Thursday, March 31, 2011

Lyin' Lynda's Not-So-Private Orgasm


I arrived home yesterday just in time to hear Lyin' Lynda Allen Auntie Lyn hollering her head off most obscenely, while her big, metal middle finger waved and twisted in the air,
"To the left... aaaah... to the left some more... don't jiggle it like that... Oh, yeah!... Right there! uhhh... perfect... Aaaah... Perfect... PERFECT!"
She must have had some damn good stimulation during the day, and the foreplay drove her to the brink as her surveillance camera came to settle... directly on me in my back yard.

Yes, indeed, this demonic parasite got off the only way she can - by forcing her evil spore into someone else's life (mine, in this case.) Just like a blood-swollen, pin-headed tick, she sucks her life from the host, then returns the favor by injecting her virulent toxins. To Lyin' Lynda, this is getting her rocks off, her true release; she only fucks men in the head. (Believe me! we are grateful for that small favor!)

What got her so dripping with excitement, you ask? Covering the day's news provides the answer.

The unsupervised Supreme Generalissimo of the People's Sovereign and Independent Republic of 810 Fishback Street [screw Manteca!] was in full and total control of events. Excitement was palpable in the air. Cork-Screwed scooped up dog shit expeditiously. Roly-Poly Red waddled - as expeditiously as her perpetual internal fog allows - to the marijuana grow sheds to cuddle and croon to "her baby ganga" (fickle bitch, this must be how the six dogs got to be Lyin' Lynda's "babies.") The Generalissimo cracks the whip, they step lively... or at least livlier than Roly-Poly usually steps. No time to waste.

Disappearing bottoms and house dogs

Traffic intensifies. Errands were run quickly. Several cars and a blue pickup go, come, go. We're on a deadline. ("We mus'n't be late for a most important date at the Queen's palace," said the White Rabbit.) Cork-Screwed took off in her car, with a doggie or two. Re-Upholstered Red left in the SUV with another doggie - and just by the skin of her smoke stained teeth.

At 10:09, the precise moment the overloaded ass-end of Rotund Red's truck cleared the driveway, a white pickup entered the driveway and parks, while another white pickup parked out front. The yard dogs were shut up in the Smokehouse.

Third set of "official" Manteca visitors in one week (see also Mar 22nd & 23rd)

10:16 to 10:25 Visitors get the back yard tour. This visit was by appointment, but it gave the mistress of ceremonies her third major opportunity in seven days to regurgitate and wallow in her shop-worn story:
What a clean place they keep, (whited sepulchre; clean outside, dead men's bones inside)
What good service they gave to the people of Tracy, (the trucks were a perfect "distribution" cover)
They were a legally grandfathered business before they quit, (repetition wins? Absolutely disproved)
What good neighbors they are to everyone in the neighborhood, (emo; the neighbors I've talked to say not)
The horrible lies the horrible neighbor tells about them, (emo; I only write observations, truth, or speculations with the highest probability)
See? We have only a couple dogs, (keep Lyin', Lynda; they already have a picture of each one)
We're just poor, helpless, old women who need protection, after all, (emo)
Woe is me... (more emo)

At 10:30 the inspectors leave.

Seventeen minutes later, 10:47, Cork-Screwed and her canine wards return to the compound. Of course, she had to drive up the wrong side of the road past my driveway gate to see if my truck was home.

One camera down (and back up)

Exhibitionist Cork-Screwed doffed her top, sporting her pot belly and training bra, for most of the afternoon, including the spraying of the property by the pest control guy.

...Until a kid in short pants drove up. As soon as his arrival was announced, at 4:20, the shirt went back on. That tells me this kid was a relative, probably the nephew from Modesto, and Auntie Lyn's lover's boobs were a "bad" thing. (This is the ONLY time they have displayed ANY discretion.) They got the kid to do all sorts of shit for them, and even gave him a tour of their holiest shrines, the marijuana sheds.

But the real reason he was there was to swap out surveillance cameras for them. He went up a ladder to remove one camera on the Smokehouse, which was watching their own yard. Then he replaced the camera on the pole, which the BDG's use to watch me and my yard.

He was in the act of maneuvering and twisting the pole, according to Auntie Lyn's screeching directions, to get the best view of her masturbatory fantasy.

Disgusting! Despicable woman! Using her nephew in such a fashion to achieve her own orgasm!

{I need a shower...}

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

A tragedy indeed!