“Rooty” the Rooster. Hand Puppet from Hell!!! Part 1

Introduction 

A Rooster hand puppet torments me…even in my dreams. 

The Story of “Rooty!”

How can you torture your older brother?

 
Easy! You find something that really annoys him. And you do it constantly. Even he asks you to knock it off.

 
In this case, my younger had found a hand puppet called “Rooty The Rooster” and he’d torment me with it. 

Where he got this little demon toy I have no idea? Maybe it was a gift from Mom or maybe he found it at a Woolworth with a sign that said “Fuck with Your Brother at Home Toys! 25 cents.” Whatever. I was stuck with it for what seemed to be an eternity. 

 On a daily basis, Matty would sneak up to me at some odd moment and stick the freaking thing in my face and cry out in a high falsetto “WHY?!” “WHY?! WHY?!” 

It would always get a rise out of me. Sometimes I’d yell at him, or swat him away, or other times do my best to ignore him – usually unsuccessfully. And he’d just scuttle away from me  – out of hands reach and laughing his annoying laugh “Eh! Eh! Eh!” as he’d run and hide.

 
He could be such an annoying little Bastard But when I think back about it he would have made an Awesome “Joker” from the Batman comics!

It soon got to the point where I hated that damn puppet.

Why did I hate such a silly toy?

 
Well for one it looked cheap. It was cheaply made creation of polyester that looked like it been crafted in a few minutes by someone who hadn’t given a shit. 

It was a shapeless mass of beige polyester with its big button eyes. a ridiculous yellow felt beak and a red felt comb. In short, it was a junky looking toy made for a kid who didn’t know any better. Even a carny at a Carnival would be embarrassed to give it away for free.

 
So, Geez… if you’re going to torture me with something – Class it up fer Crissakes!

 
But my main reason was the message it was screaming at me – “Why?!” Why indeed? And at eleven years old I was starting to have a lot of problematic questions?

 
Like… 

Why had we moved from our home in beautiful Los Gatos to a crumby house in Sunnyvale? 

Why was Mom living with this Rick guy and not my Dad?

 
Why was I so fat? . Why didn’t I have any friends?

 
Why was I so confused and lonely?

 
Why did I enjoy daydreaming more than playing with other kids?

 
Why did I feel so ashamed of myself?

 
Now if I had been an adult I could have supplied myself with rational, psychological “Reasons” for all these questions that would comfort me. But as a child of eleven years of age, I was stuck with all these confusing situations and feelings. To make matters worse I couldn’t even articulate these kinds of feelings. Yuck! And double yuck!

 
Have I mentioned I hated that fucking puppet yet?

 
Yeah, I did. But it bears mentioning again.

Funny enough I was more angry at Rooty the puppet than I was at my kid brother Matty. My brother just seemed like Rooty’s evil sidekick who’s job was to tote this demonic rooster around. 

I tried my best to get rid of Rooty. I threw him in the trash, I stabbed him with a kitchen knife (without Matt’s hand inserted), I hid him in ice freezer. I did everything an eleven year could think of to rid himself of such a  miserable pest. But nothing worked. 

Just when I thought I had the problem licked that awful puppet would reappear from the dead like a resurrected zombie. Albeit Rooty would look worse for wear each time. But there he’d be again tattered, partially frozen and dirty screaming at me “WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!”

 
It felt like I was trapped in an awful “Twilight Zone” episode. 

End of Part 1

To be continued…