Friday, January 28, 2011

A Fairy Story As Grimm As Any Other

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1970 Pinole Valley High Spartans

Bitchin' coed, I's looking to grad
But my face... just a little too sad.
Oh, where were the boys
To use as my toys?
She's far too unstable, said Thad.


I stared, broke the mirror on my wall,
Down the lightless and chilly long hall
Where Arv whooped and hollered
'Bout a beefy footballer.
Uhn... he wanted a son after all!








So, my Pa wants a son? Who am I
To turn down such a call from on high?
I'll find a Red bitch
And scratch the mutt's itch
And re-learn her to chop, stir and fry.


Bought some houses, some trucks, got six dogs
Set up shop out where Manteca fogs
Fuck permit from city!
Just waggle a titty
'Cause we're certainly grandmothered trogs.




The Stewarts? We in-timid-at-ed.
The city? We screwed with young Ben's head.
My masterful lie
Made the old neighbors die
It's smooth sailin' 'til we all drop dead.

After years we found us a plump Cork
To ply us with fishy-smell pork
And is it not nice
She keeps us in ice?
Real sad, though... still can't use a fork.



But the bitch cozys up with Slick Willie
That's just fine with this Pinole hillbilly
We all are just brash
Rambunctious white trash
Hating most men. But him? Don't be silly.



Yet C.J. needs someone come visit her
A redhead who, quite sure, can divot her
The shorts without pockets
And vacant tooth sockets
Make our dear friend Rosa a Riveter.




And here, too, is plumber-crack Crystal
Who's always on roof and eave distal
He hammers, drills, screws,
Yells, God! then he spews
Machine noise as loud as a pistol.


Drive '89 Chevy submersibles
We blend in 'cause we wear reversibles
Don't dare you detract!
Don't give us no flak
By sayin' we're gas-filled dirigibles.

Old women who lived in a shoe
Got nuthin' quite like our damn zoo
It rains dogs and cats,
Some chickens, some bats
And the rodents? Well, that's... you-know-who.




But still I don't get no real sex
The only man worthy, T. Rex
He revels in lies
Says he likes my pies {giggles}
Show your pies, girls! (He's making us wrecks.)


Catch me on Showtime sometime...
Then that guy who moved in next door - Putz!
Threw a monkey wrench into our... Klutz!
All he does is write.
Tell the truth! Get it right!
Hey, your honor, all we did was - Schtutz!



A lawsuit? On us? In a court?
(Please pardon, we gotta go snort)
We did nuthin' wrong
But play some loud song
And still harrass him for our sport.

Should you want to smoke Sierra High(c)
Our tall fence is rigged with Evil Eye(c)
We show you our faces
You're gone with no traces
'Less'n you want some to sell, trade or buy {wink}{nudge}.

With all-seeing eyes like old Sauron
We set out to beat that old moron
Who moved in next door.
But much to our horror
Police calls continue to pour on.





The crime is P.C. four-fifteen,
But how can you charge me, the Queen?
I been ruler since God
Was but a dirt clod.
You want me both unheard and unseen?

This's my grandiose story I tell
How likes Graces from Heaven we fell
And made a pig's wallow.
(Don't inhale! Don't swallow!)
Yes, sirree, the Three Beaches From Hell!


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Pinole: The Food, The Place and Its Most Toxic Export

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The ancient way of making pinole
It seems somehow appropriate that the town of Pinole, California was named for a food staple - corn, pounded to a meal with rocks, mixed with herb. That recipe is being followed today by Pinole's most infamous ex-pat, only she uses self-cultivated weed to spice things up.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Pinole: The Food

Pinole is a Mexican Spanish word for a coarse flour made from ground toasted maize kernels, often in a mixture with a variety of herbs and ground seeds, which can be eaten by itself or be used as the base for a beverage. The word derives from the Nahuatl word pinolli, which has the same meaning. In southeastern Mexico and in Central America this food and beverage is known as pinol or pinolillo, considered the national beverage of Nicaragua.

Herbs and flavorings added to pinole include ground mustard seeds, ground chia seeds, ground cacao, sugar, cinnamon, vanilla, achiote, and other grasses and annual herbs. The mixture is sometimes beaten with water to make a hot or cold beverage (also called pinole), or sometimes cooked with water to make an edible mush.

In parts of central Mexico, groups of rowdy youths traditionally went from house to house during Carnival to demand pinole, which they were served without water (and frequently mixed with Chili pepper to make it even more difficult to swallow). This custom may have given rise to the popular saying, El que tiene más saliva, traga más pinole ("Whoever has the most saliva, swallows the most pinole.")

Recipes to make pinole and chia fresca (iskiate) to wash it down.

More haute cuisine from The Original Red Onion, 2870 Pinole Valley Rd., Pinole, Ca. 94564 510-223-6856 - Deep fried chops and gravy

Even Corkscrewed Green would eat this off a catering truck!
(But not with a fork...)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Pinole: The Place

Native American settlement of the West Contra Costa shoreline began at least 5,000 years ago. The Pinole region was the territory of the Huchiun Indians, whose territory extended from Berkeley to somewhere between Rodeo and Crockett. ( more at city website )
Pinole, back in the day
On the city website, one can even "Watch a reenactment of the First Council Meeting (1903)."

Yipee!

[Pinole's got nothing on the City of Manteca. Here every city council meeting is identical to the last, going back to 1918 - and it ain't no reenactment, it's live.]

This'ere's where Pinole's chilun's larned ther ABC's, and tic-tac-toe's, and how to drive catering trucks:

Pinole School, back in the day
Lyin' Lynda's alma mater

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Pinole's Most Infamous and Toxic Export

Voted Most Likely to Become
- with a little TLC -
a BAREFOOT DIRTY GIRL!

(Do I wonder why L/L is still listed as "missing"? No surprise. Just sayin'...)

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Thursday, January 27, 2011

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Hey, Lantz, Look! It's A 20-Foot Wall, After All!

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BDG's Tuesday morning property configuration 

But by Tuesday evening...
Not enough! Build a wall!

Display of other-world ability for tasteless architecture
by Frank Lloyd "Lyin' Lynda" Wright

These benighted women still have not learned that property rights have very little to do with an actual piece of dirt, but much more to do with conforming to community standards of behavior (municipal laws) and not exporting their noxious (and incredibly stupid) lives onto others.

This episode is a developing response to my recent response to the BDG's pathological and never-ending intrusions and invasions onto my property and into my life. They have not let up since I got here - despite a few bumbling actions by the city, and despite a lawsuit (now almost two years old) against them.

Notice the letter date, March 5, 2008, when I documented my very first visit with Lantz Rey of Manteca's Planning Department with a proposal to build a freeway-style sound wall on the property line.

Request #: 127445 Entered: 03/11/2008 1:27 PM
Status: Closed
Request Type: Complaint
Topic: Noise (other than animals)
Incident Time: Continuous
Incident Date:
Description: From: Lantz Rey in the Planning Division

On March 5th I received a letter from Richard Behling who lives at 786 Fishback Road. Mr. Behling had previously been into City hall to talk with Planning about putting up a masonry wall between his property and 810 Fishback. ...
His response was essentially, "Rather than create a variance condition, why not take care of the real problem?" He has since been promoted to a position where he can do some real damage good.

Sounds great, doesn't it? But then I discovered where the "real problem" lies...

The trouble is that for the next year, every single city department and official, including the police chief speaking for the city manager - and especially those Five-Zeros, the city council - told me in flowery, oh-so-polite and condescending terms to... go fuck myself! ...and have a nice life. Now you can see where the "real problem" is lodged.

Returning to the current round of one-ups, I find it rather amusing that I could stand being surveilled by the BDG's for three months, since October, while they could not stand the return treatment for even ten days (and that's not counting Lyin' Lynda's false police report the first day.) Kinda makes one wonder, Who's got something to hide here?

Reality TV sucks when compared with the antics of the BDG's. It was hilarious to watch the original marijuana tent do little bunny hops westward until it abutted the eastern Marijuana Shed and closed a viewing gap. Later, the medically retired sponges on the system women of leisure waddled up and down, back and forth - and up and down again - trying to figure the angles to fly a mainsail. (Those five-times-a-day doobies are really working. Both Lyin' Lynda and Resectioned Red are really, really paranoid... and they must have great appetites to go along with their complete inactivity, judging from their broad beams, which make them look like bottom-heavy penguins when they walk.) They had their worker boy climbing on the walk-in freezer and catwalking across fence tops to put up the braces seen earlier.

Speaking of braces (an English word for suspenders), wasn't it a real treat to see Plumber-Crack Crystal again? Really, now that the icemaker is gone, his only reason to visit is to catch up on smoochies from the Party Girls. One could easily see from his pear-shaped torso (or did he just have a blimp tucked in his shirt?) that suspenders are an absolute necessity.

Speaking of Party Girls, the BDG's now have nothing to do - except go out for groceries on occasion and to grow and smoke marijuana. For company they keep six dogs; two junkyard dogs, three indoor lapdogs, and one that swings both ways. Every few hours they shut up the junkyard dogs in the Smokehouse so they can run the house dogs in the yard. "Girls in!" "Babies out!" "C'mon, little man, pee-pee. Hurry up!" "Babies in!" "Girls out!"

With three BDG's trying to run the show, once in a while they get crossed up and the big dogs go after the pissy little dogs... then the hollerin' and screechin' begins... then the East Bay white trash roots come out.

That reminds me... Animal Control got back to me the other day with:
Manteca-CRM: Closed Request # 574732
Sent: Tue 1/25/2011 7:29 AM
Your request # 574732 [of 1/17/11] has been resolved with the resolution:



Lynda hasn't been home for me to check on the # of animals, so I'll be issuing her a citation through the mail in regards to having to (sic) many animals.

That's rich! Lyin' Lynda is home all day, every day... except for the two days she hauled her junk elsewhere. Even so, the other property owner, the other irresponsible party, the delicate flower, Resectioned Red Riding Hood, was left behind to keep the ravenous wolf from the door. No, it's more a matter of these slippery sleaze buckets possessing a sixth sense regarding process servers and dog catchers.

"Oh?" says L/L in surprise (everything is a surprise to her), "Another pissy citation in the mail? Well, honey, you just send it along 'cause, I do declare, I ran outta Zig-Zag papers."

This morning, Lyin' Lynda bellers hollers screeches out, "Step lively, now! Hoist the mainsail!"

...and up it goes! A tarp on toothpicks!

Sail away with me, you little wog
Sail, sail, sail away with me...
 I'll bet that lawyer fellow had a sailing picture in the office where Lyin' Lynda sat recently... and wasted everyone's afternoon.



Hey, Lantz Rey, look! It's a 20-foot wall, after all!

(I feel a formal complaint coming on...)

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Tuesday, January 25, 2011

WTF Kind of Marijuana Caregivers Are You?!!!

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Don't bother to answer the question... I already know.
or TOKE AND DRIVE
Of all the stupid, irresponsible actions of Lyin' Lynda Allen, Theresa "Brassy Boobs" Brassey and Corkscrewed Cornelia Green, yesterday's was the most egregious yet. They let Brassey drive! alone and stoned! (Of course, all three of them are always stoned nowadays.)

At 10:18 a.m., Brassey poked her head out the back door, emerged, and waddled unsteadily toward the cars, checking about to see if anyone was watching her. The hired handyman appeared to take no notice... at least until Theresa climbed into the Big-Ass Black Pickup Truck, turned it on, and began at 10:21 to execute a T-turn in the constricted, overcrowded yard.

Yesterday's configuration of tents and sheds
on Allen's & Brassey's property
(new additions and re-locations daily)
At that point, the handyman made a beeline to the screened porch and relayed a warning message. Within seconds, Corkscrewed Green popped out the back door and quickly jogged to the truck as Brassey pulled up to the driveway gate. Green quickly returned to inside the house, passing Lyin' Lynda emerging out the back. Green intercepted Brassey out front and held a confab with her on the street. At 10:25, Brassey hesitantly piloted the Big-Ass Pickup Truck away to the south.


There was way too much urgency displayed during this episode to be merely a case of Brassey forgetting a list of building materials or groceries. No, I've had the unfortunate experience of living next to the unstable pair, Allen and Brassey, for almost four years and Brassey was clearly acting erratically (and, more seriously, without the Alpha Bitch's express permission.)

When asked to vote on the 2010 Proposition 19 - Legalize Marijuana in CA, Regulate and Tax, voters in San Joaquin County rejected giving dopers unrestricted access by 61% to 39%. (Even all the Left Coast potheads and other useful idiots could not overcome a statewide rejection of 54%.)

Statewide:

Yes Votes - 3,897,789 46.0%
No Votes - 4,574,463 54.0%

San Joaquin County:

Yes Votes - 45,263 38.83%
No Votes - 71,295 61.17%

But (and this is a Big-Ass Truck-sized But), residents of the state are saddled with that partial birth abortion known as the Compassionate Use Act of 1996 (CUA), HSC 11362.5. In subsection (b)(2) is this verbiage:
"Nothing in this section shall be construed to supersede legislation prohibiting persons from engaging in conduct that endangers others, nor to condone the diversion of marijuana for nonmedical purposes."
"Conduct that endangers others" explicitly applies to DUI operations of motor vehicles.

Of course, police can't test and won't enforce; D.A.'s can't win and won't prosecute; courts are already... well, you know... too screwed up to interpret laws correctly any more; the past governor reduced "minor amount" possession to no more than a traffic ticket; and the current governor will... will encourage the pothead lawyer legislature to completely legalize grass.

I'm guessing Brassey would have to kill herself (like) - and likely someone else (dislike) - before a successful DUI prosecution would stick in SJCo. (Except, live people say only nice things about dead BDG's...)

To top it all off, the San Joaquin County D.A.'s office failed in their CUA responsibility to construct and maintain files of registered sex offenders medical marijuana users and their caregivers. No one knows WTF is going on! The whole damn house of cards is built on the intrinsic integrity of law-abiding pot smokers and the thorough-going professionalism of certified so-called doctors who write the Marijuana Recommendations. (Which is to say, we're screwed.)

Is anyone willing to tell us how well the CUA - that bad law imposed by duped doped well-meaning idiots in a direct democracy and left to citizen self-enforcement by incompetent (we say) and underpaid (they say) officialdom - just how well is that bad law working out for us? The answer is not to completely legalize weed, but to put it back under competent medical authority - if such can be found. (We may just be screwed, after all.)

And the Barefoot Dirty Girls of Manteca grow the best damn Sierra High(c) brand of shit, smoke it by the potful, and happily! euphorically! hungrily! hit the roads and highways of our locale in their Big-Ass Black Pickup Truck.



The BDG's mud flap motto?

UP YOURS
ASSHOLES AND SOCCER MOMS!
WE'RE GRANDFATHERED
CERTIFIED CAREGIVERS!

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Monday, January 24, 2011

Packrat Purging: Diarrhea of Trash

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It' really hard to imagine all the mountains of crap these connoisseurs of trash have stuffed into every nook, cranny, attic, old walk-in freezers, old and inoperable catering trucks, tents, travel trailers, old cars and trucks, shipping containers, shanty sheds... anywhere and everywhere Klepto Yellow can disguise the existence of more useless erotica exotica.

The purgative movements began last weekend with the advent of the Budget moving van.

Then a couple days elapsed as Mellow Yellow's mental peristalsis built up to another series of disgorgements. Other outbound wrenchings were masked by the constant employment of another laborer (to replace the talkative Alex and Joaquin) who continued finish work on the Marijuana Sheds and reconstructed the interior of the Smokehouse. His vehicle of choice was a beater pickup.

The Smokehouse


Ah, yes, the Smokehouse... the outbuilding that for years has been a storage room, a grocery commissary, a laundry room, an electrical sub-station for the solar panels, and a doghouse for the junkyard dogs. More recently, two added uses are as the control center for the outdoor stereo and as the Smokehouse. In an effort to keep their newly remodeled house pristine for eventual disposal, the three dopers hole up in the Smokehouse for 15 to 45 minutes several times a day and generate a neighborhood-wide cloud of second-hand marijuana smoke.

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Lyin' Lynda's Big-Ass Black Pickup Truck
Friday morning was on the verge of dawning when Lyin' Lynda's (L/L) Big-Ass Black Pickup Truck crept up the driveway, pulling a utility trailer behind it. [This vehicle is L/L's Freudian overcompensation for missing certain body parts she is sure she was cheated out of.] As this Grapes of Wrath rig pulled onto the street and away, my only question was, "How far away is she going?" Alas, the answer was, "Not far enough," because the emptied rig and its Road Queen driver reappeared in the afternoon and backed onto the lot.

Shuttling shit from shanty shed to the Big-Ass Black Trash Truck (minus trailer) that evening was an amusing vignette because for every two items loaded onboard, L/L would come along and remove one. The job could have been done in thirty minutes, but under L/L's generalship, er, that is... because of her need to control everybody and everything it took ninety. Regardless of the stream of refuse tossed into L/L's Big-Ass Trash Truck, such as the bags of fertilizer, the air compressor, the dozens of paint cans, the flower pots, the giant thingie that had to be drained of water, etc., despite all that, the shanty shed is still solidly packed with all sorts of excreta.

Saturday morning was on the verge of dawning when Lyin' Lynda's (L/L) Big-Ass Black Pickup Truck again crept up the driveway, pulling the re-attached utility trailer behind it. This time she took muscle with her to unload on the other end; this is known because he left behind the Silver Bullet(c) for the day and drove away in it after they returned that evening. (What a shit job that is... having to spend the entire day with Yellow and Green! But they, without a doubt, shared a joint... or two, or three... with him to kill the pain.)


Items of note: 1) The Cannonball Elimination Express left behind a some Big Red Brassy Boobs to guard the premises, which is funny because she's useless in her unimpaired state and twice as useless when she's all doped up; and 2) when the Big-Ass Black Pickup Truck returned, it was minus the trailer.

Witness: Lyin' Lynda told the police officer she was "leaving in a couple days," yet a week later she is still here. The bitch never stays gone. Perhaps she meant she was mentally checked out, or that she was going to self-administer medicinal stupidity (Sierra High(c), no less!) several times a day from now on. Her version of truth has always been disconnected from reality.

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Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Hell On Wheels Grinds (Exceedingly) Slowly Along

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Did Lyin' Lynda charge a modeling fee for this? her normal posture?

Where to begin talking about complete and utter ineptitude*?!

Today there was a scheduled Case Management Conference before the judge of the pending civil suit against "Lyin' Lynda" Allen and Theresa A "Resectioned Red" Brassey, at which meeting:
  • Plaintiff's attorney appeared in person
  • Plaintiff's case management statement was filed earlier, as required
  • Plaintiff's Motion for Summary Judgment was filed earlier
  • Defendants' attorney failed to appear, in person or by telephone
  • Defendants failed to appear pro per
  • Defendants failed to file a case management statement, as required
Where were the Defendants? Who knows? They were up waddling around early this morning, packing their little Playmate(c) coolers, preparing to go screw off somewhere for the day. The only mind (wrong word?) they've paid this lawsuit is to ignore it and drag it out as long as possible.

Where was their White Knight, the kid from Farmers Insurance Company, their "free" attorney? Who knows? Did Farmers finally come to the realization that they - and the company's policyholders - have also been thoroughly screwed by Lynda and Theresa?

Will any of them deign to answer the current Motion, or to show up at the Motion hearing in April?

Who knows? Who cares? {shrug} The BDG's have their heads up their asses... or each other's asses, more likely.

Now the Games can really begin...
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- - - - - - - - - - -
in·ept (adj) 1. Not apt or fitting; inappropriate; unsuitable; out of place. 2. absurd or foolish: an inept remark. 3. a. Displaying a lack of judgment, sense, or reason; foolish: an inept remark. b. Awkward, bungling or clumsy; haplessly incompetent: inept handling of the account. 4. Without skill or aptitude for a particular task or assignment; maladroit: "Red is inept at mechanical tasks" "Yellow is inept at dealing with people" "Green is inept at everything else"

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Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Difficile Est Saturam Non Scribere

Translation of title: "It is hard NOT to write satire."




45 Why tell how my heart burns dry with rage when I see the people hustled by a mob of retainers attending on one who has defrauded and debauched his ward, or on another who has been condemned by a futile verdict — for what matters infamy if the cash be kept? The exiled Marius carouses from the eighth hour of the day and revels in the wrath of Heaven, while you, poor Province, win your cause and weep!



It is on her passion that a bad woman's whole nature centers.

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The BDG Waggle Dance!

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While monitoring my home security video feed yesterday, I came across some of the rarest behavior ever captured on video. It left me shaken, both for its value as disturbing documentation, as well as for its raw, animalistic intensity.

Backing up a bit... I recently visited a natural history museum. One of the displays was a video presentation of the life and times of honey bees. One particularly interesting segment was the Waggle Dance - the method by which scout bees informed worker bees of the whereabouts of plants with pollen and nectar.


This waggle dance behavior of honey bees is very well documented and has a direct correlation to the continuation of the hive.

What is NOT so well documented is similar behavior in humans - at least insofar as it applies to survival. There IS evidence that waggle-dancing humans do so as part of a mating dance ritual, or for purely exhibitionistic reasons. And in certain cases, mental retardation and inhibitions impaired by drugs are the contributing factors. Click below for two examples of public waggle dancing.


But yesterday's brilliant performance of the waggle dance by the infamous Barefoot Dirty Girl - Manteca's own Resectioned Red! - was truly noteworthy (especially considering she is built LESS like the preceding dancers and MORE like a brick shit house.) Her abberant behavior can only be attributed to high concentrations of THC in her already lethargic brain, thus depressing to a greater degree any social inhibitions she may have once had. (There's a reason it's called "dope.")

[Pics removed. Reason: not yet cleared for publication (and to protect small dogs and children!)]

Even more perplexing is that the same "medicine" these BDG geese have been dishing out since last October... they are finding it very bitter when the gander dishes it back for them to swallow.

Suck it up!... or, better yet, Give it up!

- - - - -

(Still building, are we? How many days until you leave, L/L?)

- - - - -

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Monday, January 17, 2011

Old Mother Hubbard Feeds Her Kids Bones

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These ain't dogs - them's my chil'un


Manteca's follow up sucks!
{Yawn... tell me something I don't already know.}


Mon 1/17/2011 6:12 PM
Manteca-CRM: New Request # 574732


The Complaint you submitted was:
Request type: Other (animals)
Location: 810 Fishback Street
Description: Too many animals on the property. MMC only allows three dogs/cats per lot.


9/1/10 - Courtesy Notice # 6408
9/22/10 - Owners warned by officer
9/23/10 - Citation issued
1/17/11 - All six dogs and a cat still there...

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What round is this?  Three... four... five...?
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Unbelievably Bitchin' Tails From Fairyland

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Alice's descent into Wonderland doesn't hold a reefer's smoke ring to encounters with the dogs, bitches, and other denizens of the warped rabbit hole next door. As a courtesy to my readers, this post gets a sysnopsis - or the short, dry version above ground. The longer, juicy version follows down the rabbit hole.

Synopsis
  • Lyin' Lynda (L/L) put up surveillance cameras last October.
  • This weekend I put up one camera and L/L pops a cork.
  • L/L lies to the police to get them to come out, as a form of harrassing me.
  • I set the officer straight and make a prediction...
  • Within two minutes of the officer's departure, L/L creates her signature yard radio nuisance.
  • I call the police and sign a citizen's arrest warrant against L/L.

Longer, Juicy Version

Saturday's Setup

Saturday started off with backup beepers and an extra-loud yard radio, which together are clues that Lying' Lynda was up to something she wanted covered up. Since I had absolutely nothing else to do that day {sarcasm}, I played along with the fun Barefoot Dirty Girls' party game.

The backup beeping was made by a large Budget(c) moving van that some hired muscle barely managed to wedge onto the half-acre lot - somehow - between the catering trucks, travel trailers, trash trucks, other assorted vehicles, marijuana production sheds, and who-knows-what other flotsam already awash on the property. My hopes soared momentarily! But where's the For Sale sign...?


Finally! A moving truck!
When I called the Manteca Police last October, I was told that surveillance cameras were perfectly legal in California, even if they overlooked another's property, the only exception being bedroom or bathroom windows. So I rustled up one of my surveillance cameras from my evidence gathering on the illegal land use (TLC Catering and Commissary) and mounted it overlooking their back yard to help protect Lyin’ Lynda’s most valuable asset – her rock speaker!

[parenthetical rant/on] The thought had been on my mind since last October, when the BDG's blanketed my property with surveillance cameras (see this post, and this post demanding they be removed), that the most important thing in toked-up Yellow's miserable murine* existence is her compulsion to impose herself on others - and I don't mean lightly, either. She is not only ham-handed, mega-whiney and super-needy, but also ultra-greedy in the same vein as a junkie who MUST have her minute-by-minute fix.

This is Lyin' Lynda's life. It is proven by one single fact: Every day for four years, this rat-faced catering truck driver has exported her noise across the fence to me; first with her ancient Scotsman commercial icemaker, the 3:00 a.m. Cork-Screwed Ice Bucket Brigade, and other noises from their illegal business operation; then after that with the yard radio installed expressly for the purpose of playing her annoyance at me for challenging her with a lawsuit; now with her overt surveillance of me and my property to continue the harrassment. [parenthetical rant/off]

One of the first things I noticed was that the moving van was NOT being loaded with furniture. Damn!

For a couple hours, Yellow and Green directed their two lumpers and six dogs as uniformly sized boxes (all labeled French's) and all sorts of yard waste were stuffed into the Grinch's sleigh. [Yard waste, ie.: hoses, compressors, ladders, bags of golf clubs, other indeterminate packrat "treasures" strewn about the yard.] Because a Dumpster(c) drop bin would have been cheaper, the only other conclusion is that Cheap-Ass Allen is keeping the crap, merely relocating her manure heap to another soon-to-be-unfortunate place.

And, yes, after being cited repeatedly, the Head Bitch still has her six doggie children! (see this post) [BTW, there is at least one cat they house and feed, too.]

[pic removed]
Dog#1, Dog#2 (you decide)

[pic removed]

Dog#3, Dog#4, Dog#5

[pic removed]

Dog#5 (again), Dog#6

Cork-Screwed Green drew the assignment to escort the treasure truck to its new hiding place home.

Resectioned Red made a brief appearance. Her sole contribution to the afternoon was to scan the horizon fenceline, notice my camera, and... sound the bogey alarm!

You would have thought I kicked Lyin' Lynda in her hornets nest. After the Supreme Bitch of the Independent Sovereignty of Sex, Drugs, and Soft Rock at 810 Fishback Street got over her [normal] look of THC stupefication, The She dragged out her handheld camera to document my camera.

I can imagine the evening conversation as Red and Yellow sucked down kill-a-moose quantities of Sierra High(c) quality [marijuana-strikeout] self-medication. Cork-Screwed made her thoughts feelings known when she returned and, at 8:15 p.m., did a cute little dance while waving two middle-finger salutes in the air.

- - - - - - - - -
Interlude

Recently I read a fictional description in The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins, of something that truly lives next door - "...one of the Capitol's muttations, tracker jackers. These killer wasps [are] larger than regular wasps, have a distinctive solid gold body, and a sting that raises a lump the size of a plum on contact. Most people can't tolerate more than a few stings. Some die at once. If you live, the hallucinations brought on by the venom have actually driven people to madness. And there's another thing, these wasps will hunt down anyone who disturbs their nest and attempt to kill them. That's where the tracker part of the name comes from."
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Sunday Morning Gets Even Juicier

Lyin' Lynda, the Queen Tracker Jacker, outdid herself on Sunday morning - she called the Manteca Police department and insisted they come out on her report that I was peeping with a surveillance camera aimed at her bedroom window. (Both Sexy Rexy Osborn and Lyin' Lynda have tried before to smear me with the Peeping Tom label. But, really?! Given those targets? No one is THAT hard up!) Sunday morning's lie to the police is both uproariously funny when viewed as merely another of her mentally and socially deficient juvenile pranks, and disturbingly macabre for the desperately wishful thinking on her part.

I'm sure Sappy Soothsayer filled the police officer's ears with, A) how good she keeps up her property, and B) what good service she gave the people of Tracy for twenty-five years, and C) any other unrelated trash talk she could think of (the same immaterial trash she dumped on the city council two years ago.) The only item of any [irrelevant] significance was her statement that she is leaving in two days. (Really? For how long? Can you and I “talk about forever?”) That's probably a lie, too, just like last summer's fabrication about "moving to Oregon." There are still For Sale signs on all the catering trucks she keeps moving around the property, but none out front - for the house. I do not believe she's moving, only telling half-truths to police officers.

[Note: Lyin’ Lynda’s definition of truth is to string together factoidal artifacts, each of which has no timeframe nor context, but a tenuously plausible basis in reality, which can, therefore, be sworn to; but when strung together in true non sequitur fashion, leave the hearer to draw an entirely different understanding than the real story.]

This mouthy, mousy woman stood in her front yard in her frumpy robe and slippers for a half-hour while the officer repaired to his cruiser to get some peace and quiet to begin composing his report. This frustrated her so much that she accosted two women (never men!) walking by and vomited on them unloaded her version of reality, waving her arms and going on about how I was peeping in her bedroom windows and... and... in fact, I was watching them right now! What she conveniently left out of her mental meltdown diatribe, to both police and passersby, was, A) her own full set of surveillance cameras spying on me, and B) how she started - and still perpetuates - this whole "neighbor war." But nothing stops this babbler from spewing lies to random unfortunates.

Practically speaking, however, the officer's visit to my residence shortly before 8:00 a.m. was productive. I took him on a quick tour, showed him my one-camera response to the BDG's phalanx of eyes in the skies. He was taken aback! My angelic {*cough*} neighbor had neglected to mention those. He took pictures of the his-and-hers systems and admitted to being unconvinced that she slept in her covered porch, or on her living room sofa with the big screen TV, or was otherwise indecently exposed. (And you gotta trust me on this – ANY exposure of her is the definition of indecent.) I told him it is my iron-clad policy to believe nothing Lyin' Lynda says.

As he was leaving to finish his report, #11-1357, I mentioned that it was too bad the yard radio wasn't playing for us, but not to worry because my neighbor would turn it on as soon as he pulled away.

One minute - to the second! - after the police cruiser pulled away from the curb, L/L shot out her back door and turned on the radio. She went back inside for three seconds before she had a thought. Can anyone guess what passed for thought in her head at that moment? 'Duh. Gotcha, sucka!' Coming back outside, and smiling her [scary normal] shit-faced grin, the Queen Insanity Jacker again turned the speaker to point toward my house and cranked the radio up louder.

By 9:00, Lyin' Lynda had managed to get some clothes on, Cork-Screwed had scooped up all of that day's six-pack ration of dog shit, and Resectioned Red straggled and stumbled off her pink ribbon death bed and donned her reversible smoking jacket (who cares about one kind of cancer when you can have two?) They gathered into the outbuilding, which is their designated smoking area, for a drug-enhanced celebration of the morning's successful harrassment, while they watched the washing machine and dryer drums go round, and round, and round... (I know where they are by the reeking stench of stoners. After all, they just remodeled their entire house for sale. Gotta keep the market value up by keeping it smoke-free.)

At 9:17, after writing up the first visit, I called the Manteca Police department. The same officer responded. I am sure that with these two visits, an hour apart, he knew he had been well-used – manipulated - by Lyin’ Lynda. He said, "You predicted the radio correctly." He went next door, but it took several minutes of the junkyard dogs howling to rouse Mellow Yellow from her power trip. The stupid, blinky-blanky, stoner stare she gave the fence and my camera was priceless - before she cottoned to the fact that someone was at her front gate, not the fence. (There's a reason it's called "dope.")

By 9:49 a.m. Lyin' Lynda Allen had her arrest warrant in hand, a citizen's arrest for P.C.415(2), Disturbing the Peace, report #11-1362. She turned the radio down but did not turn it off.

[pic removed]

Perp Walk

Sunday evening the BDG’s had a visitor; probably trying to beat the rap. It must not have been a friend because the porch lights were on in order to usher whomever into the front door. You see, friends, workers, and suppliers go in the driveway gate, where they can step in dog shit, smell the marijuana, yuck it up with the locals, and otherwise be made to feel at home. VIP’s go in the front door.

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I'm just bursting with jittery anticipation and simply can't wait to see what happens (or doesn't!) in two days.
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* murine  (adj) 1. Of or relating to a rodent of the family Muridae or subfamily Murinae, including rats and mice. 2. Caused, transmitted, or affected by such a rodent: a murine plague. (n) A murine rodent.

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Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Opprobrious Chameleons; Reversibles and Rip-Offs

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You think you see me, but you don't;
I'm a chameleon, you see.
I slither from here, change colors as wont,*
and next, I'm up a tree.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

The BDG's plan to "Slip Unnoticed Into Heaven FREE"
- - -

Som'uns got herself a eh'...ju...ma...ka'...shun... from one a' those fancy... uh... whatev' ther' called.

And to leave an indelible stain mark on America's popular culture, our own, our beloved, our Recently Resectioned Red has given birth from her infertile body mind to the epitome of sports paraphernalia jizz widgets -

{drum roll}

- the one and only -

{another drum roll}

- officially titled -


Sports jacket of reversible construction for displaying alternate team and/or player affiliations ! (Patent # 6,550,066)


Knowing these benighted morons [as well as anyone can decipher them], trying to follow the description of this "invention" provided a hilarious romp through their psyches psychoses.** In the verbiage that Resectioned Red provided to the Patent Office, the raison d'etre*** for the polymorphic disinformation camouflage apparel appeared to be the desire not to get the shit beat out of them at Oakland Raiders game.

I will try to translate, reinterpret, and elucidate Red's "waffle wording" and hidden meanings as we trudge along through this linguistic sludge pit of popular culture. (Popular culture: the "Bread and Circuses" with which the masses are anesthetized into stuporous compliance.)
See this Wikipedia entry.
[...] iam pridem, ex quo suffragia nulli / uendimus, effudit curas; nam qui dabat olim / imperium, fasces, legiones, omnia, nunc se / continet atque duas tantum res anxius optat, / panem et circenses. [...]
(Juvenal, Satire 10.77–81)


… Already long ago, from when we sold our vote to no man, the People have abdicated our duties; for the People who once upon a time handed out military command, high civil office, legions — everything, now restrains itself and anxiously hopes for just two things: bread and circuses

Put simply, this is my neighbors' self-confessed credo on how to slither through life - and cash in on the circus - now that they have cashed out of the sloppy bread business - and now stumble about in the drug business.

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United States Patent 6,550,066
Inventor: Brassey; Theresa Ann (Manteca, CA)
April 22, 2003
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Abstract

A team jacket with sports logo that is of reversible construction. Different teams sports logos are on both the inner and outer surfaces of the jacket. The jacket may also be equipped with the names of players so that the jacket may be reversed to reveal a different player's name and/or number. [This is the setup. The why, the "spin," comes later.]
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Appl. No.: 09/040,271
Filed: March 18, 1998
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Referenced By [later inventors]
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2. 7,725,955 Rivalry rip-off apparel
9. 6,874,168 Buttocks padded pants
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Primary Examiner: Hale; Gloria M.
Attorney, Agent or Firm: Halvonik; John P.
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Description: BACKGROUND AND FIELD OF THE INVENTION

The invention relates to the field of jackets and sporting wear and, in particular, to a jacket that is of reversible construction and having different teams sports logos on both the inner and outer surfaces of the jacket in order to allow the display of alternate team logos. The jacket may also be equipped with the names of players so that the jacket may be reversed to reveal a different player's name or number.

The jacket is believed [by whom? belief does not equal truth.] to have utility [mega-sports has usefulness? really?] among those sports fans [oxymorons] who find that teams are seemingly [waffle word] constantly switching city affiliations and those fans no longer have the same loyalties [ie., totally fickle] to those teams as they did in previous times. The same may be said for players as well because[,] with the advent of free agency[,] players are constantly moving from team to team.

[It is amazing how these fickle oxymorons can dream up such a fantasy! Loyalty? Players are nothing but assets, on-screen entertainers, traded about by entertainment corporations known as "ball clubs." It has nothing to do with games or sports, but with money - money extracted from dumbasses who allow themselves to be distracted from real life and squander their time and give away their money to the corporations they then bitch about as "the rich."]

The jacket is meant to be amusing or entertaining [or ridiculous] in that other sports fans [other morons] who see the jacket on display will immediately grasp [strong word for morons] the intended pun or message when the user[, after toking a 'jane or two,] stands up and reverses his[/her] jacket in order to display a new team that he/she is now rooting for. [Hey! Look at the scoreboard, fools! With that point spread, you old goats are gonna lose us a lot of money.] The reversible jacket as described herein readily conveys the message that team sports loyalties among both fans and owners is[are] very fickle [her word, not mine!] and that one can change his[/her] team loyalty as easily as changing ones jacket. [Key sentence - Red, Yellow, and Green are fickle and can play on either team... or both.]

Among the advantages of such a jacket is that the fan does not have to invest in [invest? the word is "consume"] two jackets in order to root for two teams or two players. One jacket having multiple logos will suffice. [How does fan frugality pernuriousness support the mega-sports machine, including all its suppliers?] Also, the fan will not have to risk the approbation [Gack! This gets the following explanatory paragraph all its own!] of other fans [morons] when [s]he is in a different stadium. If the team [s]he is rooting for loses the game or is otherwise unacceptable to the rest of the fans, e.g. for example [e.g. means, for example] if they are the visiting team, the user can simply reverse the jacket and present those fans in the stadium with a logo for a team and/or player that is acceptable to them. [Prime example of the Barefoot Dirty Girls using camouflage to avoid detection, "fly under the radar," and not get the shit beat out of them. Follow the crowd, blend in.]

[Regardless of Reeking Red's liberally lacking college eh'...ju...ma...ka'...shun, the definition of approbation (n) is 1. An expression of warm approval; praise. 2. Commendation; official approval. I can readily see why the BDG's want to avoid the "risk the approbation" of anyone, especially family, friends, neighbors, city officials. Red should have used disapprobation, or possibly opprobrium (n), which means, 1. Disgrace arising from exceedingly shameful conduct; ignominy. 2. Scornful reproach or contempt: a term of opprobrium. You see? Opprobrium applies perfectly to the BDG's perfidy (treachery, faithlessness) and prevarications (lies, fabrications, exaggerations, inventions, misrepresentations, etc.).]


PRIOR ART

While there are jackets that are reversible in nature, none that applicant is aware of have multiple team sports logos displayed on both the inner and the outer surfaces of the jacket. Nor are there any with multiple player names on them.

SUMMARY OF THE INVENTION

A sporting jacket having one team logo on the outside of the jacket and having a second team logo on the inside of the jacket. The jacket is of reversible construction so that the logo on the inner surface may be displayed upon reversing the jacket with the inner logo now appearing on the outer surface of the jacket. The second logo should be distinguishable from the first logo so that when the jacket is reversed a different logo can be displayed by the wearer.

It is an objective of the invention to provide a sports jackets having multiple team and/or player designations to allow sports fans to display an alternate team/player designation in the event that they wish to root for different teams and/or player.

Another objective of the invention is to provide an amusing message to fans and others whereby the owner of a sports jacket can convey the message of changing team loyalties by simply reversing his/her jacket.

Other advantages will become known to those skilled in the art [art? what art? disinformation? evasion? call it anything but lying? In that case, the Barefoot Dirty Girls are highly "skilled in the art."] once the invention is shown and described.

DESCRIPTION OF DRAWINGS

FIG. 1 Overall construction of apparatus.

FIG. 2 perspective view.



Source: US Patent and Trademark Office (USPTO) or FreePatentsOnline 6550066 PDF

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

This whole invention smacks of a flashback to their high school days when Theresa (San Leandro Pirates) and Lynda (Pinole Spartans) desperately wanted letter jackets, but couldn't (his choice) or wouldn't (her choice) tease them off male football players. 

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =


Rivalry rip-off apparel
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
United States Patent 7,725,955
Johnson
June 1, 2010
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Abstract

A cap, jacket, shirt, or sweatshirt displaying the logos of two rival adjacent a field, court, mat or rink depicting the sport in which the teams vie. These logos may be readily ripped-off, being attached by hook-and-loop fabric, or the like, to enable the following week's rivalry to be displayed on the same item of apparel. The wearer's preference is displayed on that item of apparel by means of a team name/logo/exhortational message displayed elsewhere on the item than in the display region and by a red `DIS` cord stretched across the team the wearer wishes to lose in a manner reminiscent of the international NOT! display.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Inventors: Johnson; James L. (Erie, PA)
Appl. No.: 12/070,954
Filed: February 21, 2008
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References cited
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
6,550,066 April 2003 Brassey
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Primary Examiner: Hale; Gloria
Attorney, Agent or Firm: Thomson; Richard K.
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Description
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
BACKGROUND AND SUMMARY OF THE INVENTION

The present invention is directed to the field of clothing. More particularly, the present invention is directed to an article of clothing capable of displaying a rivalry of interest to the wearer and the wearer's preference for the outcome of a soon-to-be-played game or one of historic interest.

Sports have long been a passion for many and the number of fans for particular sports is expanding exponentially. Sports paraphernalia is proliferating and fans are looking for additional ways to display their love [purely platonic, or economic, of course] for their preferred team(s). It is an object of the present invention to present articles of apparel which allows the wearer to make clear to anyone seeing the person's attire, his/her preference for the outcome of a particular rivalry/game. This apparel may take the form of a cap or other type of hat, a sweatshirt, t-shirt, jacket, polo shirts, team jersey, vests, etc., available under the trademark Rivalry Rip-off (TM) apparel.

The present invention comprises an article of clothing for displaying a rivalry between two teams including: a) an apparel item having a display region for displaying at least two logos of rival teams; b) a first logo for a preferred team; c) a second logo for another rival team; d) attachment means for removably securing the first and second logos to the display region; e) indicator means for manifesting a preference of a wearer of the apparel item for one team over the other team. The article of clothing includes first attachment means for securing the first logo and second attachment means for securing the second logo to the display region which includes a field, court, pool, rink, or mat depicting a sport in which the rival teams compete with a `VS` emblazoned on the field, court, pool, rink or mat between the first and second attachment means, as well as at least one indication adjacent one of the attachment sites indicating which is the home team.

Each of the first and second attachment means comprises first and second hook-and-loop fabric portions in which the first hook-and-loop fabric portion is secured to the display region and the second hook-and-loop fabric portion is secured to a back side of one of the first and second logos. The indicator means comprises a team name/logo/exhortational message of/for the wearer's preferred team displayed elsewhere on the apparel item. The indicator means further comprises a red cord stretched diagonally across the second logo. The article of apparel includes removable attachment means for the red cord allowing it to be draped across either side of the display region. It is envisioned that this Rivalry Rip-off (TM) apparel could apply to sports including baseball, basketball, diving, football, hockey, soccer, swimming, track and field, wrestling at all levels of competition and could easily be applied to non-athletic competitions, such as highschool and college scholastic meets, as well.

Various other features, advantages, and characteristics of the present invention will become apparent after a reading of the following detailed description.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
* wont - habit; an established custom; ex., "It is their wont [habit] to smoke a "Sierra High" joint every evening at 7:00 out on their patio."

** Psychosis is a term used to describe an array of signs and symptoms suggesting a form of thinking that breaks from reality.

*** raison d'etre (n) 1. reason for being; rationalization; the cognitive process of making something seem consistent with or based on reason. 2. the purpose that justifies a thing's existence; function, purpose, use, role - what something is used for; "the function of an auger is to bore holes"; "BDG's are unforgivable wastes of Earth's resources, so what use are they?"

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Half Done: The Re-Creation(s) of BDG's

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My sincerest apologies to Robert "Buck" Brown (c.1936-2007) for the slight alterations to his drawing.

But, damn, the multi-layered humor remains, especially when one considers some possible future reconstruction next door... if Red gets that far. And they all love to smoke stuff that messes with their heads, too.

What?! You are offended that I should ridicule someone with cancer? or cretinism? or warts? Just what is the problem? No offense to the Offended Blogger, but I take offense when others take offense to me poking fun at the most offensive neighbors I have ever encountered, regardless of their health disasters, financial disasters, social disasters, business disasters, lifestyle choice disasters, medicinal disasters, canine disasters, and DIY handyman disasters. Some is done in prose, some in verse; some is done in portrait, some in caricature. For a previous versified example, see the post Missa Pro Defunctis (Requiem) in Limerick for my light-hearted offering of a final farewell to the dominatrix of cancerous catering companies.
Lest the reader should think that I'm crass -
(With the goal to kick her in the ass) -
'Tis her PAIN! Hard to suffer,
Let God quickly snuff her
Then we all'd be in good smokin' grass.

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January 19th: Upcoming ADR Review Hearing

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Hmmm... where is that devilish detail when you need it?

Since the defendants have no case (only unsupported, whiney objections and protestations from Lyin' Lynda), with any luck, the case will be calendared for trial.

Unless, of course, a Plaintiff's Motion for Summary Judgment, now being prepared for filing, is granted.

The case report below is found on the San Joaquin County Courts website:




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BDG's Pour Fuel on the Fire

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Ever since I insisted (eventually via a lawsuit) that the BDG's stop their noisy and illegal business operation, they have retaliated with MORE intrusive noise and invasive surveillance of MY property.

A well-meaning, kindly old dweeb recently advised me that to continue blogging about Lynda Allen is like "pouring fuel on the fire." The messenger was intending to de-escalate any hostilities perpetrated by the Three Beaches toward me, but in the real world was like telling Lord Chamberlain to placate Adolf Hitler. Everyone knows how well that appeasement strategy worked out prior to World War II erupting and sweeping the nations.

You know the old sayings:
  • The night is always darkest before the dawn.
  • Things usually get worse before they get better.
That is certainly the case with any attempts to communicate with, or accommodate, or ignore, Lynda Allen, Theresa Brassey, or Cornelia Green. These three assholes feed off each other and are beyond any sane or rational interpersonal skills. The only time their world view includes others is when they can impose their noxious toxic selves on the others.

At lunchtime today there was ANOTHER guy with a truck and a ladder crawling around on the BDG's property and house. Why? you ask. It appears that the paranoid pussies can't get enough of what they never get are rearranging their CCD surveillance cameras and needed a new cable strung. It was strung externally because they don't want to contaminate the sanctity of Felix's cable-crawling in the attic. (More likely, there are too many bats in that belfry already.) Where does the cable go?

New cable strung from outbuilding to... where?
Ah, there it is. A second camera mounted under the gable eaves to survey my front yard. (Right next to the first one that spies on my bedroom window.)

A second camera mounted under the BDG's eaves
to capture my front yard
This brought up a corollary question - Does this new camera affect their other two spy cameras out back? Sure enough, the camera that used to watch gophers dig tunnels in my back yard has been moved up front, where it's sure to get more "play time."


If Lyin' Lynda and her live-in lovers keep pouring evil, volatile fuels on the situation, even a small spark could... quite possibly... ignite a conflagration.

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