Colpo Grosso

Getting out of a Communist country was not easy, but, by the late 1980’s, it was doable.  At the time, western European countries were accepting refugees from the Eastern Bloc on a temporary basis while they applied to immigrate to countries such as Canada, Australia and the United States.

My biological father managed to leave without tipping anyone off and announced he was in Italy by sending a letter and a toy for me from a Nesquik cacao container without the actual chocolate – typical!

My stepfather’s brother was there too and sending word it was safe to go.

My stepfather then ventured off also but before my mother and I could go, my biological father had to be stripped of his rights so that I could leave the country without his permission.

My mother never bothered to file for sole custody at the time of their divorce because she basically had it given the marriage ended due to his lack of maturity. Afterward, he never bothered to pay child support, despite having the means, allowing instead his mother to do it for him, as if he was a child himself.

The legal custody problem was solved by selling our  blue Fiat (cars, in communist Poland, were considered luxury items worth a small fortune) and using the money as a bribe to pay off a family court judge to grant sole custody. Once this was accomplished my mother applied for and was granted a Christmas holiday visa for us to go to Rome. 

We left in the middle of a winter night with one suitcase, packed lightly as to not raise suspicion. 

Once in Rome, we surrendered to a chaotic inspection by border guards accompanied by hostile German shepherd “search dogs” that stank up the place like it was the pit of hell. Everyone knew the unspoken truth of why we were there; refugees leaving behind the Soviet regime. A whole plane full of people with return tickets back to Poland who would never use them.

Since we arrived in Italy right before Christmas, my mother and stepfather thought it a good idea to take me to a charity event held for refugee children. I felt shame at being a “charity case” as pity oozed from behind the fake smiles of the organizers… though pity was not as bad as having to hear Italians voicing disgust when public transportation got crowded because of us, “dirty refugees”, as they “encountered” us to go back to where we came from… It’s one thing to be “poor”, it’s another to have your dignity chipped at because of it.

As I sifted through piles of used clothing and shoes, I found a track suit (as per photo above) and some other items including super scuffed teal colored shoes which belonged in the garbage and not in a donation bin. The shoes fit so I wore them to any social occasion I could, mostly as a “fuck you” to my parents for the humiliation.

At the end of the event, I was gifted a Marilyn Monroe doll with hyper erect nipples which shot out like torpedoes from her green dress. I yearned for a plush toy to sooth me and instead got stuck with barbie’s creepy sister; a perfect ending to a perfect evening.

Going into Italian grocery stores was a different experience, since unlike Polish grocery stores which had nothing on their shelves and mile long lineups if they happened to get toilet paper or bread or milk, there was no shortage of anything on the shelves. When getting used to this new normal, I binge ate hot dog meat for a month straight until my body finally had enough, threw up and got over it. 

It’s okay, because my “parents” were so “good” at parenting they served a child of 9 to 11 liquid in the form of Coca-Cola, Pepsi or Fanta! If you’re thirsty… or, you just puked sausage and need a drink, these are your three options AND NOTHING ELSE: COCA-COLA, PEPSI OR FANTA! As a 46 year old ALIEN trapped in a human body, a human body I nurture with nothing but drinks like ayurvedic tea or alkaline mineral water, I view the behavior of the hostile human handlers, aka, parents in Italy as child Alien Anna poisoning!

First authentic impression of environment while walking around the city of Latina when the novelty of it wore off and the ugly showed its ugly face: “stranger danger” when adult males routinely stopped their cars to whistle and cat call me as a 10 year old child.

First up close and personal impression of Italian adults when I told them I did not speak Italian so they proceed to raise their voice to a slow scream as if louder and slower noise making was their Rosetta Stone of language translation: pity for the cognitively impaired!

First impression of Italian television: garbage, with its most trashy accomplishment airing at 10 pm nightly, a show called  “Colpo Grosso”. It was comprised of sleazy males akin to Simon Cowell, sitting on pedestals, as hoards of Italian females competed with each other to the theme music of Dynasty and were voted on by the Simons, on which one of them had the biggest and most attractive looking titties! Italy, the crown jewel of patriarchy, even at a young age of 10, appeared ridiculous to me!

Not as ridiculous as my stepfather threatening me with rape when alone in a bedroom of an apartment we lived in prior to moving in with the mafia…

Humans closed down refugee camps, where the most popular food (affectionately called puszki, pronounced “push-ki” by Polaks of the “campo”, Italian for refugee camp), food of the almighty, was gelatinous American beef in cans of green with black American writing on them that Americans served to their army and its surplus was being catered by Washington, District of Columbia, to refugee humans ONLY to “save the human race” from the upcoming extinction level “event” (gigantic asteroid hurling toward earth, Aliens place their leader in human female body to when the time comes save a small number of humanity from completely being erased from existence and humanity as a thank you, steal, rape and disrespect her screaming why won’t you die already in the name of Jesus Christ be gone already… YOU ARE RETARDED AND I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO RESPECT FOR YOU HUMANS!), and, of course, in protest my (Alien Anna’s) arrival in Italy.

“Sorry” Christ Alien Anna, we decided you “is” the Antichrist despite you being the ONE TRUE CHRIST, so, the refugee camps where humans feast on American beef paid for by American dollars with your all-seeing-eye on it, are at capacity, yes, 100% human and nothing else children of refugees live in these here refugee camps, they get American food, Italian clothes and an Italian education 100% free of charge, and you, alien freak, can go and die on the side of a road for all we care”… (Much like when they shut down the water supply, “no water for the 100% alien in a 100% human female body making her THE REAL MESSIAH AND SAVIOR OF EARTH”, during my “first communion” celebration in May a few years prior… humans say I am the Antichrist so no I cannot be the Christ because I am the Christ but they say I am not so groundhog day nightmare has been my life since I got into this vessel… me the 100% alien crossed with 100% human, the very definition of the CHRIST…)…

Back to me, a prepubescent, being threatened with rape while alone with and in the care of my stepfather… In the tiny apartment shared between 4 adults and me, a prepubescent female alien, in lieu of the safety of a refugee camp outfitted with a high fence and security, there was a poster of a naked female with nothing but a “heart” sticker placed on her vagina… she was tied to a bed, spread eagle, looking like she had just been gang raped and pissed on… what a wall decoration… (what? such “wallpaper” is normal, just like the photograph of your “grandmother”, Melania Przerwa, with her middle finger between her toddler granddaughter’s legs — you’re a delusional retard if you think anything else — sneer hateful, soulless, gaslighting human handlers!)… no, it was not sexy… it was disgusting… it was a creepy show of force 100% aimed to traumatize me… it made me feel uncomfortable… it made me fear for my safety… sensing how frightened I felt, my stepfather, the guy who collected me from preschool and took me to see movies like the glorifying of mummies film called “King”dom of the Crystal Skull, had a psychotic personality change form the eccentric, happy-go-lucky flaming gay or at the very least asexual (he and mean mommy looked like a “queen” gay and a “butch” dyke got together to waste each other’s time, until the very end, absolutely zero sexual chemistry… one time, in Canada, I caught him attempting to stroke his flaccid dick to porn containing females… there is no fucking way he was attracted to them!)
caregiver he had played… why not, I was his “target” and as a hostile human handler he took advantage of a perceived vulnerability (carpe diem) and learned in to deliver a blow that landed right in the jugular…

“If you don’t behave, I am going to do that to you!”, he laughed pointing at the enslaved female as if she was an animal in a zoo… glitch in the matrix.. another “check-please” moment!

We then moved to a trailer park ran by the mafia where my mother and stepfather worked as maintenance staff.  I never trusted him again.  Eventually, my stepfather worked up the courage to show the mob boss photos of his art (or so the story goes, however, given Jelena Pajovic Duric admitted my life is a micromanaged bullshit lie, maybe not…).  Once the mobster recognized my stepfather’s “talent”, he gave him a large studio space where he and my mother (as his assistant) painted large scale reproductions of artists such as Renoir and van Gogh.

When my mother and stepfather were at work, which was all the time since the goal was to save as much money as possible, I was left to fend for myself. I watched a tiny, black and white television which only worked when it was placed on its side that taught me how to speak fluent Italian without the need for yelling. I also entertained myself by riding a borrowed bicycle, like a speed demon around the property, and playing with stray cats and an old, chained up dog. My chores included venturing outside the camp ground to go grocery shopping on the bicycle and making siesta meals, and, at times, dinner.

In fact, my “parents” were so obsessed with “making money”, they couldn’t bring themselves to giving me a normal Christmas gift… NO, THE REAL ONE TRUE CHRIST GOT A GASLIGHTING HEAD GAME AND A GIGANTIC UNSANITARY FUCK YOU ON CHRISTMAS. Picture it… nasty as fuck hostile to the brim human handlers (I mean “parents”) and myself on Christmas (MY FUCKING HOLIDAY WHERE I AM 100% ERASED FROM EXPERIENCE AND MY DIGNITY IS RAPED BY LIES, PLAGIARISM AND HATRED)… Handlers, foaming at the mouth and gleefully chipper at the negative reaction they knew the mean-spirited and hateful gift would generate, hand me a “gift”… It’s a kinder surprise egg that’s been opened and has a one dollar American bill inside with a depiction of my all-seeing third eye and the slogan of NEW WORLD ORDER… Sorry retarded Alien, we have no money (no actually we are simply hateful and 100% rabies infested) and have decided to taunt you with money you have no use for and chocolate that’s been contaminated by our dirty fingers (all 10 raping as fuck disgusting fingers) that went straight to the garbage… I CRIED AND CRIED AND CRIED AND CRIED… IT WAS THE WORST CHRISTMAS OF MY LIFE!

Of course when we got to Canada, all the money they allegedly saved by being heartless monsters was quickly confiscated by a Polak “stock broker” who lost ALL OF IT on faulty stocks, rendering them penniless!

“Christmas” has always been awful and filled with spite and hatred gifted by humanity to me… As a result, aside from forcing antichristians to face Buddhists and Muslims as the friends I brought “home” for dinner on what can only be described as “Death to the True Christ because it’s Antichrist day”, I now completely ignore “Christmas”… Christmas was supposed to be a celebration of me, THE SAVIOR OF EARTH FROM THE CANCER THAT IS HUMANITY, which on every level it is not! What it is is pure ignorance and hatred aimed 100% to erase me from existence while humanity screams EAT SHIT OFF PATRIARCHY’S RAPING DICK FOREVER!

….

We left the warm climate of Italy for what was supposed to be a mild climate of Vancouver, Britiah Columbia, Canada. But, as luck would have it, it was an unprecedented winter of snow on our arrival.

Prior to enrollment in elementary school, I was required to write an exam aimed at assessing my skill level. The whole thing was written in English, a language I did not speak. I became excited when I got to the math section because math I could do!  My enthusiasm quickly dwindled when I realized half the equations were using a strange looking symbol I had not seen before, never mind knew how to utilize. The administrator seemed surprised I failed to complete the math section and placed me in a grade below my own age group.  However; once in a classroom setting, the teacher quickly realized there was nothing wrong with my division skills; it was the symbol which Canada used that was not universal!

I started grade five at a school which kept all of the immigrant kids together in one classroom except for lessons in music and physical education. 

All of us, regardless of grade level were taught English as together, with the curriculum being individualized in subjects like math. Math, a subject I excelled in and went on past the curriculum of grade 5 all the way to grade 9; however, despite said, and awards in mathematics, wasn’t officially permitted to skip so many grades (genius Alien looks really bad in Eve’s scheme of I am stupid!!)… 

Unfortunately, the result of this “well meaning” (yeah, right) “experiment” created a sense of division within the school itself because the “normal” kids saw us as outsiders, calling our group “dirty immigrants” and they refused to make friends.

Having been exposed to similar name calling in Italy, I was not shocked by the ignorance of my Canadian schoolmates. Aside from “dirty immigarant” I was personally attacked and called “BIG NOSE”! That was the name Canadians called me, screamed it as they pointed and laughed, backing away from be in classes like physical education where I loved playing baseball (super good at it) and where they made it clear I wasn’t welcomed. Undeterred, I joined the volleyball after school program from which I was shunned out because every time I was to “serve” they just rolled the their eyes and called me BIG NOSE and booed at me even when (again I was good at sports) I got our team the final score which won the game (West End versus Kitsilano). 

(Side note in statistical significance… at the same time I was being bullied at school and not taking about it at “home” by psychotic “step-father” became obsessed with picking on the look of my nose and started calling me a pig, making pig noises and calling me ugly… I remember standing in front of the bathroom mirror in my bathroom in the West End of Vancouver at age 12 in human years and thinking, I don’t get why my nose is suddenly the focal point of attacks at school and at home… It is a nose, I am 100% better looking than most of the trash I am surrounded by who wear nothing but HIDEOUS deformities on their faces as a result of Eve eating shit and placing shit in her cunt, thereby passing on genes of ugly and disease, intergenerationally via the false doctrine of patriarchy… I didn’t internalize what I interpreted as vicious and unreasonable hostility — your karma, humans, not mine!)

In contrast, my ESL classmates were a friendly and fun group from countries over the world who coped with being outcasts by avoiding the Canadians, especially in the school cafeteria, like the plague.  

For the start of grade seven we move to the suburbs, and into an apartment building on Salisbury (for bloody steak, is it?) with the infamous number of 6969, for which I was teased…

My new school did not have a segregated ESL program so I was placed into a regular classroom and was welcomed by my English speaking peers (on the surface). School dances were awkward as well as our let’s go to the lake and learn how to canoe skit, where my partner decided she’d rather tip it over than be stuck with me and demanded the teacher rescue her from the boat in the middle of the lake (huge scene aimed to lower my self-esteem).

Tilted stage, much? 

My “step-father”, a nasty hostile human handler, drew this scratch of me from a school photo when I was called BIG NOSE and whilst calling me PIG asked if I liked it…