Langdon: Neila's Bitch

Tiffany is a tempest, and, as a tempest, she must be just that.

Early on, of the four crotchfruits from The Flozberk "Twins" that followed me in our family tree and called me "Uncle," I was closest to young Tiffany. She was a sweet kid, but, have I mentioned that she's quite the tempest?

Just That
Early, she was trouble. On the 4th of July 1991 my then-girlfriend and I saw Tiffany, past age 4, peek around the corner, run into the room, squat and deposit all her bodily wastes on the living room carpet, tell us "Shhhhh," and dash off. Reagan, unflappable by such, picked it up and went on with his life.

That was the third time we saw her do it that summer. Fortunately, she quit doing that.

Well, she kind of quit doing that.

Moving toward double digits and tweenage, the tempest churned on. She became sullen as Neila's (literally, Ryan's) lawsuit against Mannatech consumed too much of their lives, soothing herself with lots of sugar and fried ravioli from Jack in the Box.

Once, I saw her skulk into the kitchen, rain a half a box of Cap'n Crunch and a quart of milk into a massive cake batter bowl, and skulk out with nary a word. Reagan was unconcerned with that remarkably unhealthy display, dismissing it by saying she was having a bad week.

Around that time at a gathering, Mom tried to compliment her by saying she was getting to be a "real big girl." That made her freak out and hide in a back room. When she was 10.5, discussing math with me on Xmas, I told her I used math to debunk Santa Claus at an impressively young age. She ended up locked in her room crying and a conflict broke out for no good reason.

Tiffany grew up, but still had trouble finding a comfortable place in the world, spinning her wheels and flirting with some bad scenes. She met Langdon, a Texas boy much more rural than her roots, and they got married. He brought pronounced structure and sensibility to her life, at last. We all hit it off great and started hanging out and partying.

She, though, could not get squared away, much to Langdon's dismay. His parents financed their used car lot, a golden opportunity for them, but she would ditch her business and personal duties to languish in bed, drinking, getting high, and shopping online. She definitely had an unhealthy taste for wine and had at least one drunken holiday meltdown at Mom and Dad's. There was a months-long estrangement from her bigmouth, toxic, meddling mother Neila that, for better or worse, I helped resolve.

Victim of Your Certainty
The hypochondria set in. Whatever the talk show malady of the week was, she had it. Hashimoto's. Graves'. Crohn's. Celiac.

Doctors found, like, literally nothing and put her on legalized go-fast to, like, get her ass in gear. That literally made her, like, a different kind of basket case and when she'd get, like, jacked on those pills + tipsy on the vino, her mind would literally gallop all over the place in eruptions of babbling constantly punctuated with the filler words "like" and "literally."

It was, like, literally hard to endure at times.

Amid all that, she decided her problem was diet and toppled Mom as the biggest culinary pain in the ass in family history, eating only organic, gluten-free, and soy-free. I hope that works out for her, because the cumulative added expense and hassle of her choice is vast. Clinical data did not and do not seem to support her position.

When we hung out, deep discussions about our zany family were the rule. Tiffany was deeply frustrated at how her hard-up parents had squandered their substantial wealth and overindulged Ryan into oblivion. The friction with her mother troubled her greatly. She said at no time in her life did she know true contentment. Her ennui was palpable.

We did what we could to guide her toward insight and understanding, for I'd been studying her parents since long before she was born. Our efforts were at least somewhat successful and she was very thankful. Poor Tiffany and Ryan have exhibited the most anguish, misbehavior, and inner turmoil I've ever seen from a pair of siblings.

As 2018 wore on, it became clear we no longer had a relationship with what would soon be known as Camp Corn Log. I sent very nice Mother's Day and graduation messages to Tiffany and an equally nice birthday email to Langdon, but was ghosted.

The In-DUH-pen-DUNCE Day/Corn Log, The Monster Clash, and The Steven Wilson Day Ambush incidents followed before Dad was killed.

Your Doubt's Not an Option
Not once did she or Langdon sit down with Dad and discuss my conflict with Neila, a fascinating choice that screams volumes. I essentially begged them both to do so, to no avail. Dad was a pleasant, honest gentleman; very easy to talk to. EITHER they felt his words didn't matter OR they felt it best to hide from those words OR they were told not to talk to him by Neila.

My money is on all three.

We managed to coexist and work together half-ass decently for the ends of Dad's and Tasha's lives, then she jumped the shark hard as fuck with a flurry of loathsome acts later in 2019.

Trying to Lull Us In Before the Havoc Begins
First, she teamed up with Neila to throw a lavish, Star Wars-themed birthday party for her cousin Tony's son Jax, then, when The Flozzies didn't get their way with Tony, she completely ditched the innocent child the next year. This was a starkly appalling act against a little boy, being raised by a single father, who already was struggling with female abandonment issues caused by his troubled mother.

Then, days after the transactional party, the drunken young mother (words that should NEVER appear together) called Tony and made some epic boneheaded mistakes that may end up dogging her for years, if not the rest of her life.

She insisted I was a dangerous man of dreadful character. Tony, who had been through thick and thin with me and could not cite a single unethical thing I even suggested, much less did, in our close 17 year association, was unable to concur with her.

Long ago, Mom isolated us from Dad's wonderful family - we get Flozberks or nothing. That process was revitalized by Neila and Tiffany late in Dad's life. In late 2019, Tiffany tried to finish that most wicked job in a shockingly clumsy, inherently doomed attempt to deprive me of the last family I now have.

We Know Your Nature
Then, she ramped things up with some veiled "snitch bitch" threats associated with my long, relatively-meager involvement with cannabis. Ironically, she and Langdon were stoners who pursued greater involvement themselves, actually crossing the line into the dishonorable realm in doing so. Never significantly break the law on property owned by an unaware friend. Not cool.

This sort of behavior - snitchiness borne of wrath and opportunism - makes the huge 420 crowd go wild with contempt and lust for payback, and for damn good reason. Such scumbags are regarded similarly to baby killers - the absolute bottom of the heap - and StonerWorld rides on a perpetual mission to heap misery aplenty on such miscreants.

If you're against cannabis and act accordingly, that's one thing. An insider who flips, or even casually invokes the notion of such, due to spite or opportunism is regarded as a demon.

The kicker is that once the dispute broke out with these Flozberks who knew certain things about me (I was always very open, perhaps to a fault), I followed basic protocol and SANITIZED, going squeaky-clean "straight edge" right down to no caffeine or sugar. Then, when she actually got to talkin' snitch, another coat of uber-clean was applied.

The last two pieces of contraband to leave the crib were, ironically, a few of those prescribed go-fast pills Tiffany strangely insisted Lisa accept from her and a big, crappy American flag-themed bong Ryan gave me.

Poor Tiffany crossed a REAL heavy line, likely blind to what she was stepping in, to take aim at something that wasn't even there and court consequences roundly capable of leaving her flabbergasted. Many are acutely aware of Princess Corn Log's misdeeds and how things proceed will much depend on how the final issues with Neila pan out.

Control Your Delusion
The Princess then jumped some REAL serious shark by claiming they had an autopsy done showing Dad had injuries consistent with violent abuse and actually implied, quite vigorously, that I'd murdered Dad!

It's interesting that she heaved such suspicion on me. The facts:

Dad suffered a blow to the head...

- Less than two days after he revoked Neila's power of attorney that he, blind, had no recollection of signing.
- Hours after he made me his new attorney-in-fact.

He died the day before he was to sign a new will eliminating The Flozberks' huge advantage over me, his own son and only child.

My household was modest, stable, secure, and debt-free.

Theirs was...
- Years delinquent on their mortgage in one of the city's best 'hoods.
- Wholly-dependent on the coffers of their living and dead elders.
- Likely running out of money from their last cash injection, that one from Reagan's mother's embattled estate
- Rattled by a slew of serious felony charges against Ryan, a strapping lad in his 30s who had never truly worked a day in his life that I know of.
- Encrusted in a spectacular history of awful outcomes for humans and animals alike.

The only account of the injury that led to Dad's death came from The Flozberks. I still do not know exactly, or perhaps even approximately what happened. I just don't know.

Calm Before the Torrent Comes
Tiffany broke the Drunken Rudy Giuliani rule - when ya get tanked up, try and avoid things that have microphones in 'em. That's doubly true if you're the sort to get into kerfuffles.

Part of the plan Dad and I enacted was to set traps for bigmouths with every non-Flozberk. I knew Tiffany would fall right in, especially given the existence of alcohol. She has proved most cooperative multiple times, providing slam-dunk evidence of actionable behavior and aiding us with some nice statute of limitations headroom. Every syllable counts.

Her antics from The Monster Clash and beyond were instrumental in Dad's rejection of The Flozberks. It took a special blend of arrogance and stupidity bring on such self-sabotage. It pushes me past the limits of being able to justly describe it.

Princess Corn Log became such an unwitting ally of ours that we actually celebrate her birthday.

Fuck, Here We Go Again
Learning someone I care much about falsely implicated me as the murderer of someone I cared even more about brought that dreaded kicked in the gut feeling so prevalent in Flozberk life. The feelings were indeed strikingly intense, but as I considered the matter, I was thrilled to find myself free of anger.

Hell, if this shit didn't make me angry, nothing would. The goal of a life without anger was now an enduring reality. Pre-2017 Me would have wanted to string that damn fool up for pulling such a stunt. 2019 Me, though, just felt sick and sad, and mostly for Camp Corn Log.

Tiffany's behavior through various incidents in the last few years (and long before that) has been choked with indicators of a life destined to be racked with turmoil, woe, lost potential, sloppy thinking, hyperreactivity, discontent, and poor conflict resolution. Imagining poor Langdon trying to deal with that made me cringe. Throw in a kid and I get dizzy.

I hope The Princess and my old buddy Mr. Corn Log find their way out of the Flozberk swamp and sniff out a life guided by honor, reason, good faith, respectful contentment, and clean prosperity. It's long, long past time for the unspeakably wretched cycle to be broken and they have the chops to do it.

But, a tempest must be just that.

Watch her music video "Princess Corn Log" HERE

Return to A Parade of Kooks