as among those who have had the mightiest impact on the world. In general,
you have to be really, truly dead to have such stuff said about you."
I've already written the Requiem and Eulogy.)
The endlessly entertaining antics of the Barefoot Dirty Girls go on... uh,...endlessly. The libretto for this
We already know most of the narcissistic egotisms of Lyin' Lynda, but now the paparazzi aspect of her harrassing stalker personality has emerged full blown. No less than three times in the 56 minutes starting at 6:54 a.m., she and her ganja babe, Roll 'Em Red, "paced" between their house and mine. Showing some sort of Amazon tribal solidarity, L/L and R/R were wearing a uniform, their patented two-faced reversible sports jackets - a highly appropriate choice for them. (As a small credit to their artless tastes, however, they at least had the jackets turned to the same "face;" it just wouldn't be right otherwise.) At last, L/L had a chance to put her camera to use, attempting to take pictures of me in my side yard not viewable on her surveillance cameras. The Death's Head grin on her tightly lined, in-danger-of-splitting, leathery face confirmed the diagnosis.
|What C.J. thinks she looks like...|
As a witness to the BDG's long history of evasion, pretense, and prevaricating, that last little episode confirms that, even being watched, these three will skirt and break this sketchiest of California's drug laws, the Compaaaasionate Use Act of 1996.
To wrap up the visit, the BDG's escorted Mama Bear and her cub to the East End to interest them in one of their innumerable vehicles. Odd choice, though, the Trash Truck couldn't
Besides, your Auntie Lyn, the Angel of Trash, still wants to be buried in her beloved Trash Truck... or in the relic MFPU. She doesn't know which, won't decide, can't figure out how to decide... you get the picture.
A semi-official source (albeit unreliable, even adversarial) revealed that all the BDG's frenetic purging activity (including Cork-Screwed's obsession with weed-killer?) is prelude to them moving. Let me tell you, that was a real knee-slapper! Someone was lying - again! still! (Not the Oregon story again!) I didn't know whether to laugh or cry - or, that is, guffaw in derision or shed tears of joy. My bet is on this being a desperate repetition of the same, lame deflective lie that Lyin' Lynda shoots off whenever the heat gets too hot. Like a dog returns to her vomit, and a sow to her wallow, Lyin' Lynda always returns to her cesspool of lies and deceptions.**
The crying shame is that certain people (her targets) are paralyzed by her verbal flash-bang and actually believe her, or at least doubt themselves, long enough for her to shift the focus and assiduously shovel blame onto someone else with more out-and-out lies, semi-plausible half-truths, oily innuendos, and non-stop yammering. She lies and self-justifies because she knows she evaporates if she's quiet, yet not realizing she is already devoid of any redeeming social value (one definition of pornography, Miller v. California, 1973.) Those who believe her or gullibly repeat her mutterings are patsies, deceived accessories - part of the problem, not the solution.
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* Michael Franti & Spearhead - Ganja Babe
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** 2 Peter 2:22 The dog is turned to her own vomit again, and the sow that was washed, to her wallowing in the mire.