Manteca City Governance

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Citizen:

I have upset the tea of some “power-that-be”
Of a king with some fancy new clothes
It appears the shoe fit, but he’s shamed to wear it
Because then we would see his twelve toes

King:

The affairs in our gate (whether soon, more oft late)
We can see with these cool X-ray glasses
But the law, as they say, merely gets in our way
We prefer to kiss each other’s asses

Citizen:

My dear sirs, let us think – you provided the ink
To record your whole long list of crimes
Can one slander with truth? Or dress up the uncouth?
Or defame such depraved sods, betimes?

King:

We reject you… you… all! And your poison pen scrawl!
We demand you remove yourself hence!
There is nothing you say will impinge on our day
We paid our silv’ry coins – thirty pence

Citizen:

Should we follow the trails, what that money entails
And discover those masters of power?
When the towers of earth fall, to what god will you call?
Your reward will be: Kneel, blanch and cower!

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Brownian Currents in the BDG Fish Tank

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I can understand the attraction of an aquarium. All the little fishies drift about aimlessly; do nothing except eat, sleep and poop; poke into every corner of their confined space in constantly shifting configurations; as close to a macro view of Brownian motion (press Play) as it gets. Very soothing, very relaxing.

Such was the Barefoot Dirty Girls' 810 Fishback fish tank when Spring sprung yesterday - soothingly aimless, as usual.

After another one of their now-frequent long weekends (leaving Friday, returning Sunday), they returned just before noon. (I keep hoping that one of these times they just don't come back.) Just like a professional circus act, the car disgorged the three clownish BDGs, three or four dogs, and required at least three trips between car and house to unload all the treasures and baggage. (It is an interesting observation that when all three march together, Lyin' Lynda leads like an unpedigreed pit bull, egg-shaped Resectioned Red waddles side-to-side furiously in the contrail, and the bow-legged, pot-bellied Corkscrewed Cow Pie picks up the rear[s].) They certainly do cast a "professional" aura.

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I'm sorry... I'm just so used to thinking of these venomous bitches as cartoons that I forget to humanize them (as much as is theoretically possible) for you, the more gentle, sensitive, undamaged reader. Anyway, here as they really are:


source (and more )





(click pic for source)

 Of course, the highest priority for these space cadettes was immediately to ensure the life support systems environmental health and safety of their  valuable cash crop  precious "medicinal" dope plants.

After all, they had not been able to bestow their own special brand of TLC on their special herb twice daily for two-and-a-half days.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
how does your garden grow?
Hydrophonic, ultra supersonic,
or does it growww... naturally slow?
(lyrics in "Ganga Babe," by Spearhead)

Then true Brownian motion set in...

For the rest of the afternoon and evening, the BDG's wandered around... and around... and around... constantly wandering.... They looked like they had lost something... (besides their minds).... They poked and sniffed every corner of their property, looking high and low, searching... they even stood around staring up into the sky... wandering off singly, or in all combinations of two out of three...

Several times they grouped together as all three Members of the Holy Fish Trinity, zig-zagging around their fish tank confines, Red and Green in the Yellow Queen's tow.

The whole afternoon was a condensed and refined version of the Sliding Numbers Puzzle they performed last summer with all their trash. At the rate they were going, it's no wonder they get the munchies (besides the pot smokin'... jus' sayin'....)

The oddest thing in the BDG fish tank yesterday, however, was instead of their regular 30-60 minute marijuana sessions with a few hours in between, it seemed they hit the Smokehouse every couple hours from the time they arrived until dark. Lunging, smoking... dodging, smoking... reeling, smoking... they acted like they really, REALLY wanted to get as high as possible. That, of course, made it even funnier to watch the THC-intoxicated Roly-Poly Red, or Lympy Lynda, or Curly Corkscrewed, as they bobbled and weaved from Smokehouse to main house for pee-pee breaks.

Yes, indeed, the signs of Spring are here!

'Course, this is California; Spring only last a few weeks (it withers slower than a BDG brain on dope.)

Yes, that IS Yellow's normal expression. ("Duh... what?")

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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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The Beginning of a New Illegal Business Operation?

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Simply amazing! The Winchester/Manteca Mystery House wannabes are at it again...

At 0800 hrs Tuesday these two new sheds did not exist; at 1330 hrs the tent had been moved, the buildings hammered up, and the roofers had them almost shingled! The buildings have no visible windows or doors (except, maybe, facing each other.) I'm told these are legal accessory buildings, each the allowable maximum of 120 square feet, no closer than three feet to any fence line, not requiring city building permits.

Here is my working conjecture: These sheds are going to be the BDGs defense against the misdemeanor charge they must answer on November 9th for growing marijuana in the open, violating Manteca's code. Also, the BDGs are counting on Proposition 19 passing (legalizing marijuana in California) and they will be ready to go into business, using one of these sheds as the growing room and the other the drying, hand picking, and packaging shed. (The manufacturing facilities will be stationary, but in the picture above, note the fleet of commercial distribution trucks still on the property, packed into the back corner.)

There are a few problems with that plan, however. Just like their illegal catering business operation, this agricultural venture is on a residential lot, it is not grandfathered, and there is no city permit to run a home occupation or a marijuana collective, growing and selling/bartering dope.

Ah, but the Barefoot Dirty Girls will protest, saying that they are merely growing it for their own use. Really? Just how much weed do these three potheads use?

Oh, oh...! {waving hand wildly} I forgot to share this information earlier. All three BDGs have medical marijuana cards! Do you know how impossible those odds are - that all three shrews should come down with debilitating and painful conditions* requiring marijuana treatment all at the same time? When I mentioned that to a friend, he snorted and said, "They've been smoking it all along. And... how do you think their catering truck gig survived so long?" (Well... that and the "saving" of business property rents for the operation...)

And just how did they arrange the caregiver appointments amongst the three newly-(belated-as-usual!)-legalized, card-carrying dopers? My guess is like this:

(...similar to their other kind of daisy chain...)

Back on task... The instant any weed is sold or traded to anyone other than the three residents, the operation violates the Home Occupation zoning code. The instant any weed is grown for, or "exchanged" with, other medical marijuana users, the operation becomes a collective within one thousand feet of school property, which is a violation of the Medical Marijuana health & safety code (as most of the law still stands currently.)


Of course, once Red's pink ribbon problem is concluded (either interim or final), these sheds could be loaded onto a flatbed trailer and hauled to Oregon... except Lynda lies.


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* From the CUA, Sec 11362.5, 1996:

"...in the treatment of cancer, anorexia, AIDS, chronic pain, spasticity, glaucoma, arthritis, migraine, or any other illness for which marijuana provides relief."

Unfortunately, dope cannot relieve Lynda's problems - it only makes them worse.

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Another Sort of Deadline Approaching For the Yellow BDG

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Here's a preliminary mock up of Yellow's birthday present - a customized cardboard fold-up of a catering truck. (If you click on it, it gets bigger and LOUDER.)



Of course the other side of it gets a little re-working, too, to display the assorted goodies that this particular truck carried for twenty-odd years. (I think some of the original offerings are still offered.)

I know I should have started this earlier because her birthday is just around the corner... or over the hill... or one foot in the grave... or pushin' up daisies... (Hmmm, I'm liking the sound of that.)

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