A Tale of The Witch of Methy Mountain

Once upon a time in the Land of Gar, 

There lived a self-proclaimed princess and her hand maiden offspring who happened to be a mute when it was convenient for her to be silent when faced with dire responsibility of defending the kingdom. 

Verily, that is not the point of the story... 

The princess wasn't a beautiful fair princess at all. In fact, she had no discernible features from the dark elves or warlocks who lived in the surrounding trailer parks. 

Yet, somehow through the power of snake magic, she managed to adopt one of the angelic beings from the higher realm of Di Enay, (sound it out for maximum funny)and spend her life in comfort, never lifting a finger to toil among the serfs. 

However, this tale takes place in present day.... 

The princess transformed into her true form, a Witch. She no longer had the snake magic that brought her riches and glory nor could she retain the admiration of other angelic beings from the higher realms of Di Enay. She found a new type of magic from the troglodytes encamped in the surrounding bogs by Methy Mountain. 

Methy Mountain was a forbidden place to the angelic beings from the higher realms of Di Enay. They knew that this potion would be poison and would manifest revolting and ghastly shapeshifting properties thus transforming them into a skeletal dark fanged bog monster. The princess however, decided it was a worthwhile quest to undergo, because she always got what she wanted,  and she summoned her veracious appetite for snake magic and hoodwinked the king into giving her his bank account information, retirement funds, his children's inheritance, and obviously his better judgment. 

A ruffian appeared, as they always do, at the gate of Methy Mountain. She had no trepidation in following him to the summit. After all, she was wearing her snake magic vestments and knew in her snaky heart that no harm would come to her for the king is but a simple farmer from Germania, and lo', thinks like a simple farmer from Germania.  The king said, "There is but no such a thing as the Methy Mountain you speak of! The princess is but a princess, as she has told me time and time again through countless trials and tribulations I have undertook for some reason I have yet to know what the cause is, that she would never be among the troglodytes of Methy Mountain! Hark!(I don't know, it's funny)" 

You see, the angelic being of the higher realm of Di Enay (that the princess and king adopted) tried to warn the kingdom of the princess' quest and had prophesied of this very thing happening. She had also spoken ill of the princess' intentions and of her snake magic for YEARS.  Yet not a soul in the kingdom ever took heed to the warnings of such farcical whims of a being they revered as being an outsider and worse, a story teller. 

Word had spread throughout the kingdom of the possible trade route of the princess to Methy Mountain. The Land of Gar Henchmen had captured the princess several times and, as it always is in the kingdom, the king gave them his gold and the angelic adopted being's gold as a way to retrieve the princess. You may be asking or not asking, "Yes, all is good my witty story-teller, but where o' where is the hand maiden daughter of the king and princess? Does she not have stake in the well being of her captor, I mean, her princess, I mean, her MOM?" And Lo' there was also an adopted son, but he is entirely irrelevant because he doesn't have a soul most of the time. 

As story tellers often do, I will tell you only the parts of this story that have significance and the hand maiden does not have any.

 You see, long long ago there was a pact made between the king, princess, and the hand maiden, that would allow the hand maiden to be free from all scrutiny or responsibility within the kingdom walls...much like the princess/witch. 

 All responsibility would invariably fall on the adopted angelic being of the higher realm of Di Enay. 

The henchmen of Gar warned the king that his princess was "cruisin' for a bruisin'," but the king made no apparent changes to the regime.  Instead he proclaimed that the stolen goods and gold from the kingdom must be the work of mysterious thieves of nightfall, and lo', installed 12 torches of light surrounding the castle as well as new locks and fucking trap cameras from the Army Navy store. 

The princess had a new title given to her by the low dwelling troglodytes living inside Methy Mountain. She would be their leader now and would be deemed The Witch of Methy Mountain. Her new title and a new sense of purpose enabled her to regain her snake magic ten fold. She returned to the kingdom with the potion from the mountain as well as the physical burden of partaking in the smoking of that poison.. I mean...potion, meth.... Whatever.  

She began to shapeshift like the wizards of dark elvish magic. She became like the undead that dwell in the Primordial Pond of Bad Di Enay. The undead, which have gray fangs, skeletal protrusions and holes the size of quarters in their brain which make them speak in riddles and chew on the inside of their mouths, making their dwellings out of knick-knacks and piles of trash. The king noticed the words of the princess being more confusing and mercurial than normal,  but assumed that it was menopause and nothing more. After all, the Henchmen of Gar had released the princess so she obviously wasn't in possession of stolen goods or the bountiful illegal harvest of the Methy Mountain anymore. (ugh) 

The Witch of Methy Mountain knew that the adopted angelic being of the higher realm of Di Enay must know of her secret trade routes to collect the illegal harvest of the troglodytes because she would routinely proclaim to the kingdom of her knowledge of this. This was not without consequence for the adopted angelic being who's various finery and expensive things would be hidden from her site and then returned 2 weeks later damaged or wouldn't be the same item at all. The adopted angelic being doesn't want to live in the kingdom, but half of the kingdom is hers so she represses a great deal of inner torment and evil tyrannical warrior tendencies in hopes that one day the Witch and the handmaiden will be overthrown... or just the witch, that's it really... just the witch needs to fuckin' GO. 

The Witch of Methy Mountain has a birthday today. "Yippy"... said no one.

 What does one get a Witch of Methy Mountain? Perhaps a cake? No, no, verily I say the Witch does not eat anymore and the cake will spoil due to being hidden for weeks thus ensuring that nobody in the kingdom will get a piece until it creates the poison of the bowels. A card perhaps? Ha! You fools. Everyone knows the Witch of Methy Mountain no longer reads sentiments from the  kingdom! Tis but a fool who would think she would give heed to such an emotional outpouring of support. 

Ah, there is one thing that the Witch of the Meth could receive... 

Jail time. 

The best gift of all. For the Witch of Methy Mountain would be held accountable for her wrongdoing, thievery, and snake magic for ONCE IN HER LIFE. Her hand maiden would cry and cry but she too needs a hard kick to the ass. The king would be free to rule the kingdom by retiring and going on fishing expeditions. 

What about the angelic adopted being from the higher realm of Di Enay? 

She would strip naked and dance the dance of her people in the streets of Gar,

 and would rummage through the stockpiles of hoarded boxes to find anything belonging to her, and would burn the rest in a ceremonial fire to the God of Justice. Why even the Henchmen of Gar would allow this gloating!  

Yet, sadly, this is just a tale. Nothing more, nothing less than a tale. It seems the moral of this story is that telling the tale, being able to tell a tale, or having the sense of humor it takes to understand the players of the tale, is its own kingdom full of riches that cannot be stolen or smoked. 

*Note to God- Thank you. Thank you for allowing me to see throughout my life how drugs have ruined people I love, and how you have given me the gift of being scared shitless of losing my teeth as well as growing up seeing paranormal entities waft through my room, which has prevented me from experimenting with drugs out of total raw fear of the darkside and toothloss. So thank you for that. I would also like to mention that I do not want to get my mom, I mean the Witch of Methy Mountain, a birthday gift because she has all of my gifts(and some of my friend's gifts) in a pawn shop somewhere.... so that being said, I hope I get extra angel points for going and getting her a gift today... yes, yes, and a card. I would like to ask one more thing... If you could heal up that part of her brain that hides in the bathroom for hours, that would be super coo' because I haven't showered in a week. Thanks. Loveyoumeanit. Tell Jesus and the Arch Angels I said whats up and I'd really like it if they would just hang out with me once in a while. OH I almost forgot... tell Milkdud(my dog I lost this last year) that I give her permission to haunt me if she has the time but to not appear when I'm in the shower, which I never can get into anyway so that shouldn't be an issue, but still... it's a deep fear of shower ghosts, so any other time would be great for that haunting.. just not while I'm in the shower. Ever. Which again,  shouldn't be hard because I'm never in that ho... cause I can't be in there... cause there's a methhead with weird paranoia that hides in there. 

God, please fix this... and by "this" I mean everything. Oh and if you can't fix everything all at once... the second thing I really need you to fix or explain or something is the hoarding of perishable food items under her bed. I need that explained to me or solved because I... I just do. 

"I pitty da' fool who mess wit Drug." 

-Mr. T

The Best and Worst Things My Grandma Taught Me... this one is a goody.

My Grandmother, Ida Willie Belle, was born in 11/11/1911. She grew up pulling cotton with her 9 other siblings in far west Texas. She went by the nickname Tiny and she was the rowdiest of all her siblings... and the smallest.
She used to tell me that she would routinely pass out for no good reason, but "figur'd it wuz cuz uh that time when I hit my head real hard walkin' a barrel."
To date, she's the best guitarist I've ever heard. She died over 10  years ago on Elvis Presley's birthday(January 8th)...which I'm sure she planned on because Elvis was kind of a big deal in my house growing up.

In fact, I really believed he was a relative until I was old enough to figure out that my family were just kind of nutty about the man and recalled his death as "the most gaht dam saddest day ever."

My Grandmother was not your typical old lady. She drove a mint condition 1967 cherry red Pontiac Firebird with a vintage decal that said, "Cherry Bomb." She would regularly do what she said was "blowin' the soot out'th'firebird." Which meant: She would drive this bad ass car about 90+ mph until she heard it "whistle." Then she'd say she had "blown the soot out." Now, at 35 years old, I know that was total bullsh*t.
On a few occasions, I would go on these "soot blowing procedures" and I found it to be absolutely terrifying and thrilling all wrapped up into one loud "AHHHHHH," fist clinching, body pressing to the back of the black leather seat with one-eye open, experience.

As a kid, she convinced me that this had to be done and so I would naturally believe I was "helping" by assisting her in listening for the "whistling" sound at MACH 5.

Another fascinating skill that my my grandmother demonstrated regularly was the "docterin' of animals." She had various vermin she'd take in to "doctor up" so that they'd be alright, etc... At one point I can remember her having 3 snapping turtles in the bathtub that she was administering some type of skin care to. They had names.

There was Haus, Raus, and Big Joe. She found these turtles somewhere on one of her "soot blowing" excursions and figured "they got be somethin' wrong with 'em cause a snappin' turtle ain't gonna be out in the middle of no street like 'at." She was right, but... it's a snapping turtle... no THREE snapping turtles. THREE.

I remember her puttin' Camphophenique and Iodine on their "bad places," (areas with disease) and I heard her yelp really loud and say, "Welp, o' Haus got me in the meat of my fanger, right 'cher, look. at. that. Woooooo, My word that hurts."

This snapping turtle bit a chunk out of her finger that should've required an Emergency Response Team, but instead, she threaded a needle and gave herself some stitches while talking to that turtle like this..."Naw Haus, now why'd you go n' bite on me like that when I's just tryin' to make you better. I guess you feelin' better naw ain't cha'."

She got these turtles up to par and released them back into the wild in a few weeks... long enough for her to find more things half dead to drag into the "operating room."

She had a cat named Foo. (it's already funny) Foo wasn't a flippin' cat though. Foo was part bobcat and was mean as hell. My grandma had "rescued" Foo from a trap out by our scary ass cabin in the woods- where we would go fishing in the cooler months of the year.

Foo lived in the house when it wanted to, and the rest of the time it lived in dark places with shadow demons.  Well, Foo got hold of my cousin's goldfish and bit a hole through it. My grandmother didn't give up the quest of "doctorin'" so she put her usual concoction of Camphor and Iodine and "dobbed in on the bad place."

She stuck a tiny part of an aloe vera plant inside the hole of the goldfish. The hole, by the way, was right in the middle of the fish. After about 4 days, the she cleaned the hole out again and that fish lived 5 more years. You could see right through it. No really, you could actually see through the fish! Foo was given a nasty talkin' to and was told "that fish ain't fer you Foo."  Foo killed a lot of things that couldn't be fixed though.

There are at least 13 other animal stories off the top of my head I could write out in this blog but I'll save those for later. Rest assured though, there were a lot of animals that got the "doctorin'." The most bizarre thing about all of these animals is that they would live a ridiculously long amount of time. WAY past the legal limit of most pets. Some of them were still alive by the time she died but they all passed on within days of her death. I think they all made a pact with Foo's shadow demon friends or something to go back to the netherworld... or as I call it- the crawl space under the house.

The story that defines the title of this blog is this one and the last story in this blog.. they are connected though. So bear with me and stay entertained. There's a great ending, promise...


My grandma would always tell me the bible verse about being kind to those less fortunate because "they could be angels among ya' unawares." I took a lot of things she said way too far. I was that kid that believed that every grown up was 100% right all the time, and I was 100% wrong for having a "gut feeling" about something.

Terrible really, but I was kind of stupid. Or still am... jury is still out on that.

I really believed her when she told me about the angel thing...

I was desperate to meet an angel and I was sort of obsessed with the thought that I might be able to meet one if I was super nice to the bums and wine-os at the Stop n' Go down the street. In retrospect, I think I actually believed that if some bum asked me for money, and I gave it to him,(but it was really an angel in disguise) that some type of confetti from heaven would fall down and a voice over (Bob Barker style) would say, "Congratulations Melodee! You passed the test! This isn't a drug addict loser with crabs, this is ARCH ANGEL MICHAEL!!!!"

Then I would imagine Michael the Archangel saying, "hey kid, sorry bout that, here's your 5 bucks back(I was generous) and all of us angels are super stoked about you, and so... we were wondering if you'd like to meet the whole team?!"  Sort of like a backstage pass to meet the ultimate superheros only way more kick ass.

So I explained to my grandma how I'd just given 5 bucks to some homeless guy when I went to buy her bread and milk and that it "wasn't an angel," because he took my money and obviously "angels don't need your bread and milk money do they Granny?" She would kind of walk away and get real quiet before she'd come back and say, "I'm going to blow the soot out of the Firebird."

She never told me anything different to do with the next round of bread and milk money, but she would say, "that man at the Stop n' Go ain't that angel your a' lookin' for. He ain't Meldee, he just a good fer nothin' drunkard and don't be talkin' to him no more, he ain't got a lick uh'sense left."

 So... Okay, cool... not that guy. Got it. Got it?

To this very day, her voice haunts me when I see homeless people/bums/wine-os anywhere in Dallas who ask me for money.

 I think "well, the second I don't give some of my change, it will probably be that angel or something..."  The other day however, I was thinking that and started laughing to myself as I thought, "Mel, if it was an angel, do you really still think he's going to say he is one?"
 (Angel says: Congrats I'm an angel, gotcha! Wow, you really fell for the ol' bum on the side of the I-35 & Medical District Drive trick? I'm an angel and you're an idiot for rolling down your window and giving me my booze money you dope!)

Then it hit me! Not the angel, but the thought hit me...

"I really have been expecting this for 30+ years?"  This got me thinking about all the other things I learned from Ida Willie Belle and somehow survived...  the list was 7 pages long.

Don't get me wrong, she had great advice most of the time. However, the advice she gave would be deemed nowadays as being terribly misguided and moderately dangerous to the average person.

However, saying that I'll say this....
I've never been afraid of anything. I'm not afraid to be in a "bad part of town," or to talk to people who don't look like me, or to help someone or an animal that looks distraught, sick, in trouble, etc... Maybe I'm still stupid, but I think there's some valuable sauce in that pot of advice she fed me.

Here's how I know that's true...
This story is the best one I've got in my bag.

My grandma had an open door policy. Neighborhood kids and everyone in the free world could come over at any time and open the fridge and eat anything in it. Little did I know as a kid that she was feeding all of us on a combined monthly income from my Grandfather and her's social security checks which totaled about 1000 bucks a month. My Grandfather was a veteran in WW2 and worked his whole life as an electrician for Phillips 66 and this is what they had to "retire on."  However, none of us kids knew anything about that. They never behaved like they were put out, or tired of helping people, or irritated by raising other people's kids. Every single day was a party.  Her relaxation came from rescuing animals, playing guitar in the living room, and "blowing the soot out" of that Pontiac Firebird. We couldn't afford to go to the beach one summer and she bought a 50 lbs. bag of navy beans and poured them on the floor so we could play as though it were sand... it was fantastic. Better than the beach in fact! (my Grandfather played the part of the Salt Water Crocodile that hunted us if we got too buried in the "sand." So much squealing and laughing... so much)  Anyway...

Here is THE story...
One day a man came into the house with the intent to rob us. (my grandfather wasn't there at the time for the record, and this story would've had a much different outcome if he had've been there)

He had a mask on, had a gun, and busted through the door saying, "Get down bitch, where is your purse, where's your F**KING purse bitch."

My grandmother literally didn't flinch.

She looked at him in the eyes and she said, "You outta be ashamed of yourself talkin' to a woman that way. Now listen here. I ain't gonna be talked to that way in my house. I'm gonna give you all I got but you gotta sit down here and eat breakfast with me first."

This man's face was white as a ghost. He trembled and said, "are you crazy or somethin,  I ain't gonna sit down here while you call the cops on me, shit, shit, hell no..."

She replied with, "I ain't gonna call the cops on you young man. I am just askin' you kindly if you will sit down and eat breakfast with me. You interrupted my breakfast and I'm just hungry is'all and I want to talk with you."

I was listening in on the conversation from the hallway by the kitchen and what I heard was nothing short of a miracle. My grandmother disarmed this man with words and truthful ones. She told him that he doesn't have to take the road he's on and that she would give him all her money, but if he decides to take another road, a better road, later on... "to kindly pay me back when you get set straight."

They finished breakfast, she handed him all the cash she had in her wallet, wrote him a check for 200 bucks, and told him she'd "talk to an angel or two" on his behalf.

Little did I know, until her death, that this man kept up with her and wrote her letters and sent her pictures of his life, loves, and now a family, etc... He walked up to me at her funeral and said, "You will probably remember me in a not so good way,  but I was the man who robbed your grandmother when you were just a little girl. She's been a great friend since that day and just so you know, I paid her back with interest."

 He continued to tell me that she was the reason, the ONLY reason he changed his life around. He was honest about how it wasn't overnight either. It took several years of trial and error and trouble before he got off drugs and began a new life... He did tell me though, that when he would ask her in his darker days and moments of guilt and shame as to why she was being kind to him or cared at all, she said, "sometimes you entertain angels unaware."

Good night Ida Willie Belle and I hope they let you blow the soot out up there... oh and don't pose as a bum on I-35 either because I'm not rolling down my window anymore.