Ghost World Book Revisited
Ah, the ghost world book revisited. Well, not entirely. But I do have a few updates:
Michelle and the Crazy Tenant’s drama has come to some sort of a conclusion. Crazy Tenant finished moving out, returned her key and promptly flipped Michelle off as she exited stage left for the last time (one can only hope). The $10,000 in relocation fees she demanded is in escrow and she’s probably trying to collect it as we speak (it was a short escrow). So that’s that. Turned out to be a really expensive favor for a friend, letting Crazy stay at Michelle’s house “for free”. Nothing’s free, that old cliché.
Skinhead Junior has a new pile of shit that he keeps parking behind my garage in the alley. Not directly behind my garage, but it’s inching its way into my territory. Not sure what to do about this as I think pissing him off is a really bad idea. But he’s pissing me off. I could call the cops and have him ticketed. Or towed. Then again after last weekend I’m already sick of calling the cops. Need to give that a rest for a bit. I shall put some thought into what else can be done about Skinhead Jr. in the interim that doesn’t involve weaponry.
Maybe I’ll work off my frustration with Skinhead Jr. at Boot Camp. “Booty”. The Booty Girls are cool. We get together every Sunday morning (see you in church!) and sometimes during the week for a lively workout with weights, jump ropes, medicine balls and the like. The like being the cardio involved. Whew. I hate running. Except for the running it’s really fun. Mick is a riot. She just sent me a note on Facebook that read “Have a groovy week, Man”. She really talks like that. It’s fantastic. She’s a great artist too. And Cindy’s really cool. She’s a tough broad. A real ball buster. I like that so much about her. And she has rockin’ Nikes with her last name, Wylie, written on them. Just like Federer and Rafa. Fancy. And she’s a pretty good tennis player. Rumor has it she’s gearing up to try and whomp my ass. Good luck with that. Then there’s Marianne, Booty Leader of the Pack. Stop watch. Fancy work out get ups. Sometimes she launches into one of her stories that becomes way too long and forgets to check the stop watch while we’re doing some gut wrenching exercise. Actually, more than sometimes. It’s pretty funny. She’s cool. If you’re interested and want to check us out one weekend, give Marianne a bell at (310) 351-7721. We’re at Penmar Park in Venice across from the golf course. Drive by and give us a whistle. We like that. None of us are p.c. that way.
While we’re on the subject of p.c., I’m sick of p.c. No more than usual, I guess, but generally speaking, p.c. sucks. Lot of that on Oscar night. I mean, it’s okay to laugh at Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin’s collective politically incorrect commentary (which was pretty good), but what about what was going on in the room I was in? Yes, the actress that played Precious may never work again. And it’s not because she’s black. It’s because she weighs 400 pounds. So I guess we’re now discriminating against obese people as well. What’s new about that? Most people like to watch actors who could definitely use a meal, not those who need to push back from the table. It’s why we spend our good money at the theater. For the attractive actors. And the visual effects, of course.
p.s. I got an autographed book and a letter from Dean Koontz today. Psyched about that…!
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