In late June, 2018, a(nother) basal cell carcinoma was found on Dad's face.

Was it found by any of The Flozberks, with their long history of elder care, awareness of Dad's BCC history, and status as, uh, the shavers of Dad's face?

Hell, no -  Lisa found it.

I'll mention that Dad had just finished putting Tiffany through, uh, nursing school, too. But, in all fairness, Princess Corn Log is so self-centered that I'm impressed that she ever even noticed Dad was in the room. A little...well, rather large, actually, carcinoma doesn't stand a chance against her finely-tuned inward focus.

Good thing Lisa found it. Had it gone unnoticed much longer, things might have up and got freaky, for it took over a month to get him under the knife. Did anyone other than me and Dad thank her?

Of course not.

Lisa took Dad to his guy for surgery August 2.

Seeing the photos of him hacked open awaiting lab results, I got worked up. Combined with frustration with The Flozzies over a long list of things, including an ongoing stretch in which they had been feeding him especially poorly, I was fuming pretty good.

"Monster"
So, I left a saucy note fer 'em, entitled "Monster," on Dad's table.

In a nutshell, I informed The Flozberks that Dad got knived worse than expected and ample nourishment was critical. I related experiences with hyper-nourishing friends through major surgery and bemoaned a system with McDonald's in hospitals (and McD's ads everywhere, right down to the urinals) and high-end care teams that largely disregarded nutrition.

The second half was the good part:

We take life seriously. I can't think of one time we've gone through a drive-thru in our 17 ½ years together. Of the many hundreds of times we've fed Dad, we've used fast food exactly THREE times. Once from Taco Bell, once from Jack in the Box, and once from Raising Cane. All three sucked, and, frankly, I'm embarrassed by the fact that we've resorted to fast food even one-half of one percent of the time. If you frequently do business with fast food restaurants, you're a fool. If you regularly feed that shit to children or old people who are depending on you, you're a monster. A fucking monster. Sure, that might work on Halloween, but there are 364 other days in the year.

Kindly recall that we're both crippled. Every step, every moment standing is a battle, yet we still cared enough to bother to do a good job. The point is simple - it we could excel here, they, as much more-mobile creatures of leisure who lived a few blocks away, could do same or better.

Boot > Butt. Butt < Boot
No, that monster thing wasn't gonna go over real big, for damn sure. But, it got worser. I done threatened their asses, quite literally, see:

Do NOT even think of throwing some Taco Bell tacos or a lousy burger and fries from Shit in the Box at Dad during the next month. I ain't joking here. If you are unwilling or unable to provide suitable care during this healing period, PLEASE contact us and we will very happily take over any or all of your shifts. This is just not the time for half-assedness, period. If this is not observed, it's possible my combat boot and someone's butt will be having a get-together. Again, I am not kidding. So there - now if anyone wants to claim I've threatened violence, it can finally be done without being stunningly and embarrassingly full of shit. LMAO!

Yep. Feed Dad right fine-like fer the next month or I may hafta kick ya in the butt. Sounds about right to me.

I closed with this...

What we're looking for is protein, fat, vitamins, minerals, and micronutrients. Many colors of produce. Red, orange and dark blue are the patient's friends. Lots of beans and nuts. I'll try to keep highly nutritious fruit salads and soups in Dad's fridge, so please check.

...followed by a prodding for removing both schedule calendars from Dad's table. Monthly, I provided two copies, one for them to take home and one to leave there for reference and revision as two conflicting camps co-cared for Dad. I still don't get how anyone, months into the process, could be such a drooling moron to do that.

Oh, wait. Never mind.

Things Go Corn Log
OK, so...here's the kinda funny part - odds were that mellow Reagan would find "Monster" on Dad's table, bring it home to Neila, they'd moan about what an asshole I am, and then...wait for it...start feeding Dad better. Woo hoo! Mission accomplished!

Wrong!

PRINCESS CORN LOG FOUND IT! She lived a couple road hours away and I'd no idea she was coming to Dad's.

Two days later at Dad's, I saw my note on the kitchen counter. That was a first - normally they took my correspondence home, largely disregarded the content, and assumedly just filed it away, hoping they could somehow use it against me one day.

So yeah - kitchen counter? Huh? I stood there reading, baffled. The header was same, but I didn't write the content. WTF? Was I trippin'? Had Dr. Flozzie spiked my Cranapple?

HA! It was Tiffany's reply, cleverly turning the "Monster" header back at me in a rare show of wit from The Flozberks.  It was the first substantial communication I'd received from FlozWorld in months as we co-cared for Dad and our first encounter of any sort since In-DUH-pen-DUNCE Day.

She was very insulting and it certainly was an unpleasant read, but what stung most was what it revealed about the inner workings of an often-sweet gal I'd known since her birth. Her brain galloped out of control in an explosion of falsehoods and foolishness. Her source of information? Neila, the least credible person I've known since Rocky the Meth Tweaker in high school.

Just about every sentence was ludicrous. While I was decidedly firm and harsh in my "Monster" as I engaged valid issues. Tiffany was off the rails in her "Monster."

I cringed for her, then cringed twice for poor Langdon, my old buddy. A mind that spews such outlandish overstatements must be a trial to live with. One ingredient after another of a needlessly bad life lashed through her outburst.

Crap! The Parade of Kooks rolled on. How badly I'd hoped that bitter road would run out of pavement, but it's truly not an easy thing to shake.

Implications and Legacy
The implications were many. This was the first conflict I'd had with Tiffany in over 30 years as her uncle. We'd been close since the git-go, and closer once we started partying with her and Langdon (and doing some serious commiserating) in 2012.

My rebuttal to her goofy reply would be a massive, 20+ page tour de force with graphics and statistics that deconstructed and dissected her arguments. Plus, it revealed Dad had made a video 11 weeks before that:

- Exposed Neila's intimidation of him, unsavory acquisition of power of attorney over a blind man, and refusal to disclose Dad's own financial info to him, AND
- Absolved us of the wrongdoing the loon Neila (and now Tiffany) was accusing us of.

How I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when they read it.

Tiffany's "Monster" would pack serious legacy, too. It was a significant factor in Dad turning turning away from FlozWorld, and at least weekly I'd keep it alive by reading to Dad, with wailing, evangelistic drama, a quote from it as we facepalmed and laughed our asses off:

I want to tell you to take care of grandpa, because I know you and Lisa are incapable of caring for another human being (just ask her mother)!!! I know this “care” would not last a week!!!

Let's just say Princess Corn Log's mini-manifesto was not warmly received by her stepgrandfather, and it was one of many acts by her that thwarted The Flozberk Agenda, inspired a fierce response that stands to keep coming at her for the rest of her life, and made her a sad joke in many eyes, including Charlie's. He may have been blind, but he certainly wasn't blind.

It even became a running gag that endures to this day. If someone misplaces their keys or a shoelace comes untied, the shrieky moans commence:

You are of such poor character it is astonishing!!!

One More Tiny, Insignificant, Non-Hilariously-Ironic Detail
Tiffany's blazing defense of 87-year-old Charlie being habitually fed 7-Eleven hot dogs and Jack in the Box tacos seemed a tad at odds with her own dietary standards. A massive pain in the ass, Princess Corn Log would only eat organic, gluten-free, and soy-free. We had to make separate meals for her on holidays.

She was certainly way cool with corn, though.

Monster indeed. Luckily, I happened to come across your letter titled “Monster.” My mom always tries to protect me, so she would never show me your delusional demanding and threatening letter.

So here I am, and now it’s time for me to protect my parents and grandpa.

At our last meeting, my parents, Langdon and I were very amicable considering your behavior. The smiling and nodding is over.

You are the most dangerous type of narcissist because you are so delusional you don’t even realize the only people who think so highly of you are yourself and Lisa.

You can keep yelling about how terrible all family members are and incessantly talking about how wonderful you and Lisa are demanding anyone willing to listen to believe it but the truth is you are of such poor character it is astonishing.

As my brilliant grandma would always say “The more someone speaks of their piety, the quicker you need to count your money.” How ironic and forewarning.

It is almost laughable, that you are so detached from reality that you have the audacity to insinuate my parents are monsters for feeding her father 3 times a day for a year and a half, and 2 times a day from then on— with the occasional fast food.

And they provide this care with more love and compassion than most people ever receive.

A monster is someone who has historically visited their parents 12 times a year (and for money, of course). (Oh wait, this was until Lisa got her check—then you showed up far less often for holidays while grandma was on hospice for over a year).

A monster is someone who at the end of their mom’s life told her how terrible of a mother she was and relentlessly degraded her on her deathbed.

A monster is someone who spends their father’s money, without permission, a blind man, that relies on his children for information.

A monster is someone who after being caught, tells their father how terrible he was and that he DESERVES monetary compensation.

A monster is someone who only then starts increasing visits (to a mere three times a week) and feels such superiority for being such a strong presence and incredible care giver (once again -- laughable).

A monster is someone trying to convince people of a false reality in a desperate attempt to cover his pathetic ass.

I want to tell you to take care of grandpa, because I know you and Lisa are incapable of caring for another human being (just ask her mother). I know this “care” would not last a week.

As a human being, it would be unconscionable of me to punish my grandfather with your inept care. Keep your boxed hash browns, expired potato salad and Costco frozen foods for yourself (oh wait, you would never eat that junk).

And for your information, there has never been an appropriate time for “half-assdness,” in regards of taking care of my grandfather.

In the past, you disappeared when grandpa had surgeries and doctor’s visits (not even answering your phone) and you have never even come close to half-assedness in your care for him.

As far as your threats are concerned, it would behoove you to take a step back, and reevaluate before making another one.

You are done bullying my family.

It is over, Chuck.

Read my VERY detailed rebuttal, "The Monster Replies"

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