Fred

Every time I have a fly visit my home I name it Fred, then I kill it.

Fred Elford died in 2016. He was a cult recruiter who passed himself off as an industrial psychologist, according to my wife, a member of his ‘church’, The Foundation for Creative Living. According to his obit, he went to military school and theology school but didn’t complete either, a failed nazi minister and no industrial anything, least of all a psychologist. It said he had a masters in education but I suspect resume padding is at fault

She was a member when she hunted me, at the local coffee shop, where she came up to me and introduced herself. We started dating and eventually lived together for 10 years. She was a computer programmer, daughter of an ultra-conservative farmer millionaire retired father. She was a charming narcissist. She had just been told she had a 90% chance of having Huntington's disease. I was the cult recruiters' target market. All our time together Fred was constantly lurking in the background, leaving religious organizations, starting his own, leaving his wife then concentrated on living with mine. Charming Narcissist Behavior.

It was decided that by asserting myself, asking for what I wanted, a relationship deepening exercise, I was abusive. My lack of paid work, while I studied full time to improve my career, was deadbeatism, so I should leave.

So I did.

I consulted a family therapist referred by my doctor. The suggestion was to get nicer friends, break off contact with these creatures and don’t look back.

So I did. In 2002.

Now it's 2021 and I ran across Fred’s eulogy, he met the big fly swatter in the sky.

I laughed at the news actually. I thought of Elvis and John Wayne, also with a cult-like following, also morbidly obese like Fred, that when they died it was discovered (an urban myth reported in a satire on shit on Medium) that they contained about 60 pounds of feces. People tend to void their bowels when they die, or so I learned from reading pulp fiction. The thought of him boning my ex-wife up her behind from behind and depositing 60 pounds of shit and his 300 lb corpse on top of her I found oddly satisfying.

This of course would be in Rob’s cabin. Rob was the ex-boyfriend from before I met her. He is like the customer in the cafe that wouldn't tip and wouldn’t leave. An abusive conservative engineer know it all, we had to go to his cabin in Invermere for long weekends for some traditional reason in my wife's life. It was excruciatingly boring. Advocates for ‘creative living’ a new age religious cult term, actually have none to speak of. They once asked my opinion on a figurative art piece expecting validation. My response that it didn’t make my nipples stiff was unexpected and disappointing. Honesty didn’t figure in my wife relationships I was discovering.

My wife used to fuck Rob’s wife when they went to the cabin alone for the occasional ‘girls’ weekend. I mean obviously. Rob would phone me and ask me what they were doing. I knew my wife was bi, and I knew it would drive nazi-Rob crazy so I always replied, ‘fucking’ to him. He stopped calling. Win-Win.

The thought of 60 lbs of shit and a 300 lb copse in Rob’s fascist-orderly backwoods bunker due to back-door goings-ons by my ex-wife and her failed cult recruiter narcissist moron boyfriend Fred, pleased me no end. A very satisfying Sunday, all in all.