From: WaltBrown44

Date: 3/28/14

As I am sure practically everyone in the civilized world by now has at least heard about the tense showdown that is occurring as we speak between the Fixit Man, or Janitor, or Handyman of the La Maison de Rendevous (who robbed the La Maison community grill recently since he hasn't gotten a raise in six years?) Louis XIVth style townhomes and apartments in the least desirable part of Skunkville: Lower Skunkville, adjacent to the huge Skunkville Dump, which receives most of the waste that's worth its weight in uselessness and disgustingness in the most north-western sector of the southeast quadrant of Ohio.

Recently, Linda and Jill, the two current heroines of the 1.5 million word magnum poopus known as The Skunkville Saga -- read (at least occasionally) by tens of thousands of humans and humanoids (the next evolutionary step dpwn from humans) around the world -- have experienced a bizarre series of dimensional shifts and quivers. 

These signs of dimensional inconsistency or flat-out breakdown  began when chubby, 150+ lb (don't tell her we gave a concrete nimber like that, but my brother happened in the other day when she was stepping off the bathroom scale, which they keep by the front door... anyhow, this whole mess all started apparently due to Linda's frantic cheerleader-like jumping on their  heavily used large living room 'party headquarters' sofabed, pretty close to the only functional, semi-trustworthy piece of furniture in their towne home... 

Anyhow, this central mainstay of their furniture, like the furnitureal nucleus around which the rest of their apartment and occupants/guests revolves,  a functional/social necessity without which their entire social life would collapse....  Well, it experienced the painful breaking of its left rear leg (and you know what happens when a horse or a living room central couch breaks it's leg) -- the jig, the gig is pretty much up then....

And this crushing tragedy all a result of Linda's wild heel-kicking-in-the-air antics, done on the partier-packed couch no less -- their huge throng of 100%-uninvited ('I came because Lydia came and then called me on her cell with this address saying: You've just to see this shxthxle and the weirdos here at least once before you pass on to a much better world!!') people being scattered widely from the wildcat explosion/implosion/disintegrossion.

Visitors at the critical Ground Zero were strewn about the coach and its powerful gravitational pull...sitting a) on,  in front of, b) leaning against, c) in behind, leaning against, d-e) on either end, leaning against (f) this central mainstay when all heck come flying through the 'port of anguish' opened by Linda's high-risk heavyweight cheerantics.

All passengers, including those on the fringe of the 'passenger zone' were thrown around and displaced in one way or another (including people disappearing, still not found, though a thorough headcount was taken in the minutes before and after the anonymous disaster struck -- the before and after counts for the pizza delivery service that Jill was talking with at the moment of the disaster  -- i.e., the dimensional shift, if I haven't mentioned that strange event yet... I'm still pretty fxcked up mineself, if you must know...but probably no more than before it happened)....Most of my and the other 'passengers' on the Louis XIVth 'starship' suffering minor physical injuries and using their cell phones to call their crack (head?) doctors, chiropractors, or personal injury lawyers...

Though not in any case was it indicated by any member Louis XIVth property  management or any other other shady-type hangers-on that are seen around the rental/purchase office here that they believed or had seen any compelling evidence of any personal injury -- yes, a few terrible cases of jock itch and chronic diarrhea syndrome or death-breath.....

Look, we'd all like to think of this horrible use of Louis IVth's name as an upscale, happenin' place... But we know better.

Unless you count the regular Louis IVth hanger-on and entrepenter Hot Bob has claimed through his lawyer that his dxxkhead was bent vis a vis its alignment re its 'treetrunk-like thick stem' and was now out of whack along with the rest of his 'personal joy unit').  But we have reputable female witnesses who claim to have seen his 'Tiny Tim' and it seemed to be in perfect working order.

To add further confusion, unless I have already mentioned this above -- would you mind checking, beloved reader, and then leaving a comment with your findings? -- A small bevy of new people appeared of  apparent diverse origin and nature.  Their presence on the accident scene in the chaos and dust and chaos -- excuse me, as my boss just said, in the party scene in the trivial disorder and cheery departure of the party's low-lifes to their various personal ratholes, probably sighing with a sense of loss from having to leave the beautiful, safe, welcoming, airy, refined Louis XIV Chateau de Grand Filet Mignon.....

For instance, there is our earnest young, new foreigner friend Earnest, and a man who a) claims earnestly to be Earnest, but is a domestic U.S. hunk b) rather than a geek like 'Earnes', whom 'Earnes' claims he hired to stand in for him to 'wow' Linda, then 'make the switch' gradually to him, because she was about as bright as an old cardtable with a missing leg...(but he equivocates:) mebbe, Earnes not 100 cents sureful....mebbe, 73 censure.  Cod b-amour, cod b-lass.'

Also, to further complicate or clarify things, the Narrator, who is the moi who is writing this, now a high-paid executive of La Grand Maison Duh Louie 14th < I reveal for the first time, in a real shocker!>, have been at the scene of this so-called dimensional dislocation, and in fact arrived here several days before the supposed mind-bending/boggling turmoil, being paid by an unknown party (not another party like this mess, but an individual person hopefully with BIG BIG bucks who backs up his promises, not some fake billionaire cheat who I will then have to track down and capture, dead or alive, to hand over to the proper authorities.)  For days I the Narrator hid in the back room while a handful of these lame-o homeless go-nowheres who screwed around watching TV and ordering pizzas at Jill and Linda's unkempt appartment, me recording every worthless, inane nuance of what was happening, revealing their sleazy, hopeless lifestyles and trying to interpret and explain the significance, if any of these miscreants, these people who appear to be a new de-evolution of man, as DEVO all taught us about back in the 1970's or whenever: a while ago.....more or less nothing happening: not even a fist fight or someone being sexually acosted by someone else -- or even by themselves....

And also recording in words and drawings as best I could the incredibly boring, arid, pointless, dumb, nerdy '(in-)action' for prostaterity.  

Finally, I became so sick of it this event that i just 'joined the (in-)action', setting my sophisticated 4-dimensional recording system to capture every minutia of it, while I started off my FTF interaction with these losers by offering each of them a hot, smokin' Hump...even the guys, even the powerful robot/android (NBC2 or something like that) who was watching over these complete losers for some reason....  He said.  'NO.  NB6.  NO HUMP.  NO DUMP.  NO SMOKE.  NB6 SAVE SELF.  TILL RIGHT.  FE.  MALE ROBOT. UNIT. COME ALONG.'

Several of the humans here were insulted or horrifed with my insistence that they have a Hump with me to 'light up their life'... Until I finally got it through some/most of their thick/concretin-like heads that I was simply offering them a great, old, vintage Camelion cigarette to choke on and catch cancer, good for acting real cool and tough and asthmatic as you went down the toobs.  Several of them did join me then, sharing a red hot Hump with me....Meaning I had to do this damage to myself as well.... most of them wisely giving the Camel a blow job... By that, I mean, not inhaling, but just enjoying the rich delicious taste of  its fine Turkish tobaccos... then blowing as much of it out of their mouths and bodies as they could so very little went down their throat, into their lungs or stomachs or johnsons or jacksons... But despite these precautions, a number of those blow-job-approach people/smokers threw up anyway, not having smoked ever or in a long time.  Some threatened to sew me for 'Humping them almost to death!' but I don't think the fabric of their story will hold up to a quart of law...even a pint!!

But enough of this useless background -- hopefully you skipped past it to here, where I am right now, this moment, realtime.  Just me and yous. 

Because the latest twist in the tail has really left some people barking...

You see, given the disheveled condition of their town home unit, Louie the 14th (a guy named Lou Blunt, the 14th owner of this firetrap of a rundown place to supposedly (NOT!) live like a 'king' or 'queen', to interrupt the trashy, incoherent, repulsive, depressing 'story' that has been running for 3+ years and 1.5 million words and a) explain everything in a way that people can understand, even if they're perfectly normal and b) have it somehow be seen as having some tenuous, wavering oblique redeeming social/entertainment/relaxation value after it has been  explained properly...

I told L-14 I thought this was an impossibility, but he just shook his head kindly and said nicely:  'Just use yer head... You'll figger out a way if'en anyone kin!'.

'But Mr. The 14th, why would you care one way or t'other about whether this story has any possible value, when it's clear to even a numbskull who reads any given sentence or worse yet a page or two of it that it's worthless nonsense, intended to trap decent people into wasting their time and destroying their minds -- just like TV was designed when it came out?'

14th, cloyingly:  'Try it... just mebbe you'll like it...Keep an open mind...and a closed fly!'

Me:  'Fat chance.....'

14th, rising from his chair:  'Meeting over... get the hxxk out of here....do whatever you like...the check will be in the male...'

Me:  'Which male?  You??'

14:  'U.S. Male...'

Me:  'Hey, where did that devil go??'

Anyhow, I just saw 'the Girls' and I wanted to give you an update re Linda and Fixit Guy's sudden enamorization with her.... and then geeky from-parts-unknown 'Earnes' intervention in this tense, possibilty-drenched situation.

So now I'll move onto that interesting, more wartwhile toupic, sorry for dragging out the other Linda/Couch saga out so long.  So, we'll now officially say 'So Long!' to that story and move into the new waste of everyone's time, me especially.

 

 

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