I'm just going to leave this up here. Discuss this shit with the young people in your life and let them KNOW in real life terms how this effects their lives. How it will affect their lives in coming times.
The Constitution in the 100-Mile Border Zone | American Civil Liberties Union (aclu.org)
I've become unreasonably interested in the drama playing out up on the second floor and I worry that I'm becoming Gladys Kravitz. But then again no, because this is being shoved in my face, rather than me skulking around eavesdropping and peeking. There's no need for that! Please, God help me, there's no need!
Here's the latest on the Upstairsies!
No more murder attempts have taken place, which is A Good Thing, as Martha Stewart would say.
_________________________________________
Our upstairsie is actually a nice lady. She's quiet, if prone to making bad life decisions, and so are her friends (quiet and prone to making bad life decisions.) No, the worst offenders, and the primary reason behind this woman's problems, are her sisters:
And their kids Thunderball, Cannonball, Bowling Ball and Wrecking Ball. They juggle transmissions.
A cat, which I've named Chinese Water Torture Cat (esq.) It gets blocked in the kitchen and left alone all day long. Kitty has taken the creative route in letting it's displeasure with this arrangement be known by climbing into the dishwasher and pushing the racks out, flipping the cabinet doors over and over again, and knocking shit off the counters. It is very good at what it does and I for one am clear on what this animal wants. It wants a bazooka.
Bohernomun's large dog I've named Itchyzooma also practices the art of creative disruption. And this one trick has stopped conversation down here several times already. The dog gets underneath the dining room chair rungs and begins thumping the floor as it kicks at an itchy spot - you know that sound, right? But in doing so, it moves itself, the table and the other chairs all over the dining room. Eech eech eech eech eech eech eech crash eech crash eech eech eech eech scrape eech eech eech rattle rattle eech eech eech eech eech eech eech eech thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump crash thump thump thump. I've had five people down here stop, sit back and stare at the ceiling in utter disbelief, listening to this performance.
Let's not forget the merry-go-round of boyfriends: Sid from Ice Age, Charles Addams-Version Gomez,
Imagine looking back at that.
...Wow I Can See White All Around Your Eyeballs, Shithouse Rhymes, Backup Alarm, and assorted others.
And their belongings. They're all made out of concrete.
And Berbassoonda's new problem: The imaginary woman across the lot.
Last week:
Every day for the past eight days I've had to listen to her ranting on the phone about this supposed woman across the lot who's out to get her. She speaks in a braying honk, and the concept 'use your indoor voice' is not part of her social lexicon. Well, not in the social lexicon of the meth she's smoking.
The landlord came asking me about this situation, and we compared notes, and oddly enough! the stories she's hearing are not the stories I'm hearing. First of all, there is no woman across the lot. (The question 'why is a non-resident contacting our landlord who just threw her out again about an imaginary resident's harassment' did not come up.) Yeah. The apartment where all this is supposed to be coming from is VACANT.
Second of all, Berbassoonda is not supposed to be here. Again. The landlord told her to leave. Again.
And out she went.
Two hours later she was back in a different car. Now she's up there with a ten pound hammer building a stone dildo.
___________________
Currently:
Berbassoonda was kicked out again this last Saturday morning. Out she went. Back she came in a different car. After a few words with her sister upstairs, back out she went. The day goes on. Literally ten minutes after Upstairsie leaves for work, here comes Berbassonda AND Bohernomun, and twenty people, plus kids, blasting in off the street, up the parking lot, out of their cars and up the stairs, where they all proceeded to put on their Kiss boots,
these ones right here
crank up the house music, and run up and down the parking lot shouting 'Motherfucker' and various racial epithets for no good reason I could make out. It was like a bad mondo movie! Like the party montage in She Devils On Wheels! They did this nonstop until well after noise curfew, which is 10 p.m. here.
The Biker and I decided to call it at 10:30, and we had trouble getting through because of all the other calls the landlord was taking about the same issue. Result - Bohernomun and her Panzer Attack Morris Dancers pack up and leave. Berbassoonda gets kicked out again. She leaves too.
An hour later Berbassoonda comes walking back up the parking lot. She has parked her highly identifiable car out on the street. CRAFTY.
Sunday morning she gets kicked out again.
Sunday afternoon she comes back and drops off Chinese Water Torture Cat. And leaves.
Today I can hear CWTC up there - right now, in fact! flipping the kitchen cabinet doors. Over and over and
over and over and over and over and over
and over and over and over
and over and over and
and over
and
___________________
Any questions? Ask 'em. Let's see if I can squeeze another post out of this topic.
Yes. Again.
I have to break it to all of you ONCE AGAIN, and it's all the fault of the UK because look at this horseshit here:
The search for British Bigfoot - The Face
You know what people, it's an island. A very crowded island. It's already chock skippy full of every single supernatural wazoolie there is. You have enough problems now that LIZARD PEOPLE Camilla and Chuck LIZARD LIZARD have been crowned and LIZARD are on the LIZARD PEOPLE LIVING ON THE BLOOD OF INFANTS British freakin' throneLIZARD PEOPLE FFS.
HOW MUCH MORE OBVIOUS DOES IT HAVE TO GET ? He's taunting you! Look at this shameless lizard bastard!
Come on. Don't start claiming Bigfoot. You don't have room for Bigfoot. LIZARD PEOPLE JOE BIDEN LIZARD BOY SLAP FIVE.
WELL FINE THEN MISS BOSSY, WHO IS BIGFOOT/SASQUATCH????
Well I will tell your ass. Ramp it back, geeze.
First of all, Bigfoot/Sasquatch = same damn thing. Lives exclusively on the Northern American Continent.
How am I so certain? I grew up with Bigfoot. I mean, he didn't go to my grade school, right; but yeah. Bigfoot was a fact. All the older people in my neighborhood believed (and these are covered wagon, Great Migration folks from all over Scandinavia who got here and went straight to work up in the woods) because they'd all seen the fucker. Heck, they even believed in 'Little People' who were just, like, a foot tall and didn't seem to do much but be abnormally short. And while our parents tried to laugh that stuff off, if you caught them at the perfect level on the drunkometer they'd tell their personal encounter with Bigfoot story too, and then yell at you.
Here's what we knew. Bigfoots - yes, that's the plural, if you grew up in the Oregon School system - are between 7 and 8 feet tall, and are simply primitive cave people who decided they didn't want to be civilized. They just evolved differently because of the cold. So yes, they're just super-hairy naked people who live up in the mountains in caves and run around doing cave stuff, whatever that might entail. And everyone agreed - Bigfoot does not scream, yell, or yodel. He whistles. Kind of like you might whistle while you were washing out your unmentionables or fixing the bottle capper on your model A. Don't make me get out the Elk video again. Seriously don't. I'll do it.
If you're out in the wilderness at night for whatever reason, and you hear something that sounds like a zombie hooting through a traffic cone? That's AN ELK. Don't go hooting back at it. An elk will come up and stab the crap out of you with its horns and then stomp your corpse into chunky rags. This shit happens. Elk suck. Look it up. I won't give you a link. You're grown.
TODAY'S BIGFOOT
Our zeitgeist hero knows his ale from his porter and his arabica from his robusta. Drives a hybrid. Protects the environment. Picks birds out of the sky and eats them raw.
He's the mascot of the 'Thang' up here in the PNW. He's done his reps, and he voluntarily got a vasectomy after two kids. The guy still lives in a cave up on Mt. Hood, but he puts in his public appearances as Douglas Fir, the Trailblazers team mascot, and, you know, cashes his check and goes back to his cave.
Yes that's my fridge. Edith The Egg Lady keeps him company.
In fact there are so many places, teams, businesses and tchotchkes that use his image that it's safe to say Bigfoot is not hurting financially. This is why he continues to exist! He's SMART. It isn't all about the hiding and messing with people for fun anymore. He grew with the times and changed his approach! He's very adaptable. Mystery solved.
BIGFOOT MANQUE
This is our guy, though. This is Real Bigfoot.* He has been known to get buck wild.
Meet the Jack Links Sasquatch! Uses that raccoon to wipe his ass.
Once the Lexus LC is parked behind the cave, occasionally he'll get into the elderberries and decide to play up and pick on some poor holler dweller just for the sake of cussedness. He'll besiege you for a whole week of nights, throwing rocks at your house, breaking your windows, slinging trash around the yard, tearing off the siding, chasing chickens, smashing outbuildings, freaking out the dog, and tipping over the outhouse with you inside. - oh, and stealing your wife for a hot session back at the cave.
She might come back, she might not. If she does come back, she'll be knocked up, hence....
THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO ARE RELATED TO BIGFOOT
No shit. This is a real thing. I heard this a few times back in Oregon, but more often here in Washington - up around Baker, Marietta and Lummi, out on the Peninsula, back by the Okanagan and around Highway 395 and Ponderay.
There are just people out there who are related to Bigfoot. Just...average people. They aren't super hairy or anything. They're just related to Sasquatch.
I am conflicted. Seriously conflicted.
My queen of queens has been Shangela from the very first. Mr. Pierce is a professional head to toe. Now there's been an accusation of rape by one of the assistants from the show 'We're Here'.
I am way, way out of my lane when it comes to that world. All I'm going to say is that I hope this turns out to be the shakedown that Shangela claims it is. Shangela; no, I don't see it. I just don't.
Then again, I never saw Bill Cosby.
I'm always left wondering why someone with the world at their feet chooses the stupid option. It's there for the taking - or buying, hell, you can purchase a scene as freaky as you like, and if it includes danger that can happen. In privacy. Out of sight of the public. Yet time and time again otherwise sharp, professional people get caught doing backwoods shit that just makes you wonder how hard they secretly wanted to get caught. Like Hugh Grant. He had Elizabeth Hurley at his beck and call, yet he's busted getting a blowjob just off Sunset Strip from a trashy skank with the word 'Pancake' tattooed on her ankle. The man can't have been so innocent that he didn't know about paparazzi, or the sheer inadvisability of roadside blowjobs on the most notorious stroll in America.
What do you think?
The other night I was up late trying to fix this thing I wrote about ten years ago and lamenting the fact that I'd released it into the wild before it was ready. Oh my God it sucked. Just really, really sucked on a Black Hole level of suckage. So anyway there I am and it's eleven o'clock and I've got a YouTube playlist going. Up pops a song I haven't heard in fifteen years.
Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters, by Elton freakin' John.
I sang every single word of that song without even needing to think about it. Then I thought 'What in the sweet hell just happened?"
Now back in 1972-3 I was Miss Elton John Super Fan of America, the Moon, Mars and the Universe. I had every single American release. I had bootleg copies. I had the soundtrack to 'Friends'. I had the Elton John poster where he's bare chested, mostly.
I went to his concert and there opening for him was Kiki Dee (who had the music in her. Boy, did she. "Kiki Dee, set me free, Kiki Dee, set me free, Kiki Dee, set me free, Kiki Dee, set me free." There was a full fifteen minutes of her singing that phrase. I hope somebody freed her, shit.)
I embroidered an Elton John pair of overalls with lightning bolts and glowing hands of benediction and other ridiculous things on it, along with the initials 'RKD' done in silver beads. Yes, I wore it in public. Well, there you go, right? I was a thirteen-year-old kid, so that was my job, to be embarrassing and do lame things. My nickname might have been 'Reggie'. I embroidered the back piece of a Levi's jacket with the 'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road' album cover, and made a little money from that; which wasn't bad for a Jr. High kid. And then Caribou came out in 1974, and I was a freshman in High School, and I got over Elton. While he was doing his goofy pinball thingamaroo I was busy trying to get rid of my virginity.
Every couple of years I get surprised by Elton John like this. Fucker rings my doorbell and wants to come in and reminisce, and it's just not the same, dude; and he stinks up the bathroom.
What I mean to say is, one of Elton Johns' songs will come on the radio and I'll trip on how easily the words come back.
If I'd known what a mental sponge I was back in 1972-3 I would like to think that I would have committed more useful things to memory, like the Naval Chain of Command, or how banking and investment works or something. But no. All I have to show for Jr. High is a battered sense of self-esteem and a head full of Bernie Taupin lyrics.
1971 was the heyday of the sub-sub-tabloid press. Yes, we had the Enquirer -
HIT IT!
We had the Enquirer those days...
We had string beans and onions,
The Tattler, the Examiner,
The Globe and the Star,
Tomatoes, toMAHtoes,
And Sixteen, and Tiger Beat,
People and Photoplay
The Midnight and The Insider
And UFO's Are Real, and Fate,
but yes, we had no bananas,
And then came the Weekly World News!
Thankyew! Now back to Blogging!
The Weekly World News started publishing around 1978 or 79, when, for a brief while, all we had to satisfy our national urge to get stupider was the National Enquirer. And even the Enquirer let us down! After having been sued successfully by Carol Burnett, the Enquirer changed tactics and became the most accurate, reliable scandal source in the world! They had armies of lawyers and detectives, they had lines into talent agencies, security companies, psychiatrists' files, accounting firms, you name it. They openly solicited the public too - and they paid BIG. The Enquirer could be absolutely depended upon to get it first and get it right.
But aw geeze man, that was no fun.
So up slipped the Weekly World News. Now the difference between them and the Enquirer was that WWN was blatant, utter, and absolute fabrication. And lo, the shoppers were happy once again, and sales of Good Housekeeping and Womens Day plummeted. They might have had diets, they might have had fashion, but they didn't have socko headlines like
I remember an interview with the owner, who said 'I sell this paper. This paper here. Just the paper. You can use it for wrapping things, whatever you like. Now what I choose to decorate this paper with...well, you buy what you feel like buying." And people felt like buying it A Lot. You can't lose with headlines like my personal favorite:
DA DA DA DA DA DUMMMMMMMMM! NENENENENENEENE DA DA DUMMMMMM! He's lonesome, wild and freeeeeeeee, hey Bat Boy! *whip crack*
This was the beginning of a Bat Boy saga that lasted for years. He got captured, he escaped, he crashed Spring Break, he ran around biting people, he was up for Governor of California, he went on the hunt for Bin Laden, he was - well, he was fuckin' fictional, but he was a busy dude. At one point he joined forces with The Worlds Biggest Baby. And that baby was a big old heefin' baby. They got up to hijinks.
Out of nowhere the other day I suddenly thought "I wonder what ever happened to Bat Boy and The Worlds Biggest Baby?" As though they were relatives I hadn't seen for awhile. So I went for a look.
Sadly, The Worlds Biggest Baby has shuffled off this mortal coil. Sumo Wrestler Once Known as 'World's Heaviest Child' Dead at 21 (people.com)
But Bat Boy's star kept on rising! He ran opposite Trump for the White House!
NOW you wish you'd have registered to vote, huh.
Bat Boy stepped right up to the plate and took his test like a half-man, dammit!
And then, because he just wasn't special enough...
I hate to tell you how many people out there actually believed this stuff. Before you scoff - remember, this is the country that did not realize until after his death that Liberace was gay. These are the citizens that thought The Colbert Report was real news. One of my mother's best friends believed every single word of crap like this. She'd sit there and rattle on about this alien civilization that lived inside Mt. Shasta and Russian satellites that controlled the damn weather and everyone would just nod and smile and chime in with their own B.S.
And the fuck's my excuse? I've never read a copy of the Weekly World News in my life! Yet here I am with stupid Bat Boy stuck in my head. Why? And the Worlds Biggest Baby! I literally cannot remember my own phone number, yet I remember when Bat Boy was captured by scientists and there was an actual public protest for his release! You know who I blame?
I BLAME THE DEEP STATE
The Weekly World News - now 200% more tongue in cheek: Weekly World News - The World’s Only Reliable News
