I googled Charles Manson.
He qualifies as a good subject for a curiosity jag. It won’t last forever, believe me.
Charles Nathan Bedford Forrest Manson was born in Cincinnati in 1918 to Kathleen Maddox, a filthy wench with an embarrassing skin condition. Call her a slut and a drunk. She claimed the boy’s father was a black man. Manson vehemently denied this allegation, kicking, cursing, spitting and making a damn fool of himself, if you ask me.
“You weren’t there yet so how would you know?” Charles pondered this question incessantly.
This was Manson’s introduction to philosophy.
He lived with an aunt and uncle in McMechen, W.Va. from 1939-1942 while his mother was in prison. Now call her a slut, a drunk, and a felon with bad skin.
Kathleen Maddox put out cigarettes on her son’s body and pour boiling water over his head. She kicked his butt hard at least once a day. Finally, the county sent a social worker over to look in on the boy. When she arrived, the mother held the boy down while the social worker dug grooves into his scalp with a pocket knife.
Call her a slut, a drunk, a felon, a leper.
Once Kathleen Maddox sold little Charlie to a pervert for a pitcher of beer. The pervert was never the same afterward. Another life ruined by the goddamn brat.
In 1973, Kathleen Maddox died and went to hell.
Come back for more on Charlie!