An excerpt from Hammond’s new book, God, If You’re Not Up There, I’m F*cked:
“I am three or four years old, and my mother is holding me close to her with one arm. In her free hand she holds a serrated steak knife. Slowly, she sticks it into the center of my tongue, making an incision about one-quarter inch to one-half inch long. It is quiet except for the sound of the hibiscus bush thump-thumping against the kitchen window. I do not struggle or cry. Somehow I know that to do so will make it worse. The kitchen floor is red with my blood.”
Oh my God. Tears, guys. Seriously, big, fat f*cking tears. He was three or four years old? What kind of horrible, demented bitch could do something like that to a little child? And how did Hammond not, like, kick the coffin when this c*nt finally kicked a few years back?
God bless this guy, and seriously, I commend him for coming out of this whole thing somewhat normal. What a steaming, stinking serving of shit that poor little guy went through as a kid.
I just finished this book.
The passages where he discusses his childhood were devastating. And towards the end of the book when he and his father are able to reconcile—it was very poignant.
The rest of the book is odd though. I read a passage to my husband and his response was, “Huh, he doesn’t leave anything out.”
I mean, the guy goes on for PAGES about walking to the set of SNL.
Overall, it was an uneven read. Nevertheless, he definitely went through some shit to get within spitting distance of “normal” (whatever that is).