The reason for the lack of heat is because it was sucked up by the local posse of hashslingers and their closest, dearest friends and business associates. (It's exactly like when the Dementors come and suck all the life and heat out of their victims in order to prolong their own interminable, miserable, and cold existences. See the "Harry Potter" series of novels* for more discussion on Dementors.**)
The celebration of hate started Friday night when a "troll" posted its comment on my last post. This particular troll joined Blogger in December 2009 (How coincidental... that's THIS month!) so it could leave its trail of slimy drool here. It never fails that sub-humans, such as this nicholacaywood, reveal their anonymous and meaningless lives in such a manner. Of course, his/her/its list of links to porn sites could not be allowed to remain.
It was so cold hereabouts that all the leaves fell off the trees. (C'mon, this IS California, after all.) I spent an hour yesterday, ahead of the rain and snowflakes, to clear my front yard of leaves and haul them off to the compost pile out in the back corner. It was a beautiful, peaceful day - so peaceful that I savored the thought and hope my noisy neighbors were not home - no ice machine, no outdoor radio, no commercial trucks, and none of their newfound parade of visitors. Yes, ma'am, downright peaceful...
...until my rake and I betook ourselves to the southwest corner of my lot to clear it of the leaves my neighbors' gigantic, untrimmed, fruitless mulberry tree so generously donates to me every year. (Hey, I don't fault the tree! It doesn't trim itself, you know.) Immediately upon applying rake to leaf, the hidden door to Thunder Cave wrenched open, the giant red push-button was pushed at 2:26 p.m., and the air for many metres around reverberated with what passes for music according to my neighbors' taste. (They must think I also should like their "taste" in music, when in reality they have no taste in music or anything else.)
They HATE peace and quiet. You see, they had screwed up badly because at 2:26 p.m. neither the ice machine nor the yard radio was on - and that damn neighbor of theirs was just over the fence raking his (their) his leaves. This cannot be! Their deliberately mapped out plan of noise retaliation MUST be adhered to. One appliance or the other - preferably both! - MUST be dumping their shit noise onto him and his property at all times... and the frigid weather was preventing the ice machine from performing. (Hmmm... frigid... non-performing...?) And who cares if they are INSIDE while the radio blares OUTSIDE?
The Dementor games continued later in the evening with a text message from a telephone number I had never seen before.
Sender: (no name) 19712080955
Subject: FW: (blank)
Received: December 06, 2009 at 6:26:46pm
Fwd : Your a dork who smells like poop at night. your a littli perspom.ng.th.fish.gh.gh.korei.deg.yogim'm'm'm.fell :) wro.g.sang :
--
(I must apologize because it was much cuter with all the little smilie faces that didn't make the translation to text only.)
Who knew that a landline in Salem, Oregon could sent text messages to my cell phone in Manteca, California? Besides, I don't know any poop-head little persons in Oregon, who don't know how to spell or string a simple message out coherently. But I think I know who does... and they and their insurance company lawyer demanded to know my telephone number, too.
So, these were small parts of my weekend - watching Dementors circle the drain, sucking life out of everything and leaving only frigid (non-performing?) air to precipitate the remaining atmospheric moisture.
- - - - - - -
* (or, the "Harry Potter" movies for those who can't read.)
** Who knew that J. K. Rawlings met the T.L.C. Caterers?
1 comment:
Locations for 971 area code include Gresham, Portland Oregon.
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