John The Golden Psycho, a badly clogged toilet of a man

In a perfect exemplification of The Flozberk Way, John was both marginalized and overvalued right out of the gate. From Mom's mini-memoir:

..John was born and I adored him. Aydin wanted him taken care of by his nanny as (with) all his friends but I defied, to his anger, to take him places. The two never got along. Aydin expected to be first and foremost. He referred to John to me as “your son.”

...Neila was born and Aydin, my grandmother, and mother who lived with us then adored her and John rightly resented her. I had to compensate for the difference (how) the 2 were treated.

The imbalance jockeys Mom and Aydin crafted two fresh monsters who would leave their muddy footprints on an astounding array of innocent living things in the coming years.

Errol
John, born "Errol" and later changed to "John" because he detested "Errol," was a warped, unhappy boy who was not at ease until the exemplary Charlie replaced the selfish, idiotic scumbag Aydin in his life. Even after that upgrade, time would reveal many more toxic itches that needed much scratching.

In high school, John worked hard at a tiny Kroger that once stood near our home. His friend and co-worker Steve, a discarded youth from Oklahoma with a rancid alcoholic mother, lived with us for free for a good while and actually got to calling Mom "Mom."

In sharp contrast, Mom later would not even bother to learn my friends' names.

Swine, Co-Sign, and Tan "Gent"
When it came time to get behind the wheel, Dad found him a car they fancied and John promised to make payments, so Mom co-signed on a blue Gran Torino with a white top. He did not make one payment - Mom and Dad got stuck with the whole thing as John largely spent that summer in the pool.

He left the nest and moved one county northwest to Denton to attend college, studying business. I visited him there a few times, with some interesting happenings resulting.

After he graduated, Mom and Dad helped him buy a home on the north side of town and he (with his hottie girlfriend Pam) lived with us as it was built. Pam dumped him, he replaced her with Kay, and they married in 1979 with the first crotchfruit, Tony, coming in 1981 and Cyndi 15 months later.

Oh, Baby!
When Kay was first pregnant, John said more than once that if it was a girl he didn't want anything to do with "it," an utterance sane people would tend to consider depraved. I'll never forget his face when I informed him that the father determines the gender of the crotchfruit. His relief when the first screamer turned out to be a Tony, not a Toni, must have been vast, but, alas for him, the next one turned out to be one of those pesky penisless persons.

Now, his second-born, a daughter wants nothing to do with him. He got his wish.

DUDE! SERIOUSLY?!?!?
His honor for females shone even more brightly at our first dinner at him home after Tony. As Kay was about to serve up chow, The Golden Psycho passed around breathtakingly graphic childbirth photos to Dad, Mom, and me as if they were shots of his parakeet.

I had written much more about what was in those photos, but, I have regard for Kay, so I backspaced it and, well, we'll just leave it at that. Those familiar with human birthing know what I'm talkin' about.

Mom didn't react. Dad and I looked at each other with all kinds of WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT?!?!? On the way home, I brought up how uncool that was. Dad let rip a "God almighty!" Mom reflexively defended him, saying he was just excited about his son.

I swear, if John had fucked a baby, Mom would have said the baby was horny, led him on, and got the best fuck a baby ever had. The grotesque gyrations to which she would stoop in defending him were almost hypnotic to behold.

In contrast to Mom's position, every woman I've mentioned this to was aghast, with at least two saying they would have killed him on the spot. The nerve of these fucking Flozberks. Just...wow.

Fucking Autocrats
I loved spending weekends at John's, constantly playing games. As later seen with Neila and Reagan, the place was like an amusement park, but unlike with N&R, the toys were centered around the adult, not the kids.

When John was off the clock from his executive banking gig, it was playtime for him while poor Kay, who worked as a teacher, busted her ass running the household with everything under John's control.

As the only person he knew who had the time, desire, and prowess to participate in his vast collection of video and other games, I was valuable to him and we had tons of fun, but it was always in feverish weekend blasts of staccato activity under his terms. Always. Right down to pizza crust style and choice of toppings. Always. Everything. Always. Not once in all those years did he ask me what I wanted.

That way of life greatly resembled Mom's description of living under the rule of John's scumbag daddy, Aydin:

He had to be on the go all the time and total control over me. It was fun but I was disappearing, he never took NO for anything.

Fucking Kleptocrats
John loved to tilt the playing field in his favor however practicable, including stealing. He seemed to prefer scamming and mooching, but he was far from above the occasional five-finger discount. His third wife, Claudia, a flight attendant, was not averse to stealing valuables left on planes. I've a hard time imagining Kay doing that.

He got into trouble at least once, in the early 80s, causing a serious, unexpected disruption when he got nailed at Sears for something pretty significant as his shocked wife dealt with either one or two little kids. I'm unaware of anything coming from it other than him being banned from the store.

The Golden Psycho
John groomed me to adore and idolize him, and it worked...for a while. When I started maturing, thinking for myself and pushing back, he answered with orchestrated attempts to massively frighten, pool drownings, choking, wrestling holds, and innumerable applications of his idol Fritz Von Erich's trademark, The Iron Claw.

I was helpless against the much-older dedicated athlete and Mom declined to take my pleas for help seriously and stop the madness, giving him carte blanche. Thank heavens kids grow up and the library had books on how to inflict pain on superior attackers.

Wrestler Fritz Von Erich, a regional deity for white trash, was a perfect fit as The Golden Psycho's idol. Not even German, Fritz was an illusion really named "Jack" and harmed many on the way to his forlorn version of the top. He bore six sons, but only one lived as long as he did, with three of the six dying by suicide.

783-8524 at Precisely 1900h and Zero Seconds
As part of his ironclad tradition of scamming, John, who I guess wasn't getting his muffin buttered to his likin' by his worn-down, new-mother wife, would have me call their house and pretend to be a female associate. After 40+ years, I still remember the number: 783-8524.

I was to ring him at precisely the ordered time, then keep the line open so he wouldn't be thwarted by the loud busy signal that would blast through a dead connection back then. He would tend to the rest with staged con-versations.

He even had us synchronize our watches in perparation.

Round 1:  I called exactly on time. Kay answered! Wide-eyed, I hung up on her in a fumbling, klackety mess. He called a few minutes later and made a new "appointment."

Round 2:  Just a minute or so in, Dad picked up the kitchen phone, noticed the line was in use, and politely hollered (he was an old school guy who talked LOUDLY on the phone) that he needed to make a call when whoever was on the line was done. John panicked and hung up even though all he had to do was be quiet until Dad got off the line.

Round 3:  Days later, another try. I was growing weary of the scheme, its serial impositions on my evenings, and, frankly, John's existence as a whole. Listening to a college graduate, husband, and father closer to age 30 than 20 behaving so was off-putting. And, as an accelerated-program honor student, I had shit to do.

So, I decided to have some fun with him, ruthlessly ridiculing him after each of his staged lumps of scamtalk. It was utterly hilarious. He'd say something like, "Yes, I have been working out - thank you for the compliment!" and I'd reply with, "What kind of sad loser shitheel has to resort to these things?" I can only imagine how he was fuming throughout.

Round 4:  There wasn't one! Woo hoo! The matter was not further engaged.

I thought he would let me have it big time after the barrage of fierce degradation I heaped upon him as he tried to enhance his marriage in such an oh-so manly and upstanding way, but, perhaps ashamed of the unseemly affair, he broke character HARD and acted as if the EPIC, extended ball-busting I foisted upon him didn't happen. Surely he carred a grudge, though.

About 30 years later when I told Kay about this, she said she hadn't noticed and if she would have, she'd have told the conjured admirer to:

1) Take him, and
2) Keep him.

A More Homey Scam
Soon after the phone call scam, he got McMansion fever something awful and conscripted me into an elaborate campaign to manipulate Mom into giving him a fortune for a much fancier home. John and Kay made good money, but he'd wildly blow it as it came in (and, often before) while running up credit card debt, too.

For some reason, he thought I'd seriously care about how nice his house was. I didn't. Frankly, I didn't really give a shit about how nice my house was, so long as it was sufficient for my needs. Our values and perspectives were just radically different and gluttony has long made me frown and squirm.

His 3/2 brick home on a nice street was just not good enough. He'd fixate on one desired feature, then another. First it was an atrium, then a waterfall, then a four car garage. He did eventually get his waterfall, then shafted Waterfall Guy, who had to put a lien on the property.

John's obsession with the appearance of opulence became a thorn in our sides for over 30 years. In the early days in our new home, we had to take the phone off the hook to get through dinner in peace, so persistent was his harassment.

Enlisting a little kid to help with one's scams is inherently deplorable. Had we been ghetto, I suspect he would have had me hiding in a dumpster, my cute little cheeks chipmunk-stuffed with dime bags of crack and a roll of small bills in my Toughskins' pocket. Fortunately, we weren't ghetto and crack didn't even exist yet. Whew!

"HEY!" (While Pointing and Staring Menacingly)
I got fed up with the guy on October 5, 1981. I had a long weekend and he invited me over. It was an interesting time. Kay water-burned her arm pretty good by inverting a hot iron while doing John's shirts. Later, she went off on him like a mofo for playing games all day while she, injured, toiled.

During her quite valid outburst, she dropped an F-bomb, the first (and only, methinks) I'd heard from the pleasant, civilized lady in the years I'd known her. He fired back with one of his trademarks - break a John rule and he'll point at ya, glare fiercely, and snappily bark, "HEY!" I've seen him do it to humans, dogs, cats, and birds, but never to fish, insects, arthropods, microorganisms, or elephants.

Were I a grown woman offered such a correction for saying a dirty word in her own den, I'd have grabbed that pointin' finger and snapped it as a prelude to nailing it to the table. As John's wife, I would have had to wear a carpenter's tool belt. Kay, though, settled for telling him to shove it and storming from the room. He resumed our Intellivision NFL Football game as if nothing had happened.

The last time John ever did the ol' point n' HEY trick, I simply responded with an especially scoffy, "Go fuck yerself, Count Fagula," which pissed him off something awful, for he detested both backtalk and homosexuals. It worked, though - he didn't try that HEY shit on me again.

In-de-FENCE-i-ble
The next day, Monday, the primary reason he came and got me came to light - I was to help him build or fix his fence. I forget which. Problem was, I was still recovering from being shot. The feisty wound, above, below, and across the remains of my right knee, was still bleeding after requiring a massive bummer of about 32 sq. in. worth of skin graft, for starters. I'd recovered to where I could get around, but manual labor was not in the cards yet.

I tried to pony up, but soon had to bail, making John freak out. When his attempts to change my mind failed, he called me a lazy faggot and continued with the work alone, slamming boards and tools around like a petulant child. I ignored him and played his electronic Chess Challenger game and did my homework the rest of the day.

The next morning as he took me home, he was trying to make small talk and bad jokes as if nothing had happened, but I wasn't playing. Staring at him from the back seat of his Nissan Maxima as news of the assassination of Anwar Sadat flowed in on the radio, I could only think, "Yep - fuck this guy. Enough." I was now 13, music and literature were my guiding lights, and John's schtick wasn't cuttin' no ice no more.

Somehow, Kay put up with this putz until 1998. After the inevitable divorce, for which Mom and Dad, of course, picked up the tab, John went on a party rampage. From Mom's mini-memoir:

He found another 5/5 home. New woman, new house. Then I paid for his divorce and for Kay to get herself a home in Plano w/ his daughter Cynthia. He asked Tony his son to move in. As later Tony told me, he would pick up young women needy and move them w/kids in the grand house. “A woman moves in, I am told to go, then she goes, I come and then over and over the same thing."

Then, he found who he thought was "The One." Jennifer One, actually. Not to be confused with later Jennifer Two.

The Ring of Liar
Let's go straight to Mom on this one:

With Jennifer #1 he bought her a $25,000 ring from acct-savings I opened for him – see original that he signed - and we went together, in his deposition he said never happened. I transferred it from my account not to draw from but to add to. I put $36,000 – he closed account and had $100 in checking and owing thousands in credit cards. She took the ring and left him, he was so crushed. I didn't have the heart to say anything.

So, lemme get this straight: Mom, wanting to teach a 44-year-old business major with post-graduate training how to save money, opened a new joint account with him, trusted him as the primary despite a pretty dirtbaggy history, and filled the account with her and Dad's money over a few years.

He then silently cleaned it out to get, among other things, some bitch one hell of a ring, lied about it to Mom, bitch ran off with ring, his widdle feewings wuz so hurted 'dat Mom didn't have the heart to say anything, and he later lied about the whole god damn thing under oath while suing the shit out of Mom and calling her a "cunt."

Yeah, on top of all else, he did that last thing, too.

A First Rat Affair
Next, Jennifer Two. I'll again defer to Mom:

Then he met Jennifer 2. Again he wanted a full wedding, reception, band, etc. The shindig was 2 days after my mother died and her body was at mortuary. He said I had to be there for the second dance (1st with bride). With my heart breaking I went – dressed in red, until I about fainted and had to leave.

It's the only wedding I've been to at which a guest was bitten by a rat. In all fairness, though, I've not been to all that many weddings.

But hey, that expensive wedding, woozy, heartbroken Mom, and rodent attack shit were all worth it, right? Aw, HELL no...are you kiddin' me? John threw Jennifer Two and her three kids out on Christmas Eve, nine months after the wedding. Wait, or was that Jennifer Three and her two kids??? It gets hard to keep track.

Something Wicked This Way Bums
So far we've seen bits of an absolutely spectacular rampage of mooching and chicanery by John. This had been going on since the 70s, but after his first marriage ended it went off the rails to the tune of hundreds of thousands of dollars. Wedged comfortably in said rampage was $12,000 for for him, ring-muckin' Jennifer One, his son Tony, and Tony's girlfriend to celebrate the millennium in the Bahamas.

At that point, neither Dad nor I had been on a vacation in 15 years.

In the post-Jennifer era, Mom and Dad entirely supported John and his huge house for two year+ stretches. Then, around the time Aydin's marbles started hitting the rug, he met Claudia, they married, and soon hatched up a bizarre plan to squeeze out Neila and "adopt"/exploit Mom and Dad while both John's and Neila's camps simultaneously gazed at Aydin's resources, licking their chops.

I Swear, the Nerve of Some People
Before all hell broke loose, John and his new wife Claudia engaged in an orgasm of shameless, slimy, audacious parasitism that still blows my mind. Mom? Wanna speak from the urn some more?

She asked me to change my will so that John would receive more cash upon my death and to eliminate their feeling cheated. I agreed. She made sure, brought her sister and a friend and my atty Roberts came w/ his secretary Bibi to amend the will. That was the beginning.

No shit? Wow. Just, wow. How sleazy and disgusting can ya get? If I did that, I would broil in shame for the rest of my life and any funds inherited would have been used to buy a hose to run from the nearest automotive exhaust pipe to a modifed self-exterminatory face mask, all done within the failsafe embrace of a giant lawn and leaf bag.

Anyone (especially a dipshit-in-law who just waltzed onto the scene mere months before) that does things such as the above, approves of doing things such as the above, or has done things such as the above sans tearful, earnest repentence has no business living and should self-exterminate ASAP. Just do it. Do it NOW. NOW!

If you do it right, it won't hurt a bit, I promise. NOW!

DO. IT. NOW.

The Incident
John came at Neila hard with complaints that were overblown, but not wholly invalid. Mom hired attorneys for Aydin and Neila, against Dad's wishes. Things escalated and John sued everyone but Dad and me, leading to years of agony. Dad firmly cites their involvement in it as his biggest regret ever.

Neila got to soak Aydin for a good chunk, then John prevailed in court and gained guardianship of his father in cahoots with a very effective attorney. It's beyond doubt that Aydin was much better off in Neila's camp. It's also beyond doubt that both sides wanted to live off the old pervert.

What really sucks is that the whole thing trashed the end of my parents' lives.

The legal battles fizzled out after John won and Aydin, then Mom died after 8-9 years and massive material and personal cost. John and Claudia moved from the Austin area to Tennessee, with Claudia boasting how perfectly happy they were and how they agreed on literally everything.

Outcome (So Far)
The inevitable divorce came a few years later and John, unfortunately, returned to this area. After flicking away Tony and Jax like they were roaches for years, the boys now have a guarded, arms-length relationship with him. That estrangement was waged by John when Tony refused to take sides in the big war, insisting to maintain ties with all family members.

His penisless crotchfruit, however, is permanently estranged from him since perhaps 15 years ago for a long list of reasons.

Nearing age 70, he now spends his time playing video games, watching sports, and partying with women young enough to be his granddaughter at profoundly vacuous, insipid electronic dance festivals and Pitbull concerts. I'd imagine now if a woman wants to again make an epic chump out of him (or vice-versa) he's gonna hafta finance it himself.

John still makes my flesh crawl, but like with the whole damn bunch of 'em, I still wish him well. Why? Because it's what Mom and Dad would want, this family has suffered enough, and hating someone is like drinking poison and expecting your enemy to die. And, in a way, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Strange world, no?

Update
Now, in summer 2026, John is 72 and has heaved yet another wife onto the pile.

Read MUCH more about John in the Appendices

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