The Life Story of Mother Phyllis Jean 5/15/1930 - 7/17/2013
                                 The Life Story of   Mother Phyllis Jean   5/15/1930 - 7/17/2013

Secrets Revealed...

ACT I

 

Shortly after I was released from the South Bend hospital in 1963, my Mom’s husband moved the family to a very small town in the State of Iowa.

 

Please understand that for the past 3,000 years, up until the 1980’s, if you wanted to escape liability and/or prosecution, all you had to do was cross a State line. Police files and corporate billing records were kept on paper - computers and cell phones had not been invented - so unless you murdered a government official, people would often simply vanish into the thin air.

 

So why would a man suddenly abandon the family business and give up a nice home in the city with a country club membership to move to a small little town in Iowa with a snake infested backyard?

 

Many, many people were asking questions of my Mom’s husband and he was very afraid that he would go to jail, so he fled across TWO State lines in an effort to escape. He even changed his name to Victor from Virgil while living in Iowa.

 

The civil authorities in the State of Indiana, especially the District Attorney in South Bend, had many questions for my Mom’s husband, questions such as:

 

1). Why did he drive a boy that had been kicked in the head by a horse to a hospital in South Bend, Indiana, more than 50 miles away from the accident site, when he could have driven to the Plymouth Hospital Emergency Room only three miles away?

 

2). Why did he drop off this boy in the ER, then sneak out a side door, without leaving his insurance information, name or any form of contact?

 

3). And of course, the really big question, the one that the District Attorney struggled with to find a reason to prosecute - when the medical community could not agree if it was a crime -  was why was this young boy sexually mutilated?

 

You see, back in 1963 in the Midwest section of the United States, medical workers had never heard of, read about , nor let alone - seen a young boy like me before!

 

Male circumcision was a ritual only practiced by those of the Jewish religion as part of an elaborate, painful and somewhat embarrassing ritual on young men around 13 years of age.

 

In 1963 when the doctors saw that I was already “cut” at 5-years old, I was considered a side-show freak, an oddity; no one in the hospital had ever seen a little circumcised boy like me before. I was the 1960’s “bat boy”.

 

With no background information, just a name written on the elastic band of my underwear as they disrobed me to clean my blood-drenched body, the hospital staff assumed that I was some kind of American-German hybrid.

 

"This little boy is not just Jew-ish, he must be SUPER Jew-ish!" the Emergency Room Doctor exclaimed, after noticing that as a young boy, I was already circumcised.

 

"Martha- Martha Kent!" he called for the Head Nurse.

 

"Please call the local Jewish Community (in South Bend, Indiana) and see if they know who this little boy is."

 

"...and also ask them for a nurses’ aide to watch over this little comatose boy, poor little bastard..."

 

The call was answered by my “Auntie Vena”, one of the truly great, last, legendary White Russian Nobles, (several nurses whispered that she was actually the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia) whom with her husband had just left Saint Petersburg on their honeymoon mere hours before Lenin and his murdering cutthroats captured their families at their on-going wedding reception and then later had them executed.

 

Auntie Vena had marched across Russia, through the Himalayans mountains to Peking (as it was called back then), then to Shanghai, where she was known as the White Haired Woman (even though she was only in her early 20's) from the land of the Crescent-Moon-Shaped sickle , later to the Philippines, Sydney Australia, and finally to a community in Middle America that would keep her secret – (ten times the length of Chairman Mao’s “Long March”!) opening orphanages and missionaries wherever she went.

 

She used to rock me in a chair and fill my head with the most wonderful and marvelous of stories. She would brush my hair with her fingers and call me her “little link of magic”.

 

But I digress. This is the story of my Mother Phyllis Jean, with an explanation on why we had to suddenly move to a small town in the middle of nowhere.

 

AS upsetting as it was for the District Attorney to be after daddy, my brother M1 later told me what really had Daddy afraid was the house visit by three Hasidic Jews all dressed in black, with big black hats and long grey and black beards, much like the local Amish, after they had learned of the family custom of marking the fourth son of the first-born son from the doctor that had performed the circumcision on me (Dr. Ken and his wife,  Nurse Barbie).  After their visit, Dad announced that we were moving. Within a few days we were gone, we had left town with no forwarding address.

 

He told my mom to follow him and not to question his rules or he would leave her alone with all four boys to raise on her own. That was an awful choice in 1963, as there were no social welfare programs, no shelters for battered women, and even the option of divorce was seen as a sin by the church during the 1960’s, so my Mom became determined to endure his ego for the sake of her children.

 

A couple of years later Vic’s dad, a preacher of a religion known as “The Brethren of Christ", sold the family farm in Indiana and moved to Ontario, California after Vic got caught being bad. I’ll never forget Grandpa yelling at him, telling Dad that it was his fault he had to sell the family farm. Grandpa screamed that the police and the Jews were always dropping by the farm trying to find Vic.

 

I never saw my grandpa again after that last argument.

 

Dad even made my Mom give up her family’s Methodist religion because he was so afraid that someone in the new Parish would call the Plymouth Parish and tell the authorities where to find Vic!

 

He was a man on the run, and all ties had to be cut. Since there were no computers to track him, he felt safe. But he was still a very bad man.

 

My mother was always very afraid of him, but the thought that she would be left to raise four boys on her own with no help was a thought that was always on her mind - something she often expressed to me when I was growing up. Times were so much different in the 1960’s and 1970’s.

 

Less than two years after moving to Maquoketa, Iowa Vic got caught being very naughty with a young boy. As a family we were attending a regional Boy Scout Jamboree with hundreds of other Boy Scouts. On the second night I was woken up in the middle of the night as my older half-brothers packed up our pop up trailer and my Mom put me next to her on the front seat of the station wagon. She parked at the bottom of a hill with the engine running and slid over, putting me on her lap and telling me not to be afraid.

 

Suddenly there was daddy running down the hill being chased by a bunch of angry men, their flashlights swinging wildly as they chased after him. He jumped into the car, slid behind the wheel and punched it, chuckling at his great escape. We drove all night back to our tiny old house. The next day we began packing up our belongings as we had to move again.

 

Back in the 1950’s, 60’s and even up to the 1990’s, there were no words to describe a character such as my Mom’s husband. Nowadays it’s quite simple. He was a closet bisexual gay pedophile predator that also practiced incest (with his boys (but not me - Vic was afraid of me, for I was the little boy that "lived", despite his "encouragements" for me to "die, just go ahead and die "during that loooong drive to the hospital AND the subsequent visit by the Germanic Cleric...!)).

 

But back in those days, such descriptions had not been invented nor had they even been imagined.

 

He played the role of a married man but his lust was for young boys –no one talked about such behavior back then.

 

(Thank goodness for the TV show “To Catch a Predator” – it has been a great tool for educating everyone just how crafty and manipulative these predator humans are!)

 

My Mom’s husband was truly awful and sick in the head but he refused to seek treatment. He knew that if he, or any of his kids, talked to a doctor or a priest about what was really happening then he would be thrown in jail, so he became an authoritarian ruler for many years.

 

Only brother K2 stood up to him; and daddy used to beat him relentlessly until K2 became big enough to take the belt away from him, and when he did, the Emperor suddenly had no clothes and his threats carried no weight.

 

Daddy became a basement drunk when he wasn’t on the prowl, usually for most of my fellow young classmates. Like all Pedophiles and Perverts, he liked to pretend that he did nothing wrong, "Bill", preferring to "forget" rather than face the horror of his actions. I had to change schools a lot, starting in Middle School, when my Mom's husband became a "proud" flower in full bloom...!

 

 “Endure to persevere” were words my Mother Phyllis Jean taught me to say during those dark times. "Things will get better."

 

My Mom used to say I have to travel through Hell to get to Heaven.

 

(Kind of like this section of the story...!)

 

Sometimes I feel that I was raised in Hell so that I would see the worst of Humanity first hand, for myself, with my own eyes, in all of your sins, so that I would not be afraid of EVIL when other men would pee their pants and run like frightened little children, crying like little babies with wet diapers full of cold poo.

 

“Whaaaaa!”

 

I have learned to use the mighty "Power of the Pen" to fight the tide of Evil that runs rampant across this planet.

 

Words can be very powerful; words can change the world.

 

I am also reminded by my Mother Phyllis Jean that I also owe my life to people I shall never know; doctors and nurses and even dentists that saved my life from an awful death that would have surely ended my existence just one hundred years ago.

 

Mother Phyllis Jean successfully raised a Libra in me, born in the Year of the Dog. She taught me to keep a balanced perspective of life and not to rush to judgement.

 

My time on this planet has not been very pleasant but it has been extremely enlightening, and I thank God for providing me with my Mother Phyllis Jean to guide me on the right path.

 

My Mom was the glue that held me together during those tough times and I miss her love very much. I wish I could hug her again and tell her how much I love her. She was always my rock of everything good and right in this world. It is so very difficult to say goodbye. I wish everyone that reads this would call their mother right now and tell her how much you love her and truly miss her. That would make my Mom very, very happy and it will surely make your own Mother feel great!

 

==========================================

FIRST FINALE

==========================================

What is the Mark of Moe?

 

No, the Mark of Moe is NOT the Mark of the Crescent Moon that was stamped onto my Chin from the hoof of a startled horse on that fateful day in 1963.

 

No, the Mark of Moe is the Mark of Morris, which is the practice of circumcising young, non-Jewish babies, usually at birth, a practice that was widely adopted after my controversial stay at Notre Dame Hospital in 1963.

 

Surprise!

 

Hello world…!

 

But wait... it's not over yet!

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ACT II

 

An old wizard with a long white beard, wearing a long blue cloak covered with gold stars and wearing a tall, blue pointed hat also covered with gold stars walks across the stage to the podium, where a crystal ball rests on top.

 

He pulls out a magic wand and gives the crystal ball a small tap.

Sha-ZAM!!!”  he says to the crystal with a crisp melodic intonation.

Instantly a bright white light flashes and momentarily fills the entire stadium, then it's gone.

"CAN...YOU...DIG-IT"??? The old wizard asks in a loud, powerful voice.

 

"You have just witnessed one of the greatest performances of magic ever, one that transcends Generations, Religions, Races, Colors, and even Sexes!"

 

One Possible Translation:

 

All of the Jewish Men, all around the world, have suddenly, just - "disappeared"...!

 

Okay, not literally, but if you are one of those "end-of-the-world" fanatics that believes a crack-head apocalypse is going to happen during your lifetime, then having millions of people “Theoretically” “disappear” must really be a jaw dropper!

 

What s concept!

 

What a surprise!

 

So sorry you missed it...now get over it! - Shake it off!

 

Go and live a full life, and do your best to make this world better for your children and your children's children's children, alright?!

 

This story does not have any connection to the End of Time nor does the Mark of Moe have anything to do with the silly Master Race.

 

(Just a reminder, this BOLD comedy is in the same genre of the 2016 hit movie "Deadpool" or the 2015 classic film "Scouts Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse"...).

 

That lady was right - God would not harm the babies...but He might make all of the children "theoretically" "disappear", having faith that the earthling humans would "figure it out", to choose the Gifts of Logic and Reason over Fire and Brimstone at this junction in the Timeline. Hmm.

 

Move along, relax, take a deep breath and let's have some fun!

 

Use this Story of Moe to rid your mind of Rotten Tomato movies like "Left Behind".

 

Now when you see empty clothes on a chair or on the floor  you'll start looking for all of the naked people walking around in the background...really!

 

Let’s turn that frown upside down!

 

It's okay if you want to blow some horns and trumpets or you can press the button below and Louie will be very happy to play a great melody for you because...

 

It's time to CELEBRATE!!! 

===================================

SECOND FINALE

===================================


And finally, I would also like to extend a very special thank you to my Auntie, a.k.a. "The White Haired Witch of the Lunar Kingdom" for helping make an "almost dead" little boys’ wish come true...

 

“I'm tired of looking different, Auntie Vena... I wish all of the other kids looked like me. ”

 

Patience, my little Link of Magic...” she whispered softly, gently combing back my hair with her fingers, her brilliant blue eyes sparkling as if lit by a thousand gold stars,

 

“Someday soon they will.”

 

Surprise!

 

“Thank you very much!”

 

It looks like your wish came true, too, Louie!

------------------------

Hopefully you have been mesmerized by my "high function autistic" presentation of ideas and the mental stimulation known as "thought".

 

I hope you continue to enjoy the other tabs along the left side of the navigation pane for even more surprises and more good times.

 

Fans of the BBC TV Show Doctor Who will find many Easter Eggs scattered around the site, some of which you may have already discovered.

 

Aloha!

 

Authored by 

 

Morris Lee X

The Storyteller

 

Like my good friend William Shakespeare liked to say, "Many a Truth is Told in Jest."

 

ACT III

=====================================

The Third and Final Finale - December 2016

=====================================

 

To those that know such things, they know that my Auntie Vena was also known as “Rasputin’s Favorite”, and as such, it was decided that Anastasia would be the one to survive the upcoming horrible fate of the Tsar and his family.

 

(As a child she had been trained to be a survivor, not as a "little Princess" of the "King" (Tsar) of Russia. The Royal Family knew their lives were in danger and Tsar Nicholas II wanted his children to be "fighters".)

 

So it was that as Rasputin was putting on his coat to meet with the men of higher standing (that insisted he appear before them), the look-a-like cousin of Anastasia knocked on the door, carrying a basket of fresh cheese and wine from the countryside.

 

Rasputin greeted her with a big smile and a twinkle in his eye, whispering a private message as he gave her a big squeeze.

 

"Tell Anastasia to find the dying boy with the mark of the crescent moon ... and help to make his wish come true."

 

Moments later, as he stalled before stepping into the waiting carriage, Rasputin saw Anastasia emerge, dressed in the clothes of her cousin, and watched as she climbed into the simple horse-drawn carriage driven by her husband-to-be, Hans.

 

They flashed a knowing smile, their eyes revealing that they both knew they would never see each other again, for Rasputin already knew that he would not be returning from his meeting.

 

He knew that he was only an Actor on the Stage of Life and the sacrifice of his life would ensure Anastasia's survival.

 

One week later no one thought very much about it when the Tsar suddenly announced that he would host an immediate wedding celebration for his niece (which was actually his daughter, Anastasia), so that the Tsar and his wife were able to see their youngest daughter married and escape the terrible fate that they knew would soon be theirs.

 

For you see, only hours after she left on her honeymoon, with many of the Royal Jewels sewn into the hem of her wedding gown and a Tiara made with real diamonds, the Royal Family were rounded up like animals, made to suffer for months before being brutally executed by the hands of murderous cutthroats.

 

Anastasia went on to live a full life, one of adventure and thrills, living an amazing life as she searched for the link that Rasputin had promised her.

 

When she thought she would never find that for which she sought, she settled into the countryside near the village of New Paris, Indiana, USA and could often be seen in the enclaves, lecture halls and private offices in the School of Medicine of the nearby Notre Dame University.

 

No wonder many thought that she was living in France, eh what?

 

Much like Rose in the movie “Titanic”, Anastasia touched many lives and inspired many of her followers to greatness.

 

Her sweet, kind demeanor, her special magic, was passed on to all she touched.

 

When her time in space ended, her body was laid to rest for many years in America –then when the appointed time came, family loyalists moved her bones back to her homeland, to the land that gave her birth, so that she could once again be “discovered” and thus complete the circle of mystic wonderment for the Russian masses.

 

"Argh!" Rasputin growled, realizing that his wine had been poisoned by the men of higher standing.

 

"I'll cut you all..." he whispered under his breath.

 

Therefore, to those that also know that they know such things in secret, they know that another possible translation of the old wizards' words that opened ACT II, ("Can you dig it?") is that "The Mark of Moe” can also be known as … "Rasputin’s’ Revenge!"

 

Surprise!

 

... And those that REALLY know that they know what they know - they know that the Mark of Moe can also be known as... "Touched by Anatasia!" 

 

Now there's a surprise I'll bet you never saw coming!

 

"Surprise!"

 

Just one degree of separation from Russia’s Greatest Love Machine…I guess that makes me very unique, right?

 

Now go out into the sunshine today and have some good fun!

 

Get off the couch and talk, don't text, to those that share your life. Verbal communication is such a wonderful thing.

 

I'll see you soon - or …maybe you'll see me - that good looking, ordinary man across the room with a big grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye, looking as if he can see straight into your very soul and fill it up with a great big, beautiful smile, filling you with a rush of happiness and joy -  he's there for several moments but then he's gone in the blink of an eye...that's a magic trick that I learned from Old Saint Nick when I was still just a little elf...ho ho ho!

 

Remember that you are never truely alone and that  I will always love you.

 

Such as it has been written, so it shall always be.

 

Aloha,

 

Morris Lee Morrison

Palmdale (a.k.a. "Smallville"), CA

 

"Yes, Virginia, I do exist...!"

With a view like this from my kitchen window, it's hard not to be inspired, right?

Print Print | Sitemap
© Mother Phyllis Jean