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Death Wish XXI

Posted by Anntichrist S Coulter on February 20, 2011 – 3:58 pm

Nope, haven’t re-animated Bronson’s corpse, am making a run tonight, probably 9 or 10ish, to the new place, SOLO.  Have NO help promised except on the Sunday of next weekend, blessed Oyster (Your Right-Hand Thief) is coming up here to help me load furniture, I just don’t know who in the fuck is gonna help HIM, seeing as how I have a broken spine and all.  Taking boxes and my dinky little fold-up dolly/hand truck tonight, as much as I can load into the GMC (I never wanted a fucking stepside, it’s a humongous waste of bed space!!!), and to orient myself to the route.  Y’all know how dain-bramaged I am, I have to go someplace 3 or 4 times before I remember the directions.

No cell phone for the past month, thanks to teh Fallen Uterus (my ten-dollars-a-month was crushing her economically, ’cause she has to make sure that her precious son has HIS seventy-dollar-a-month phone and porno satellite channels!!!), so if nobody hears from me by Monday night, call NOPD. They oughta show up by Tuesday, just in time to strip my truck for parts.  Yeah, sure, they MIGHT be better now, but I don’t think that such a revolution could happen in such a short time.  Even if you fired every cop, every administrator, and every civilian employee, the corruption still goes all the way down to the bone marrow of the building.

When I lived in the 7th Ward and a big fat drunk pervert tried to break into my first apartment, I called SIXTEEN TIMES, and by the last call, the drunk (welllll, I assume he was “drunk,” but then, I thought that The Crack Whore who tried to beat me to death was “just” a drunk, too…) had broken into the empty apartment upstairs.  Every time, the operators bitched at me for the repeated calls, but when FOUR FUCKING HOURS PASS, you get a little fucking NERVOUS, especially since the only weapons I had were my pocketknife and Uncle Watson’s old golf putter.  And no, they never showed the fuck up.  But when I lived in Broadmoor, off of FOUNTAINEBLEU, thennnnn they’d show up, and tell me  how domestic violence shouldn’t even be a cop’s problem, “…since you stupid bitches always take ‘em back, anyway!” And no, NOPD’s department of “public integrity” (BUWAAAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!!!) didn’t do a fucking THING to THAT particular pus-gutted racist/sexist PIG.  They sent me a FORM LETTER, excusing why said pus-gut NEVER ENTERED MY STOLEN CAR IN THE NATIONAL STOLEN-CAR COMPUTER SYSTEM.  Two weeks later they call me to tell me that it’s on Cambronne St. (utter ‘hood, back at the bend in the river, WAY behind the conjunction of St. Charles & Carrollton.), unlocked, with the windows down and the keys in it.  NOBODY WANTED TO STEAL IT AFTER THE CRACK WHORE HAD DONE TO THE TRANSMISSION, they didn’t even bother to take the stereo.  So y’all have to understand that I have some reticence about the enforcement power/concern for the actual residents by NOPD.  The bruises on my face went four inches back into my hairline, the entire right side of my head was black and yellow and purple, including the shot he got when I turned away, right behind the right ear, that left a permanent knot on my skull.

AAAANNNNNNYYYYYFUCKIN’WAY… If there is ANYBODY in the tri-state area who’d be willing to help, I can surely extort a few bucks outta the Fallen Uterus for your services.  I haven’t driven this far since Gustav and my stupidity habit of HELPING INGRATES popped the rivets of my sacral/lumbar metal plate OUT OF THE BONE to which it was supposed to be attached.  Good thing that I still at LEAST have my aquatherapy, ’cause the regular PTs decided that I wasn’t making “ENOUGH PROGRESS” to justify my continued therapy.  I don’t think that THAT is all there is to this horseshit, but that’s all that they’ll tell me. The first PT place where I’ve EVER made ANY progress, before during or after surgery/injury, and they take it away from me.  Yeah, that’s fair.  MEDICARE NEVER CEASED TO PAY, so I dunno what the problem was.  It’s a helluva lot cheaper than a spine surgery, I can promise y’all that.

In other words:  CALLING ALL HUMANS, CALLING ALL HUMANS:  HELP NEEDED DESPERATELY IN CRACKERY, LA, (aka just nawth of Baton Redneck Republicunt Rouge), from now ’til March 11th.  Will have the “big” rental truck (a 16-footer) next Saturday night – Monday morning, hope to get all of the furniture in one go, if Oyster & I can get some help loading it & unloading it on Sunday.  I can’t pay much, but I can at least swing pizza & beer, as long as you don’t want something expensive, Australian or British.  Beer snobs not needed, to put it nicely.  I don’t drink the swill, but I understand that quite a few others do.

And yes, birfday presents for the rest of February and probably most of March are going to be WAY the fuck behind schedule.  All I can think about right now is the fact that I’ve got electricity running in TWO APARTMENTS AT THE SAME TIME, and NOTHING THAT I OWN IS EVEN *IN* THE NEW ONE.  Gotta do SOMETHING, or I’ll go berzerk and have a fucking stroke before I ever get to so much as a cat-nap in Orleans Parish.  So sincere apologies for missing  y’all’s birfdays, especially since y’all never fail to make my birfdays damned wonderful and joyous with y’all’s thoughtful and whimsical gifts.  I suck, the timing sucks, and moving during fucking MARDI GRAS sucks THE MOST. That’s why I prefer doing night runs, because THERE’S NO DRUNKS LEFT ON THE ROAD, and no fucking IDIOTIC TOURISTS to navigate around as in daylight hours.  If I have to sit in clogged traffic in Kenner ONE MORE FUCKING TIME, somebody’s gonna get hurt. Especially when one considers that the new mayor of Kenner is the reich-wing, beady-eyed Buddy Roemer-wannabe, no-neck sexist pig recidivist ASSHOLE who’d owned THE WORLD’S SHITTIEST OLDIES STATION where I was employed for the most stressful year of my life up until that point. That’s the station that gave me a bleeding colon, in other words, thanks to the punkin’-headed, talentless & illiterate, no-neck bug-eyed TROLL (who shoulda been living under a bridge, gnawing on a goat’s neck!!) of a “program director” that said politician employed to keep us “wimmenfolk” IN LINE.  Oh, the joy. And now that klansman (probably in the Conservative Citizens’ Committee, which is basically the garden club of the klan) IS RUNNING AN ENTIRE TOWN.  Horrifying.  See why I hate the fucking suburbs? Here in Crackery, they booted the best mayor that they ever had FOR A TEA-PARTY NEO-NAZI COCKBITE.  By a mere THIRTEEN FUCKING VOTES.  Tell me that Y’ALL wouldn’t have pitched a bitch for a RE-COUNT on THAT shit.

Sorry, don’t mean to digress, but not getting anything done as the days tick away is making me even more balmy/batshit than usual, and yes, I realize that this is quite the hurdle to jump, shaddup, all of you. I’ve NEVER had to move with NO FUCKING HELP WHATSOFUCKINGEVER before.  When I moved HERE, I had help from St. Fuckville, but I haven’t heard from any of THEM since I came here.  Yes, I called them, but they stopped calling back.  Says it all right there.  I always have made better friends through the printed/written word than I have in person.  Haven’t made ONE friend here in Crackery, so there’s no one to ask, and I don’t even know anyone who could be hired.


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