I'll Not Miss Them When They Go...

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April 1, 2011

"Oprah Lyin' Lynda has been consistently listed with Jesus, Elvis and Cleopatra (really!)
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."
(source)

(Eagerly anticipating her blessed entry into eternity,
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 soap opera has endless pointless hopelessly convoluted plot twists that reveal the true motives of the characters.

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.

- - - - -


Cork-Screwed

Speaking of sweet ganja babes*... The Kid in the boxy little car came over again, third day in a row. (Damn! got that song, "Little Boxes," running in my head again.) This time he brought another old woman with him, who greeted Auntie Lyn with a hug and R/R with a handshake. Cork-Screwed, who had been bouncing around working in the back in only her training bra (again), came streaking up to the half-together gazebo to retrieve her black T-shirt (who wears black on an eighty-plus degree day?), only to find the Kid and the whole fam-damily as witnesses to her exhibitionism; she rated only a nod. ("Note to self," thought the visitor, "I'm not leaving my Kid around this s--t.") (2nd note: All day long that shirt was on and off more often than Lyin' Lynda's mouth was flapping.)

What C.J. thinks she looks like...

- - - - -

Rotunda Red

Speaking of sweet ganja babes - and beyond - Roll 'Em Red is not built for... shall we call it "naturism"?... but a different vice. As the deadly dull visit  love fest wore on, Auntie Red and the Kid strolled out to the MJ Sheds for a little one-on-one education. {wink! wink!} Who better to bring up the next generation than the brightest of apothecary to the BDG's, the one with a little book-learnin' and tons of hash-slingin' and vast experience a season in DIY herbiculture and drug-craft, all legal-like? (Go online, pay your $125 and get a "420 card," which bestows instant brilliance on the recipient, and then proceed with your descent from Dope... to Dopier... to Dopiest... to BDG.) Good luck with that education.

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 get it up start up. Nope, Cork-Screwed had to go wheel out her sex toys battery charger and juice the old girl up. Not to worry, Kid, it's for the best. That beater's owners myopically missed the State of California's amnesty period for gross polluters. That truck should be turned in whenever it goes off the property.

Trash Truck

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.

While hanging out working earlier in the day out in the East End, a few long items were loaded into Lyin' Lynda's Big-Ass Black Pickup, which Cork-Screwed hauled away, returning unladen 32 minutes later.

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

I wanna make it slow

Sensemille

I wanna make it slow

Make me feel ya

Heavy medicine

ya see my eyes are feeling red again

I'm bringin' light

like Thomas funky Edison

been in the desert for forty seven days

Purple Haze

the poison that I tasted never changed

turn up the woofers so I can feel the beat

vibrate my belly like a bomb in harmony

summer heat

my back is sticking to me to the seat

bare feet

tank top and shorts is all ya need

summer breeze

I'm feelin' kinda fine

I'm rollin with my shorty all the time

wind and grind lovely shake your behind

cinnamon skin be bringing sin to my mind

but whether or not the weather's hot

or the weather's cold

I'm wrapping her like a blanket with my whole soul

so that she can feel me

like Coca Cola I'm the woo-o-oh oh the sweet thing

my girl lollipop she growing mad crops

she rollin' herbs everyday

at about 4 o' clock

tick tock

strike the hammer while the Iron's hot

ooh girl watcha got cooking in the pot

see Mary Mary quite contrary

how does your garden grow?

Hydrophonic ultra supersonic

or does it grow naturally slow?

(Chorus)

Ganja babe my sweet ganja babe

I love tha way ya love me and the way ya misbehavin'

ganja babe my sweet ganja babe

come wake body-ody take my mind away

Everybody get down and do the boogaloo

just like the cover of I want you

yoo hooo look watcha gonna do

watcha gonna do when the rent comes due

round up the posse and call up the crew

5 bucks at the door and ya bring ya own booze

call ya neighbor 'cause they can come too

be sure and bring ya records 'cause I only got a few

so baa baa black sheep have you any wool

yes sir, yes sir a nickle bagful

one for my partner one for my crew

some for my ganja baby she needs 2

cuz just like me they want to be... high!

(Chorus)

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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.


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The Continually Disgorging Cornucopia of Detritus

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C.D.C.D. BDG
(say it fast five times...)

I am flabbergasted! - near to speechless!! - at just how much useless trash treasured trophies three Barefoot Dirty Girls, six dogs, a chicken, and a cat can cram into such a small space. The shanty shed, on its illegal concrete pad, continues to disgorge load after load from the inexhaustible heap of rubbish stored inside it and the Bally walk-in freezer.

Bally freezer, left foreground; shanty shed, right foreground.
Derisively known as Icemaker Corral, home of the ice-chewing dog.
(Pic posted November 12, 2008)

This new-found Spring cleaning fetish is completely out of character for Lyin' Lynda, Re-Upholstered Red, and Cork-Screwed Green. One wonders if, maybe, there's a code enforcement reason behind it? Perhaps a financial reason?...

{brain flash} Wait! Wait! It's a change of heart and they're finally getting ready to move to Oregon?!

Anyway, Cork-Screwed's flashing episode yesterday was, I'm unsure, an expression of... what?... anger, frustration, helplessness? self-loathing, perhaps?... on her own behalf and that of her dominatrices mistresses, Lyin' Lynda and Roly-Poly Red, who were party to the unveiling (assuredly, nothin' those two haven't seen before.) So audacious and incredible was the "in-your-face" presentation that I forgot to review the immediately preceding time frame for their mind-altering drug use.

Lest one thinks this is merely another example of BDG abberant behavior, keep in mind that Cork-Screwed was only mimicking Resectioned Red's own flash and waggle dance on the 16th of January.

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Red Letter Day -
September 24, 2010

The following posts document the river of trash that - sometimes flooding - slowly flows and eddies through Icemaker Corral:

July 2010 - Sliding number puzzle of trash

Mon, Sep 20, 2010 - yard sale begins

September 2010 - Large appliances removed (to the reconstructed back porch!)

Fri, Sep 24, 2010 - Icemaker removed

Sat, Jan 15 - Budget moving van

Fri-Sat, Jan 21-22 - Pickup and trailer, then another loaded pickup

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Yup, officer, tha's her, all right.
Hey, she could be a model
for geriatric Lipo-Zapp!

 

Tue, Mar 29 - Pickup load from shanty shed (with gratuitous flash.) Cork-Screwed first staged the detritus for Roly-Poly's inspection and Lyin' Lynda's veto, then they loaded it up and shuttled it off to somewhere else (flea market, maybe?), taking a loaded Playmate cooler along, and returning about seven hours later.

(Poor R/R had to stay home, shuffle dogs, do the laundry, nap, tend the marijuana grow, and toke her joints alone. So sad... so sad... just doesn't have the knobbles for heavy lifting anymore... 'nuther hit...)

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Wed, Mar 30 - Breaking news.

F Another garbage triage going on this morning.

D Disappearing bottoms and house dogs (vanished before inspectors arrived for appointment.)

L Visitors get the tour (it seems everyone except plaintiff and attorney, as requested.)

K Mosquito breeding pond overturned (after four years.) {idiots!}

J One camera down (most likely only temporary.)


...
Details to follow. Keep your channel set here.
...
Don't touch that dial!

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Spanking New to the BDGs: The Manteca Municipal Code

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Here is yet another example of the Barefoot Dirty Girls acting on their endocrine secretion driven emotions rather than using any brain function or rationality.

The BDGs flew the coop at 5:00 a.m. Thursday morning and have not returned since. (Having a nice ten-year trip to Oregon? Too much to hope it's permanent?) Again they left the keys to the compound - house, radio, marijuana, dogs, everything - with their foreign language speaking handyman crew, Felix and Joaquin. Las instrucciones a los trabajadores son:

• feed the dogs,
• prepare the Bally walk-in freezer for removal,
• build a fence,
• and play the yard radio loudly!

(Who ya gonna call? A Gnome-Be-Gone!)

However, it is plain that the fence they envisioned was not the replacement for the one their illegal shed runoff destroyed, but a front yard screen instead. I'm just guessing here, but perhaps my existence hassles her/them somehow? {smilie} I certainly hope the druggie's brain dump plan on paper took into account the relevant sections of the Manteca Municipal Code.

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MMC 17.09.030 Front yard setbacks

(from Table 2 for R-1-6 properties: 20 feet from sidewalk)

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MMC 17.09.050 Structures in required yards

B. Fences, Walls and Landscape Related Structures.

     1. Solid fences, walls, hedges and retaining walls not more than seven feet in height may occupy any required yard or other open space, except that fences, walls, hedges and retaining walls shall be no higher than three feet six inches when located in the required front yard setback area, in the required set back area along the side street of a corner lot, and along the rear or side lot line of a reversed corner lot where it abuts the front yard of the adjoining key lot.
          a. In the R districts, solid fences, hedges or retaining walls between the height of three feet six inches and seven feet may be located to within twenty feet of the existing or future back-of-sidewalk.

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MMC 17.19.040 Screening

B. Height and Location of Screening. Unless otherwise specified, screening required by this title shall be not more than seven feet in height. Except that adjacent to the front yard or street side yard of an adjoining lot in an R or C-O district, such screening shall be not less than thirty inches nor more than forty-two inches in height. All screening shall follow the lot line of the lot to be screened, or the inside edge of the sidewalks, or shall be so arranged within the boundaries of the lot so as to substantially hide from adjoining properties the building, facility or activity required to be screened. [That's 2½ to 3½ feet.]

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See how simple it is? What it means is that a homeowner cannot... uh, should not... build a fence over 3½ feet tall in the front yard.

This could be an interesting weekend...

Actually, it already is somewhat interesting since my attorney called to say opposing counsel has again promised to get us the last one or two outstanding items; the August 13th Admissions with Verification Signatures and date/time/place/name for a Voluntary Mediation session.

Am I going to hold my breath and trust Lynda Allen and Theresa Brassey to actually perform? {Have they ever performed correctly before? Are they ever going to get it right?} Hell, no. I'm just waiting for them to default on this dance before calling this litigation ripe for judgment.

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If You Got It, Flaunt It! (aka: Show Us Your Junk!)

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Things started happenin' early this morning. About 08:15 hrs, an intensive conversation took place out on the driveway next door and, next thing you know, one of the unearthed rodent condominia treasures of accumulated debris inoperative vehicles appeared on the BDGs' newly-mowed front lawn.

Ta-Da!

Redneck
Trailer Trash
Yard Decor

at its finest!

That's likely the last mowing that particular patch of lawn will get for a long, long time. I wonder if there was a time limit put on this display of chutzpah?* The only thing missing from this historical relic - besides a few essential parts and a little TLC (or ALL of TLC!) - is the name "Louise" stenciled on the passenger door and... uh, can't see the driver door.

This is exciting. Code enforcement case #460464 (and its earlier case #455382) may actually be moving forward. Last Monday, September 13, I sent the following in:

Request type: Abandoned Vehicle
Description: Re: Request #455382, the two vehicles in question were pushed in front of a container/trailer. They are visible from the sidewalk without elevating any cameras - or eyeballs.

But... it's hard to tell if this movement was prompted or assisted by C.E. because Manteca city officials have thus far demonstrated total unwillingness, incompetence, or impotence in dealing with the BDGs and enforcing any of the city's so-called ordinances.

The on-display rust bucket is missing a For Sale sign. (Get several, Red or Green, one for the house and some for the half-dozen dogs. Remember, though, none for the marijuana! Yellow would get cranky crankier again.) My guess is the Barefoot Dirty Girls plan to tow this wreck behind one of the decrepit MFPU's (see catering trucks) up Interstate 5 to Gresham, Oregon, or thereabouts, loaded down with as much sentimental effluent** as can be managed - like the John Deere log splitter.

(Log splitter?!)

Yup! Who knew the BDGs' 1/2-acre Manteca property once had enough trees to justify a log splitter? (Funny picture: Mellow Yellow toking her way out of town riding a log splitter.) More likely, the compulsive klepto's have been collecting more junk again. The stuff just appears out of thin air!

{"Psst! Hey, amigo. The off-menu TLC Minnie Mouse Muffin Muncher comes with a garnish of MJ... and we split your logs, too."}

But the dogs cannabis and the unsold canines really oughta be in roadworthy vehicles. Just sayin'...

Vaya Con Los Perros***

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* chutzpa: (Yiddish) unbelievable gall; insolence; audacity

** effluent (n) sewage that has been treated in a septic tank or a sewage treatment plant

*** Go with (the) dogs

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BDGs' Attorney Says They'll Mediate... For Real?!

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Shocking breakthrough!

At this morning's case management conference in Stockton Superior Court, Red's and Yellow's attorney said the defendants agreed to a mediation session. We'll see if his word is any better now than it was last August 13th. (And, no, he still hasn't delivered on that month-old item.)

Of course, this extremely late and decidedly reluctant baby step does not stop my other court filings and preparations for the [highly likely] event that Yellow has to scratch her {xxxxx} - or make up some other lame, last minute excuse for noncooperation.

Do I hear echoes? I recall June 2009, after she admitted one week that the icemaker was noisy and she was going to move it, the next week Lynda sayin',

I'm not moving it. I tried working with you. . . (classic Lynda communication style, letting her sentences trail off as she walks away.)

Uh-huh. Sure you did...

...NOT!

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- - - - - - - - -
Regarding the illustration, I'm not sure these cute little outfits are large enough to prevent interior latex paint spills from adding some zest to the Barefoot Dirty Girls' already eclectic mix-and-match wardrobes. On the other hand, football jersey shirts are ephemeral anyway.
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Sierra High School Scores Touchback on BDGs

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This is the follow up to last week's communication with the Manteca Unified School District.

Monday morning this email arrived from MUSD HQ:
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

From: Jason Messer

Sent: Monday, August 30, 2010 11:23 AM
Subject: RE: Sierra High School v. Marijuana Farm

Good morning Mr. Behling,


Thank you for bringing this issue to my attention. Student safety is, and will continue to be our number one priority. I have already asked staff to make contact with the Manteca Police Department and also to report back to me the current status of the situation and how we will be addressing the issue. As student safety is important to all of our Board Members I will be sending them a hard copy of your email on Friday. Not all Board members have active email accounts so they may not have received your original email. Again, thank you for your email.

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Tuesday morning, I heard from another board member. Other activity took place that day and Wednesday, and on Thursday morning comes this, in an email forwarded by Clara Schmiedt [cschmiedt@musd.net].

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From: Susan Pearson
Sent: Wednesday, September 01, 2010 1:28 PM
Subject: RE: Sierra High School v. Marijuana Farm


Great News – Our SRO, Eva, already met with the narc officers. They have already gone to the site and informed the homeowner of the new laws that just went into effect. They gave the property owner two weeks to totally enclose his [her] operation, per the new law. It has been assigned Case # 10-24475.


We will physically check the back of school in two weeks to make sure no marijuana plants are visible. By the way, the law now allows for the growing of 50 [?]* plants for medicinal purposes, but they must be enclosed in a structure.


Thanks, Eva!!


SIERRA HIGH SCHOOL
Susan Pearson, Principal
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One more nail in the TLC / BDG coffin. {Strike up the band with the Beatles', "We All Live In a Yellow Submarine" ... or next to it.}

Perhaps that's why the Barefoot Dirty Girls' attorney called, also Thursday morning, to say his clients were selling the house [really?!] and moving to Oregon. Really?! If they don't, then their attorney is party to their lie - but that should come as no surprise to anyone. Besides, there is still the other illegal fenceline shed, the walk-in, the icemaker, all the vehicles, and other s**t that needs to be removed or demolished before that property is saleable.

When the big moving trucks
Pull away from the house,
Leaving naught but a crumb
E'en too small for a mouse...

Then I will believe...


They are finally gone.






My instruction to my attorney? Hold steady on course; the fat lady (not Guts[y] Green) is just warming up.

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* People v. Kelly, California Supreme Court, January 2010, disposed of numerical limits in the law, so where this new number came from is unknown [to me].
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Lawsuit-Propelled Sliding Numbers Puzzle

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I had one - or several - of these when I was a mere wee lad. They were really fun.

Now I have a super-duper, lawsuit-propelled, animated model(s) next door to keep me entertained. It is even more fun than the little plastic toy puzzles, because this one incorporates elements of a closed system rat maze.

A loose legend for the diagram below:

• Red blocks - mostly permanent vehicles.
• Red outlines - approximate count of cars, trucks and vans (they come, they go, mysteriously increase in number, and rearrange themselves continuously.)
• Red X's - structures demolished.
• Blue X's - structures to be demolished.
• Green circles and numbered arrows - Raiders football play notation for the movement of "stuff" from one place to another for the last couple months.

If they keep up the good work of demolition and remediation at this pace, in no time at all they will be ready to pick up their loaded containers, pile all their household items onto the old trash truck, strap Granny and Auntie and a couple dogs on top of the teetering load and, like modern-day Joads*, hit the road to go Californicate** Oregon. Now that would call for a HUGE Good Riddance celebration!

You see, I used to feel trapped in the illegal business/noise maze, but now it appears that the Barefoot Dirty Girls (Mellow Yellow, Ravaged Red, and Guts[y] Green) are running around like headless chickens (and still shoeless?) in this maze of their own making. The infield play is complicated by the handyman workers that come over virtually every day, parking their trucks on the lot and either demolishing or building or pulling wires or endless other tasks. Of course, the BDGs are painting or doing some other light work between toke breaks ('cause, you know, Mellow Yellow has the qualifying "debilitating pain" necessary for "treatment" with homegrown marijuana.)

Perhaps they are consolidating their "good shit" and preparing to hold a gigantic fund-raiser garage sale for the rest of it to fund their impending relocation. Perhaps that's why the two never-before-seen cars appeared from under the shed that was torn down by the east fence. Hmmm... where'd the ol' John Deere go?

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* ref. The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck

** californicate (v) 1. The act of migration from California to other states in search of cheaper housing, better morals, and lack of gangs, drugs, prostitution, etc. Instead, they drive up house prices whereever they move to, and bring their low morals, gangs, drugs, and prostitution to the other states; 2. To fuck up or make like California. Many years ago there was a bumper sticker reading, "DON'T CALIFORNICATE COLORADO!" Oregonians for a long time held such sentiments against immigrants from California, but now seem to welcome every liberal, white trash, low life scofflaw. Such is the proof of California's malady.

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A Question of Color

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A catechism (pronounced /ˈkætəkɪzəm/; Ancient Greek: κατηχισμός from kata = "down" + echein = "to sound", literally "to sound down" (into the ears), i.e. to indoctrinate) is a summary or exposition of doctrine. The form has, historically and typically, followed a dialogue or question-and-answer format. This format calls upon two parties to participate, a master and a student (traditionally termed a "scholar"), a parent and a child, or, as in the example below, a secular catechism between a dominant and submissive.

The following catechism took place yesterday morning at 07:15 hours, while everything was still and peaceful.

Lynda Allen: Kinda quiet out here, i'n't it? (The radio's not on yet? What'n hell ya been doin'?)
Theresa Brassey: Sure is. (Go ahead - turn it on yerself!)
Lynda Allen: They turned it on to soccer. (The foreign language speaking workers were listening to World Cup FIFA fútbol the day before.)
Theresa Brassey: {mutter...} I don't know. (Whatever...)

From the exchange's manifold purposes, these three are clearly drawn:

1. Daily affirmation of Lynda's dominance.
2. Daily submission of Theresa to Lynda.
3. Daily announcement to their hated neighbor that he is about to be forced to think of Lynda when she turns on her outdoor radio... and if he don't like it, he can go f*** himself.

And, of course, she turned the radio on moments later.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I am able to detect color in Brassey (the red of apoplexy, or the heatstroke of cooking chorizo and eggs over a catering truck stove for twenty-odd years) and in Greene (gray, with a little pink). But Allen...?

Hate and insanity appear to be colorless. Yup, every morning around 07:00 hrs, when Allen shuffles out of her house to turn on the yard radio, she appears devoid of color, zombie-like and lifeless - on the outside:

• deeply lined, unsmiling face (OMG! Can't allow another minute of silence!) 
• straight, stringy hair of indistinguisable hue
• nails-on-chalkboard voice and horror-show laugh
• frumpy bathrobe with fuzz-less slippers

and on the inside:

• slavish devotion to breaking the law (mobile home, business, noise, dogs, construction, etc.)
• insulting haughtiness in breaking the law (I gotta right! I'm legally grandfathered!)
• distrust of authority and paranoia about neighbors
• attempts at ingratiation of police turning to hostility
• knack for alienating people with her demands
• keeping "vicious" junkyard dogs (who crap all over and mirror their mistresses' personalities)

She simply cannot endure silence. So why does she deliberately turn on the radio outside and shuffles back inside the house for an hour? (I'm curious if there are any mirrors in there?) What drives her and keeps her going on this hopeless course of self-destruction? Is she getting everything she wants out of life? Is she, perhaps, reaping what she has so deceitfully sown for all these years "in the country" in the City of Manteca?

Not a colorful picture, this insanity of Allen's.

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Then... a glimmer...

Today, she accosts a 90-year-old man, known by her to be an acquaintance of mine, and engages in the classic gossip game of "See What Route Your Bogus Story Takes Before Coming Back To You" (also known as, Who Told Who.) She pitches him a line about fixing up her house to rent it out and moving to Oregon.

The briefest flash of color...
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Lynda is fond of saying and practicing, "We don't talk," so that leaves me free to speculate on what's really going on - which is OK because true insanity is to believe anything she says and virtually everything she does - as in (grandfathering) (icemaker) (compromise). Some possible scenarios are these:

(1) She is full of shit  lying - again - and isn't going anywhere. (Remember, it's just a gossip game of misinformation.) She is really playing a waiting game to see if I give up or lose the civil lawsuit.
(2) She is intending to rent out the place to one of her clone-of-Lynda friends (But where will she go? Oregon is far away. I'll miss her - about as much as I miss the ice machine!)
(3) She is not renting it out, merely trading houses temporarily with a clone-of-Lynda. (She would miss me too much to stay away long.)

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The dusky, dirty hue brightens somewhat... and... wouldn't you know it? Lynda's color is YELLOW! Like a yellow-bellied lizard!

No matter what this "brilliant" tactician says or does (or doesn't), all options point to retension of the property. That's good because then there will be something with intrinsic value - not all that business junk - against which to file a judgment lien.
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Chilly Weekend

The weekend was so cold that it *snowed* in Manteca this morning.

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.

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* (or, the "Harry Potter" movies for those who can't read.)
** Who knew that J. K. Rawlings met the T.L.C. Caterers?