A Couple of Her Brain Cells Still Work (Almost)

It is still uncertain exactly what T, L & C smoke out in their outbuilding, but whatever it is it sure puffs up Lynda's sense of self-importance and gives her verbal diarreah.

(Really? More than her normal, over-inflated self-centeredness and compulsion to "share" herself with on everyone?)

T, L & C sat around all day yesterday, supervising some guy digging, hauling, pounding, and sawing stuff (Oh, no! More illegal construction?). When he left at 7:45 p.m. in his red Chevrolet van, with the silver diamond on the hood trailing into silver stripes along the sides, the sidewalk superintendents holed up and burned up a few... ah... brain cells. Of course, the yard radio is outside, and had been on since 6:58 a.m., and was still ON at 9:30 p.m. - 14 and 1/2 hours later - while they are inside having their smoke-off.

Having "enjoyed" enough of the TLC serenade - in the morning - at noontime - all evening - I called the Manteca Police Department to come witness this unusual _e_l_o_n_g_a_t_i_o_n_ of the musical day. Alas, prior to the arrival of the police, the befuzzled celebrants emerged from their smoke-filled den at 9:53, hollered something that sounded like "This is just beginning", turned off the radio at 9:55 p.m. (15 hours), wished a good night to someone they called "Dick", and turned off their yard lights.

The two police vehicles drove up at 9:58. (Ever since Lynda "lit into" Officer Mike on his first visit, a backup is now required for dealing with her.) I reported the timing and duration of the radio nuisance and that the neighbors had just turned in. One officer shrugged and said, "We'll wake them up if we need to," and they went to speak with the Trinity's spokesmouth. A short front porch conversation ensued.

Afterward, as the officers reached the sidewalk, again Lynda's needy, greedy self demanded that she ingratiate herself, so she hollered out, "Have a nice night." (Notice, she did not call them by given names this time.) The officers were only halfway to their vehicles across the street when something from the shallow end of her shallow logic pool compelled Lynda to shout out, "Is there a limit to the number of calls? Thirty?" The officers stopped... and turned... The Ice Queen hastily stammered out, "I'm just jokin' " and another "Have a good night," trying vigorously in her redneck way to wave away the icy chill generated by her incredibly crass inquiry.

The officers pulled a U-turn and I met with one by my driveway. He reported my neighbor now believes 10:00 p.m. to be the "legal" cut-off time for the radio. (Now she's suddenly a noise ordinance expert? If so, what does it say about 7:00 a.m.?)  [Well, I'll be damned! It says 8:00 a.m.] The officer tried unsuccessfully to introduce to the benighted woman the simple concept that the big-hands-and-little-hands-o'clock do not apply to something that causes a disturbance of the peace. I told the officer that was the direction I was going and we parted.

Walking back to my lighted front porch, I was confronted by the hissing, venomous hellcat herself - the Generalissimo in bathrobe and slippers on her lawn. Her dirty gray dishrag hair flipped back and forth while her jawbone opened and shut. As I got closer, the half-choked burbling directed by her fully-cooked brain resolved into a reprise from twenty minutes earlier of, "This is just beginning... from now on it's ALL day, EVERY day!" (Holy crap! That sounds just like, " 'Well, bring him on!' says Pearl," in that inimitable, scratchy Shel Silverstein voice from his reefer ballad, The Smoke-Off.) I walked and looked at her, wordlessly. She repeated herself. I repeated my silence and my footsteps. She forced one of her bone-chilling laughs out of her oral orifice while I entered my house and closed the door. I thought, 'The only time expansion of the nuisance left to her is their former bedtime to 10:00 p.m. What was the real substance of her threat? Whatever it is... Bring It ON!'

The night finally closed around 10:25.

This morning opened early, about 6:55 a.m., when Lynda, with the same dirty gray dishrag hair, the same bathrobe and slippers, the newly revitalized, five-minutes-early Lynda, pops out of her door and shuffles over to the outbuilding to turn on the outdoor radio. But at the door something stops her... In an awesome, flashing moment of realization, a couple brain cells fire off! She turns around and re-shuffles back, leaving off her daily rape of Nature's sounds.

Sweet Lord Almighty! Like the Grinch, who's heart grew three sizes that magical Suess-Christmas morning, did Lynda's brain recover a few precious neural pathways overnight? The answer came without ribbons! It came without tags! It came without packages, boxes or bags!

The answer came at 7:15a.m. when the radio came ON. Not just a pretty face, Lynda has a brain cell (or two) in her head. Caught by the police a second time last night in her bathrobe and shuffly slippers, this time she was not going to chance her neighbor calling them for the thirty-first time while she was dressed that way. (Besides, she really needed to use that most useful porcelain invention promoted and improved by Thomas Crapper because she was... how do you say?... full of s**t?)

So, here are the lessons my dimly-endowed neighbors may have learned:

#1 - Go #1 in the morning.
#2 - Go #2, too.
#3 - Wash your hands (and mouth) with soap every time you do #1 or #2.
#4 - Get dressed before you screw up because you will be visited when you screw up.

(Let's see how many repetitions it takes for T, L & C to get pot**-trained...)
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