The Shrieking Shack of Schlitz.
I hear from sources that our outrageously outrageous October blitz — in which, in response to a demented serial harasser’s having faked an identity and contacted my mother by phone, posted my family’s address and phone number on the web, and reprinted my father’s obituary, complete with grave location and a stated desire to visit said grave and shit on it, I (temporarily) provided contact info for this serial harasser’s own family, who as a result received word of their daughter’s behavior — was a proximate cause for this latest action.
So I thank you all for your blitzing. And I offer no apologies.
All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. Or, you know — attack the people trying actually to do something while speculating that such people are likely somehow responsible for bringing the evil on themselves anyway, what with the short skirt and the spiked pumps and all that cherry-red lipstick.
It’s taken close to 5 years, but I’ve helped remove the reach and influence of a truly despicable woman. And it wasn’t even part of my job!
That to me counts as a good deed.
(thanks to pip squeak for the tip)
As the South American business man replied, when asked how he wanted his late mother-in-law’s body handled: “Embalm, cremate and bury. Take no chances!”
Heh.
I found the real estate agent.
Even if I could stomach the idea of owning property in Oregon I wouldn’t bid on that place no matter how nice the realtor’s pictures make it look. I wouldn’t trust Dr. Cowbell not to put the torch to it first chance she got.
I think McGehee has the right of it yet again. Anyone buying that house is asking for his stuff to be burned with the house.
Oh my, I can’t help it. Hows about we all gather at the house (one person with a good digital video cam) and dress up like we are flower children from the sixties. Let us all dance around this hippy ranchy home, holding hands, smiling and raging out “Will You Be Going To San Francisco” or some other glorious venture from pot yards and cocaine teas for two or more. After we cry and laugh and hug each other with brutal love then … then … then … we all throw Molotov Cocktails at the place and burn up marshmallows, drink a crap load of cheap beer and then throw up on the driveway.
Oh, oh, *snif* I’m mad as hell and not gonna take it any more. Way cool!
So that’s where the magic happened. It looks very Oregony.
BJ you’re going by yourself.
That joint gives off a big “Wicker Man” vibe.
It’s like you know there’s this crazy witch/bitch that wants to tie you to a wood post…stack kindling around you…light it…burn you alive…all while cackling and poking you with a sharp stick…
And you wanna voluntarily show up at her house?
T’hell’s wrong with you?
Get back in the car.
I say we take off and nuke the entire site from orbit.
Only way to be sure.
The hippie thing was a good idea though.
I say flyers. Then posters! Invite as many hippies as we can (it’s Oregon, there’s got to be millions) to a “crunchy music jam festival” at Deb’s old address. We’ll promise “Phish” and a groovy “Grateful Dead” cover band.
They’ll all come.
And then we’ll nuke it.
Um … Lamont? Can we nuke the place but get Phish outta there about an hour before the fatal drop?
I loves me the Phish …
Got change for a nickle?
I might be moving to Oregon, believe it or not.
Perhaps the cast of “Portlandia” will throw me a parade.
“Sometimes there just aren’t enough rocks.”
I loves me the Phish …
Fine.
But you’re down to one bowl a day mister!
Portlandia
I’m not “kewl” enough to get that flapdoodle.
Hear Oregon’s nice. Was it the Apple II or the Commodore 64 I played “Oregon Trail” on?
Can’t remember.
Anyway, Jeff if you’re going to Oregon at some point your wagon train will be attacked by Indians and you will get dysentery.
But I have good news.
And, no I’m not happy to see you. That’s a F’oty of Brass Monkey in my pocket.
But Jeff, I hear you look good in that short skirt and spiked pumps. Although I don’t think cherry-red lipstick is really your color. Maybe more of a pouty-lips tart red?
Jeff G. posted on 4/11 @ 2:24 pm
I might be moving to Oregon, believe it or not.
Perhaps the cast of “Portlandia” will throw me a parade.
You do not want to be moving to Eugene and definitely not to Casa de la perra loca.
I think for all practical purposes, the crazy lady pretty much comes with the house.
She’ll reappear screaming “How green was my valley,” somewhat ambiguously.
Just so you know, Oregon is basically Northern California now.
I feel sorry for the parents. It must be very distressing to watch your child go through mental problems like that. The proper thing is a rubber room and study, hard for them to do, I’m sure.
o_O
Has anyone warned the lamp posts in her new location to be on the lookout for ugly, post humping lesbians?
One more Orc lair cleaned out.
Mikey – be on your guard, for there are fouler things than orcs living on the Left Coast of the Earth….
She always did strike me as more of a Balrog. Though that may just be her breath.
Now, now. It’s not nice to mock the deranged (is it, Jeff?)…
Fun, sure. Nice, no.
I for one have never claimed to be a nice man.