– ?  Why, … you are soooo, so fucking good at it and that you, most importantly here, will now quite definitely keep that all up and that that’s why you should be given full physical care custody, why, fuck Herry, you’re home free with  … with ‘His Honor’:  the goddamn lying – to – his – own – self Mr. Also – Pillared Judge Man!” 
“But, hey Herry, you better here not lie toooo goddamn well.  Or, you just might!  You can, for chris’sake!  You can end up having physical care custody of all three of my Truemaier Boys and then you really, really having to do it all alone like I, in Truth, did do!  Ha! Herry!  You better watch it here with this sugar and honey slop of yours to daJudge!  And lastly, Herry, regarding that I – am – so – accountable – to – my – kids lie #iv), the one where you were supposedly commuting back and forth every weekend the year of 1978 to 1979?  What a grueling toll on you that must’ve been:  why, boo – hoo, boo – fucking – hoo, poor you, poor you … Huh?  And so, too, would daJudge so surely think it hard and soooo parentingly committed of you to’ve done, not?  Well, really though, Herry, what about that?  Is that – any of it – True?!  I mean I finished and graduated from veterinary medical school on a Saturday morning in the middle of May 1978, Jesse well long into my belly some six months already with Baby Zane in tow, and began working –— I did –––at the Solon, Iowa, practice the very next Monday morning because we were all, by then, moved and living in that coral – colored trailer on the edge of Iowa City!  Soooo:  why whatever for then, Herry, were you –– as you swear that you were –– driving every mother – fucking weekend back and forth to Ames from 1978 to 1979!?  Weeeell, that just didn’t quite happen that way, did it?  Not for even ooooone weekend did you ‘sacrifice’!  Not even at all!!” 

“Section C is the funniest, though.  Truly.  The Boys are not mentioned so I feel very little sorrow with regard to C and read there, Truly, only the sick humor of Herry’s!  The 51 words about how he drank booze, beer alone it was, Jury, but saw the Light!  And sought the Light!  JYeah, riiiight, Herry, since 1977, you spent all of those years in self – improvement, did you?!?  Noooot!!!  Not since 1977, did you get fucking help from anyone, least of all from alcoholics anonymous or even maintain a membership there!  What a load of crockshit, Herry!”  This would’ve, too, been so easily tangibly proved –– had Judge Seizor simply ordered it to be so tangibly proved –– which, of course, … he soooo did not.  

And C’s entire second paragraph, all only about Dr. Legion True and my long and deep sufferings of bookoo disorders within disorders!  That is so funny.  I never even knew till rereading this now as I typed it that I suffered codependency from Husband #1 John’s problems with drugs!  John smoked pot now and then:  let’s see, back this would’ve been before, during and just after Woodstock to which we hitchhiked together in mid August of 1969, and he did a couple of hits of LSD after that I think and, hhmmm, what else?  Nothing.  Nothing of which I ever knew!  Perhaps he had done more, but I didn’t know of it.  ‘Problems with drugs’ I did not know John to have had; he smoked marijuana but not even that regularly and functioned in his day job as a New York City travel trade magazine writer just fine.  And liked it!      No problems of which I ever knew.  Let alone, of which … I ever told Herry!  “Now?  Now I am having to defend, defend, defend … for a person – John – whom Herod Edinsmaier hasn’t even met!  Never even one time – yet Herry soooo knows, doesn’t he, Your ‘Honor’, … and is, carte blanche, permitted by you to disparage even John!” 

“And not only is there no Regional Substance Abuse Center, but I was the ‘fall of 1987’, Herry, fucking coaching Mirzah’s soccer team, the one for which you so flamboyantly volunteered to be the coach, wasn’t I?!  But you only showed up twice! Two times only!  And then with no funky soccer mamas to scope out, suddenly you couldn’t, by its season’s very third practice, … you, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier, you just couldn’t seem to get away to coach anymore at all! … so that I went on to do all of your sessions that entire autumn.  I never had any time for therapy:  I was working!  As a parent!  As … the primary parent!” 

“And ‘the violent temper’ pronouncement?  Here was more projection onto me, Jury, and, this time, all of the blame, too!  Let’s recap here for real, Herry.  The Truth.  On this thing, Herry, deal.  Deal with it.  Straight up.  Literally dead serious.”   

“I am not the one here, Herry, who goes ballistic at the mere mention in your earshot vicinity of the two words, ‘gay guy’, am I?  Not only am I the veterinarian and you the pathologist, I the caretaker and healer of living creatures not even able to tell me what feels wrong with them and you the dead – carver and tissue – splitter who doesn’t even have to try to relate to his ‘patients’ –– literally –– at all; but it was you, Doctor – “Healer” Herod Edinsmaier, you, Herry, who actually handed that mother at the Columbia morgue door her very own dead three – year – old child, naked, without so much as a crib sheet covering its lifeless corpse.  That was you, too, Dr. Edinsmaier, you who right out loud mocked and chortled, you who snorted and sneered and sniggered at me every single time I spoke to you or anyone else within your range of hearing about … the mother – child bond.  At that ––  at the bond between child and mother –– you Herry, you actually fucking laughed.  Every single time.  Must be why, Herry, you could actually threaten both Zane and me with Zane’s death, couldn’t you?  Besides the violence of your woman – hating pornography that you consumed with my little ones, you actually threatened to kill my child, too, didn’t you, Herry?  And just the very year before!  So I am not talking about the cold, late November when Robyn and Robin, thank goodness, were home when I so needed them, am I, cuz that happened in Columbia in the presence of all three of my even littler sons then, didn’t it?  When you physically hoisted me up onto your shoulder and flung me over your back like a bag of feed or a sack of some much shittin’ waste.  And threw me out of my home.  My own home.  You, “The Good Doctor,” did that, and then you up and locked me clean out of it.  For two days and two cold, November nights.  Away from my home and away from my babies.  And I had to ask my friends, Robyn and Robin, for a temporary place to crash!  No, Herry, I’m not talking about your earlier years of brutality, tyranny and terrorism; I’m talking about Othello Drive right here in Ames –– inside it and behind it.  How come ya’ left this one out of your affidavit to daJudge Man, Herry?  It’s not like a year later when writing and submitting this affidavit to ‘The Court,’ ya’ couldn’t’ve remembered having perped it,    is it?!  You threatened to hurl Zane into the swollen and raging and so freezing Squaw Creek behind our home in the damned Brookside Forest that last spring of 1988.  With Jesse who was 9 and Mirzah just 8 huddled and gaping on together back up on the deck, Herry.  So afraid they were that you were coming back up there for the two of them next.  So was I!  You were going to throw them in, too, weren’t you?    Or threaten to.  And we all knew it.  It was just a matter of your coming back up there to the deck for them, too.  I am down on my mother – fucking knees clinging to Zane’s legs … begging and begging and begging You, the Good and Wonderful Doctor, not to kill him.  This, followed it was by your ever, ever famous snide smirkface squint of … ‘Gotcha, Bitch!’, this death threat of killing my childafter Zane, just age 11, had jumped up onto your back trying his damnedest to get you, Daddy Dearest, offof me!  You had me, Dear Doctor Sperm Donor of my children, pinned down – your knee crushing my breastbone – to the master bed with your raised and clenched fist threatening my left periorbital bone, eye, forehead and cheek, hadn’t you?!  You whirled up and around, swept up Zane and ran with him, him now pinned into your clutch to the riverbank with me rushing and begging behind and Jesse and Mirzah staring on aghast and so full of fear.  You did that, Herry.  You and you alone.  Just the year before this very affidavit!  Your children come first, do they?  At all times even?  So accountable are you with their responsibilities, are you?  Just right on top of it at all times?  Riiiiiight, Dr. Edinsmaier, I’ll say you are.  You just keep on telling daJudge that fuck.  You know he never checks for sure, does he?  You know that.  For certain you do, doncha’?”   

These pillared male judges about whom Dr. Herod Edinsmaier soooo, so looks quite like?  Why, they’ll never, never, ever check out Liar Herry’s stories for how real, for how True – or not – they are, will they?!  “You so, so know this one wee fact, don’t you?!  They will not.  So it ends up, doesn’t it, O Great Fathering One … that cuz of who you actually resemble in maleness and in pillaredness, … … that it is soooo, soooo easy to lie to and to deceive anyone inside an American civil court of ‘law’ and get clean, slick away with it, isn’t it?!  You literal Mother – Fucker!” 

“So much for short, short section C.  On to D.  Its lies.  i) ‘in 1985, she gathered the children around and told them they would never see me again until they were 16.  This caused two of our children to run away from home for a short period of time.’  Truth?  Truth is, isn’t it, Herry:  Zane ran away because I gathered him around and told him he couldn’t go off fishing by himself at Robyn and Robin’s that afternoon!  And that I wasn’t able to take him out fishing to Finger Lakes State Park either.  And when – in his running away – he got as far away as the busy, eight – lane intersection about four blocks from our duplex, he paused for several minutes, then even angrier because there was no way he could get across it, Zane turned around and trudged back on home.  And how do I know any of this, Herry?  How?  Isn’t it because Jesse and I told you what he and I were really doing while all of this was happening to Zane?  The two of us, Jesse and I, had gathered ourselves, hadn’t we Herry, into the Shitbox Dodge and were following Zane out of his view, Jesse beside me on the front seat, and both of us saw this entire display, didn’t we?!  Then we also told you that both of us witnessed from a side street where we were parked something else most disconcerting:  that when a Columbia cop drove right by Zane in that July heat and saw him all covered up there on the corner in his heavy winter parka packing a fishing pole and a bunch of other gear but with no winter and no frozen – over pond anywhere within that hot summer’s sight, that cop still didn’t do a thing.  He didn’t even pull over and stop to talk to Zane and ask him what was up.  We told you all of this when you got home!  It was 1985 all right so Zane, being all of 9 years of age, looked only that old to anyone.  Especially, we thought, to a lawman.  Jesse, only 7, even remarked on it:  that how could a policeman drive on by a little kid dressed like that and packing belongings and obviously looking like he was trying to cross a busy, busy highway and not even notice?!  Now that is what really happened!  That’s what the Truth is, isn’t it, Herry?!  And, furthermore, it was I and Jesse who were keeping guard over Zane.  It was never, never, never you, Daddee – Herry, who was safekeeping Zane – ever!” 

And as regards lie #ii) the minimal access?  “Why, Herry, you know why that really happened, you pornography perv!!!  It is easier to lie to and to deceive in an American court of civil law, isn’t it?  I gave them over to your mother – fucking, perverted ‘fatherly care’ up till early January 1989, every single friggin’ weekend for over 48 hours and then, well, you would not stop with your true addiction.  You wouldn’t even try.  You wouldn’t even try to stop – or go to get help to try to cease with it.  Fuck, you won’t even acknowledge it to this day – let alone, the crimes of providing pornography to minor children, O Pillared Daddee!  So, hell, was I to endanger the Boys longer than that?!  I think not!!!” 

Little did I know then what Rachel has since so succinctly stated, “And don’t you forget it, Legion:  there jus’ ain’t no judge who doesn’t surf porn himself!”  Rachel is, well, right on the very mark, isn’t she?  “And not only the judges, is it Herry?  It was Mr. Jazzy Jinx himself, my attorney, whose den, like yours Herry, also contained Playboy for his – and for who else’s, for all we know – for his casual off hours’ perusal.  It was Mr. Jazzy Jinx who, himself physically manhandling me, rammed me –— his very own client, for chris’sake! –— upside the inside of his slammed office door and bellowed at me, ‘Shut up, Legion!  Now you just shut up ‘bout this sex addiction stuff!  You’re so exasperating, Legion!  You have to shut up about this, you hear me!  Cuz, cuz, a … ah … ah … a lotta nice people read Playboy, Legion.  An’ ah, ah, it isn’t gonna play well.  In court I mean.  You can’t be saying this stuff in court, I’m tellin’ ya!  It just won’t play there at all!  Believe me!’  Even though it was The Fucking Truth, it wouldn’t play well there in court Jinx had just fucking admitted, Herry.  Soooo, how would I know about his own goddamn den, do ya’ suppose, Herry?  S’pose someone else who knows pornography’s pernicious deadliness told me about it when she happened to be there in it – Jinx’s den – when at his own home visiting?  S’pose someone – other than I! – thinks pornography in the hands of little children is a … well, what, Herry?  What would that be, Herry, d’ya’s’pose?!  Try the word ‘crime’!  We think it’s a mother – fucking crime, Herry, don’t we, Realtor Madonna and I do?!  As regards ‘the safety and wellbeing of children and moral climate’ of section fucking D, Herry?”   

Pornography, any form of it, in the hands of, let alone in the subscribed – to name of, minor children are the crimes of child endangerment and child abuse.  That is what it really is.  “But daJudge, even my own lawyer besides yours, Herry, and of course, you yourself, Daddy Herry Dearest?  Were you all going to point all of your fingers back at yourselves ever?  More accurately, were they each ever going to stop this woman – loathing act?  O, let’s just fucking summon up the First Amendment here.  The one no woman ever had a hand or voice in constructing, that First Amendment.  And the one that, when constructed, was never done so by those men with the intent by any of them that it would also work for the Not Males, the DEhumans, the females.  Just summon it up.  And, ‘Move the hell on,’ Jinx was so loud, so angry and soooo hands – on that afternoon.   One thing more I can now say with the staunchest of strength, conviction and will, ‘Herry, just whoooooa!  You just back the fuck up here.  Nooooo invoking the First Amendment with me you don’t, not any bloody damn more, you don’t!  No fucking First Amendment on this with me, Herry Daddee.  Not with me.  How dare you entitle this section D anything –– anything at all –– about the so – called, alleged safety or wellbeing or moral climate for kids.  The very kids who were sperm DNA – spawned by you.  How mother – fucking dare you, Herod Edinsmaier, You Child – Molesting Criminal!’”              *    *    *    *