My Insane Family - Sleeping With Sharks

Sleeping With Sharks

My family, going back many generations, has always spent a part of their summer at the La Jolla Beach and Tennis Club in California.  During one of those summers, when my mother was a teen, she was having lots of trouble with my Uncle Tommy.  As a typical younger brother, he was being a real pain in the ass to my mother and she’d had enough. My mother decided that she’d find a way to teach Tommy a good lesson.

One night during a walk on the beach, my mother found a dead shark that had washed up. The shark was big, real big.  She knew that this was the golden opportunity to “get” Tommy.  She picked up the shark which was not easy; it took both of her arms to carry it.

Tommy had gone to bed and was sound asleep. Mom quietly crept into his bedroom, dragging the shark behind her.  She very slowly pulled Tommy’s covers down and placed the shark on its back with its head on the pillow right next to Tommy's head.  Both the shark and Tommy appeared to be in a deep sleep with their mouths wide open, teeth exposed and snoring. She pulled the covers up just below the shark’s mouth and Tommy’s chin. It was really a very cozy scene. My mother then tiptoed out and went to bed.

The next morning the shark was found out in the middle of the street. There was a crowd of people examining it and trying to figure out where the hell it came from. My mother looked up to the second floor where Tommy’s room was.  She saw that the bedroom window was wide open.  Tommy, in his shock and anger had somehow chucked the shark out the window and into the street!

The worst part of this story is that Tommy went on to sleep with much worse creatures than that old dead shark.

Juarez Booze Run

I met Laura when I was 14.  Her father, Tony was my blood father’s half brother.  He came into my life when my father was killed and began to take me down to Ruidoso on a regular basis to spend time with his children.  This was incredibly kind of Tony, not to mention it was a lot of fun, he had 3 kids, Laura and her two brothers, Nathan and Corky.  

In the beginning, my visits to see the cousins was relatively innocent, the occasional cigarette or can of beer.  But within a short period of time, we had escalated to large quantities of alcohol, then cocaine.  This was a very dangerous time for me as my cousins were lacking their allocated amount of the common sense gene when in utero; as did I.  When I was with them, we did the most unimaginably stupid things. Whether it be driving around town shooting out windows, stealing golf carts and driving them off cliffs, seeing how high and far we could jump our vehicles over cattle tanks, all of course while cross-eyed drunk.  But the grand daddy of our stupidity was an afternoon excursion to Mexico to buy booze.

We got it in our heads that Laura, my brother Tom (who was about 8 at the time) and I should drive to Juarez Mexico to buy cheap booze.  Juarez was about 2 1/2 hours away.  We told Laura's parents that we were going hiking and then camping out overnight.  When we arrived in Juarez, we bought enough booze to take care of Jim Morrison for a month.  Once we loaded up the car with rot gut alcohol, I had the bright idea of having a drink; or two.  So off we went, with my eight year old brother, to a seedy Juarez bar to drink like adults.  4 hours later, there we were, absolutely shit-faced drunk and a two and one half our drive ahead of us.

Laura was the only person with a driver’s license, Tom was too young and mine was revoked for reason that I can no longer remember.  Although Laura was the drunkest of the three of us, she’s the one with the license, so off we went drunk driver and all.  We got across the border with no problems but an hour down the highway, a State Police officer pulled us over.  When he pulled us over, I was passed out; he had to shake me to wake me up.  The officer let us know that he'd stopped us because Laura was going 35 in a 55 mph and weaving in and out of her lane.  The police officer asked if we'd been drinking, of course, I belched and said no.  Laura told him that she was just very tired.  He instructed me to drive but when he discovered that I didn't have my driver’s license, he told Laura that she'd have to drive and to stop at the next filling station to buy a coffee.

Minutes after pulling away from the cop car and back onto the highway, Laura started to pass out.  No matter what I did, I couldn't keep her awake.  It was very dark out, we were on a crowded 2 lane highway and the police man was directly behind us.  

I managed to reach over and set the cruise control for the posted speed limit.  Then as quickly as I could, I dragged Laura out of the driver’s seat and into the passenger’s seat.  She was not much help by that point; she was down for the count.  A couple of times while I was pulling Laura out of the driver’s seat, I remember reaching over, grabbing the steering wheel and make sure we kept on a straight course; just in the knick of time.  Once I finished moving Laura, I slid into the driver’s seat and took over as captain.  All of this while we were rolling down the road at 55 mph, in a pitch dark night and a police officer right behind us!  There was still a major problem, I wasn't able to see straight so I had to keep one eye shut and do the best I could to keep the other eye focused so I’d stay on the road.  I couldn't pull over or slow down because the cop was right behind us, must have followed us for at least 60 miles. 

We did eventually make it back to Ruidoso, in one piece but less millions of brain cells and decreased liver functions.  We did continue to drink through the night with our eagerly waiting cousins.  Who by the way were furious with us for being 5 hours late.

This is how we lived our lives in our early and mid teens.  Laura

later in life took it to a level that only by the grace of God I didn't go to.  Laura used and subsequently became fatally addicted to heroin.  Laura looked like the all American small town girl.  She lived on a small ranch, had a father and mother who loved her, they were worth millions.  She was a cheerleader, rode and helped her mother coach/train hunter jumper horses and riders.  When she died, she was virtually estranged from her family and certainly penniless.  She was found all alone in a cockroach infested Arizona apartment.  She still had the syringe stuck in her arm.  She left behind a habitual criminal of a husband and two infant children whom she passed on fetal alcohol syndrome and hepatitis c.  

Something to Wash Those Pills Down With?

About the time I turned 14, my grandparents got the travel bug.  They decided that it would be ok to leave me alone in the house for extended periods of time.  I obviously had no problem with that!  I do have to say that the timing was bad. My father and pregnant step-mother had just been killed; I was a LOST kid.

Before my grandparents would leave, they would have me make a budget based on the number of days they'd be gone.  What I'd do is get the newspaper, go to the Walgreens or Furr's liquor ads and calculate how much booze I'd need. That was my budget!  Once they were gone, I'd hit up Morie's liquor store in downtown Albuquerque.  It was one of the few bars in town that would sell to minors at the time.  It's now gone and a Federal Court building sits where my favorite bar was.

I had many, many fun and crazy parties during my grandparent’s vacations.  One party though stood out from the others, and here is what happened.

My cousins, John-O and Jamie were up from the beautiful town of Socorro, New Mexico.  They lived in an old trailer that was virtually held together with bailing wire and duct tape.  Their mother, God bless her, had to work constantly to make ends meet so John and James were mostly on their own.  John-O was particularly a vile young man.  He always had his fingers in his nose or crotch and seemed to have an endless supply of mucous.  In fact, he was so mucousy that he prided himself on having hundreds of mucous stalactites hanging from his bedroom ceiling.  I'd go into further detail but I'll save that chapter for later.

So John-O, Jamie and various other pasty skinned, long haired drunk pubescent boys were sitting around my grandmother’s dining room table drinking Mad Dog 20/20, Rainer Ale and Popov Vodka.  Part way through the afternoon, a friend of mine who lived in the neighborhood showed up with some people we didn't know.  His nickname was "Deuce" and he was being extremely obnoxious.  I'm not sure what had gotten into him, I bet it was his way of showing off to the uninvited friends he brought to the party to drink my booze.

About an hour into Deuces arrival, I'd had enough.  I decided to teach him a lesson that he'd never forget.  John-O, who had been sitting next to me all afternoon, had a can of 7-UP that he'd been using as a "spittoon" for his chewing tobacco spit. As usual, John-O was mucousy but on this day, he was a snot factory.  His 7-UP can was filled to the rim with saliva, tobacco and thick snot.  I slyly grabbed the can, took it to the kitchen, cleaned the top and placed it in the ice tray to quickly chill it.  About 20 minutes later, we were in the middle of a drinking game.  I turned to Deuce and asked him if he wanted to pop a couple of my Valium pills.  I obviously knew that he'd jump at the offer.  I told Deuce I'd go get them for him.  I walked into the kitchen, grabbed the chilled can of mucous and returned to the table.

Deuce never knew what hit him; he fell for it hook line and sinker.  He reached his hand out for his pills, I obliged him.  I nicely handed him an icy cold can of "7-UP" to wash them down with, which he grabbed.  The next scene was virtually in slow motion.  Deuce threw the two yellow pills high in the air.  He then leaned back in his chair and perfectly caught them in his mouth.  While still leaning back in the chair, he held up the can and slowly began to pour it into his mouth from about a foot above his mouth.  The look on his friend’s faces, who knew nothing about what I'd done, was absolutely priceless.  Their jaws fell open as the frothy tobacco spit and thick mucus slid out of the can into Deuces mouth.  It was so thick that it was one long string of gelatinous looking slime from the can to his mouth. It literally was one, slow giant blob of gelatinous horror that nicely hit his palette.  It was such a large glob of tobacco laden slipper secretion that it went over his tongue and straight down his throat from the weight.

Before the last mucous tentacles had reached the back of Deuces throat, every single boy in the room was scattering from the table like the cockroaches they resembled.  We all knew, including his friends who were innocent, that when Deuce figured out what happened, there would be hell to pay.  The problem was, those of us "in the know" (John-O, James and myself), were laughing so hard, we were literally crawling across the floor looking for safety from the "Wrath O' Deuce".

I vividly remember Deuce rushing to the sink and tilting the can to see what the hell he'd just ingested.  When the mucous and tobacco spit fell out of the can, he began belching, then vomiting.  It first exploded from his nostrils, then his mouth.  It was unbelievable how much of John-O's fluids came back out of Deuce mouth and nose.  It was equally shocking just how much additional material came out of his skinny body.

This of course just made me laugh harder, I couldn't move.  I was laughing so hard; my body was convulsing and not responding to my commands.  This became a real problem when Deuce finished vomiting, wiped his mouth, turned around and spotted me on the floor in hysterics.  He knew, there was no doubt; it was Donnie, that mother-fucker!

Deuce jumped on me and began to punch me as hard as he could.  I was still laughing so hard, his blows didn't cause much pain or damage.  This frustrated him, especially when he noticed his friends laughing like hyenas.  Deuce stopped punching me.

Deuce and I remained friends and continued to socialize on a regular basis but he never crashed another one of my parties again.

My Insane Family - The Special Dinner

My uncle Tommy, uncle Timo and a friend by the name of Steve all went on a hunting trip to the mountains of southern New Mexico. They took an old truck that only allowed for 2 people in the front, so their friend Steve had to ride in the back of the truck. 


When they arrived to their camp site, my uncle Tommy realized that his friend Steve had eaten the vast majority of their food during the drive. There were no towns nearby and nightfall was coming soon.  My uncle Tommy and Timo were furious. Timo had to forcibly keep Tommy from physically assaulting their friend Steve.  When things calmed down, my uncle Tommy told his longtime friend Steve to go off with Timo and hunt for some turkeys before it got dark. Uncle Tommy said that this would give him some time to cool off. Timo and Steve left while Tommy set forth to his plans of retribution. 

My uncle Tommy gathered the food that remained and put together a dinner for everybody. The only difference is that the dinner he prepared for his friend Steve was just a bit different. Tommy took a small baguette, cut it down the middle. He then dropped his pants and carefully took a shit within the bread as if it were a sumptuous bratwurst. Once he had completed the mission, uncle Tommy then placed mustard, Sauerkraut and onions on the top of Steve's dinner to hide the true occupant of the baguette.  He then garnished the plate with vegetables and cheese. 


Steve and uncle Timo arrived back at camp. Tommy had a warm fire going, camp completely set up and a big dinner ready for everybody. Tommy gave Timo his dinner, then Steve. As he handed his old friend Steve his plate, Tommy told him "Steve, I over-reacted to you eating all the food. I'm sorry and I hope this dinner makes up any stress I caused you".  Steve told uncle Tommy he accepted his apology and proceeded to begin dinner. As Steve was garnishing his dinner with salt and pepper, he was advising Tommy that he should control his temper, be more accepting of other people and if Steve wanted to eat all their food, he should let him. As he completed this sentence, Steve took a man's size bite of Tommy's Pièce de résistance. 


I don't think Steve's life, or palate, was ever the same after this legendary bite. It was a greedily taken bite that only the most unrefined, hungriest of men would take. To describe the look on Steve's face is difficult.  It only took several good chews for Steve to realize that there was something terribly wrong.  Steve's face went from the look a deer gives when it's caught in a headlight to utter confusion and slowly to a horribly painful grimace.  It was a look of somebody in terrible pain while crazily smiling.  To add to this portrait, there was a pungent sickly odor wafting throughout the mountain air and what could have been confused with pâté encroaching out of the corners of Steve's mouth.  The more Steve grimaced, the more his spittle covered lips stretched and the fecal material pushed through his teeth like toothpaste out of its tube.

Life is calmer now, Steve is alive, sane and a successful businessman in New Mexico.  My uncle Tommy has not served a special meal since; that I know of.  

This bizarre bit of pandemonium was such a commonplace in my life that to me, it was normal.  It was not until my late 30's that I began to realize that our sense of humor was not only incredibly rare but evoked fear in those around us.  In a way, that worked well in my life but I do feel sorry for some who have nervously waited for me to focus my odd humor on them.

26 Years Late

In 1976, my blood father decided to return to my life.  He did this in part because my moms new husband took the official steps to adopt me.  It was this notice of adoption that jolted my father into this communication.

This is the letter I received from my blood father. I found it in a file in 2008.  It was the first time I read it, 26 years after his death.

Never Fuck With The Cook & His Assistant!!!

When I was a teenager, I went down to Socorro, New Mexico to spend some time with my cousin John (John-o). On Saturday morning, we got up, with massive hangovers (as usual) and started making breakfast. John's little brother, James, was sitting on the couch being his incredibly obnoxious self, screwing with us to no end. I got tired of it and went over to John, who was just finishing up the breakfast sausages. I took one of the sausages, got a paring knife and proceeded to hollow it out. I then went to the cat box, got a nice fresh turd and stuffed it into the hot sausage. When I was done, I plugged the end with some of the meat I'd taken out, put it on James's plate, along with a nice pile of eggs and hash browns.

It took James a couple minutes to take a bite of the special sausage. Up until that glorious moment, John and I kept our noses in our dishes so he couldn't see us laughing. James was continuing to antagonize us and obviously thoroughly enjoying being a pain in our ass. Just before the "big bite", we watched James cut a slice off the sausage that just nicked the feline poop and eat it. There was only a smear on this bite but it was enough for James to say "something smells like shit". Then it happened, he speared the entire sausage with his fork. While raising it to his mouth, we could see the warm fecal material squeezing out of the end of the sausage like cheese from a burrito. It only took one good chew for James to realize something was terribly wrong. I'm sure it was a combination of foreign taste, horrific odor traveling from his mouth to his nasal cavity, the crunch of cat litter and John and I on the floor howling with laughter. I'll never forget the confused and horrified look on James face as he looked at us with a grimacing smile that showed what could have been mistaken as "chocolate pudding" in between his teeth and on the corners of his mouth. Needless to say... James never fucked with me again.

Here we go, hold on!

I'VE HAD AN INTENSE LIFE... NO REALLY... IT'S BEEN FUCKING INSANE!! 

I was bounced from home to home as a child. My parents came and went, depending on the circumstances in their lives at the time. 

I was drinking by the age of 9, coke by 14, crack by 17. I've ingested almost every mind altering substance available and frequented the most incomprehensible and demoralizing places imaginable.

I attended 7 different schools by the time I'd graduated high school. 

I watched my father and pregnant step-mother killed in a balloon accident. I I held both my great-grandmothers when they died and I was with and holding both my grandmothers when they passed on. To date, I've lost 8 friends from my youth. 4 of them from drug and alcohol related deaths.

I served in the NAVY, worked on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. I participated in all things one would imagine a sailor would in the 80's throughout numerous countries.

I've created and produced Emmy winning television shows, had numerous companies.  Some successful, more not.  I've made millions and I've lost millions. 

I've raised two beautiful little girls, one of which has cerebral palsy. I've dedicated my life to them without a second thought.

I've made unimaginable mistakes, ripped through peoples lives like a tornado. I've stopped my life to help people in need and given my last penny to help another.

I've battled anxiety and depression my entire life and only recently became truly willing and able to take the massive steps towards peace.

This blog will be a journey through my past, present and future.  In a way, it will be a way for me to purge events, free memories, humble myself and move on with my life.  I'll have the regular comedic and political breaks to remind myself and friends who I am now.

I'm going to be brutally honest, so if you're a judgmental person, this isn't the place for you.

Welcome to the life of Brainard.

Me Crossing A Street In Hanoi, Vietnam in October 2007

This takes a bit of courage the first 221 times....