The Mamas, The Papas, The Junkies and The Pedophiles

Mackenzie Phillips ... Miss Spoken gets it. What's worse is Miss Spoken is not surprised by it.

Because you see, Miss Spoken has a Dad who is also a drug addict, who could also be charming, who could suck the air out of a room and who treated her more like a wife than a daughter. Actually, that's not true. He treated His Old Lady to derogatory remarks and bloodied noses. She was stupid, didn't dress right, didn't pass the white glove inspection at home and should just shut the fuck up when he caroused with other women. Even when one of those women was her own sister. So I suppose Miss Spoken was treated more like Dad's girlfriend.

Miss Spoken understands that the siblings that weren't exposed to this love probably think you are a liar. Of course. Because the whole purpose of this love is to let you know that you are Special.Like.Him. Miss Spoken's Dad has no use for his step-sons and despises her sister, Miss Led. Miss Spoken's Dad could talk to her for hours about life on other planets, governmental conspiracy theories and his former life as a Shaman. During fights with His Old Lady, he would turn his back to her, march around the house and sing "Ding Dong the Witch Is Dead." Then he'd tell Miss Spoken to get on the back of his Harley and they'd drive off into the sunset for a burger. A burger that was paid for with His Old Lady's money because he was too smart for silly things like employment. And when he did have a job (once), he'd blow his entire paycheck on shrimp and cocaine. Did I also mention that he speaks in tongues? Yep. Some might call it the delirious dribble of a man who hasn't slept in thirty years and who sounds like he's attempting to swallow his own tongue but to him he is speaking with God. Yes, God. Because God likes to talk to meth addicts and assholes.

Know what else was special to Miss Spoken? Joining him on his drug runs. Cruising by the homes of pimps, addicts and anybody else that had "it." "It" was usually cocaine bundled in neat triangles that were fashioned from the pages of Hustler. Miss Spoken watched as he got high. Who cared, right? At least she was with him. Better than sitting on the curb waiting for him to come home which he never did when he said he would. Nightfall. No Dad. Just an inflamed mother. But Miss Spoken loooved her Dad.

Nope, Miss Spoken never had an incestuous relationship with her father. But when she was 8 years old and he was 26, his girlfriend was 14. Doesn't take a Shaman or a direct line to God to know that that's not right. One might say improper. The rest of us might say illegal. And that wasn't his first underage love, nor would it be his last. The actual Love Of His Life, his Soul Mate, was a pretty blond 16 year old homeless girl free spirit who hopped on the back of his Harley one beautiful afternoon at a beach in San Francisco. He had never met her before but once again, the Universe told him what to do. In this case, what to do meant taking her home, moving her in and proposing to her. She eventually cut her losses and ran. Dad gave the engagement ring to who else? Miss Spoken.

Then there is the argument as to whether or not John Phillips would have done such a horrific thing had he not been a lifelong drug abuser. Who cares? What difference does it make? His life was drugs. Miss Spoken's Dad is 55 and still pushes anything into his veins that can be liquefied. Smoke anything that fits into a glass pipe.

Ahhhh, memories.....

Like the time his friends broke in and robbed the house while Little Miss Spoken and her family were asleep. And the time he was smoking crack and fell asleep with the torch on. Or the time, convinced he could communicate on a different vibration than the rest of us, went to stay with the tree people in Golden Gate Park for a few days.

Good times, good times.

What's the purpose of this rant? I guess to tell the nay-sayers that there are people out there who buy their own bullshit. That screw their kids and call it love. That use drugs as an excuse for depravity.

Have fun in Hell, boys.