noise dept.
wallacepolsom
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🪼
roma★
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i don't do bad sauce passes
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
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@dendrocnide-moroides
Everybody stop what you’re doing RIGHT NOW and celebrate the last Out of Touch Thursday of 2020
OUTTA TOUCH THURSDAY!
The last Out of Touch Thursday of 2021
The last Out of Touch Thursday of 2022!
The Final Out Of Touch Thursday 2023!
Hello! I read (and enjoyed!) the story you posted of your grandpa and his tree disposal methods, and so was looking for the story you mentioned of your other grandpa menacing a peach tree with a baseball bat, but can't seem to find it. Halp?
That would be because I haven’t posted it yet! Many people have requested the story mentioned in the tags “Grandpa Menaces a Peach Tree With A Baseball Bat”, So here it is, with a side of “Grandpa Menaces The Iowa Relatives With Giant Corn”**
For the Full Context of this tale, you have to understand how my dad’s side of the family got to America in the first place. Prior to 1917, they were all farmers of limited success that migrated from county to county, trying not to starve, until a covey of the Fitzpatricks heard that they could be shoveling shit in Grand Americay, far away from the people they owed money to, so they all fucked off to Iowa and somehow made a fortune in the real-estate business in the middle of the depression. Despite now being comfortably middle-class, they never actually gave up farming, and having a pair of glowing green thumbs was a point of pride in the family.
So, when Grandpa moved out to California, specifically to the Salinas Valley, which is where an absurd percentage of the country’s food is grown because it’s full of probably the world’s most stupidly good soil, Grandpa had to continue the tradition and set up a garden in the backyard, planted various crops and flowers in January because fuck you this is coastal California, I can start stuff in the middle of winter, and invited his sister Leone and her growing brood of (at the time, 5, later 9 children) out to visit.
They came out in July, to escape the Midwest humidity and Butter fetish for a time, when the corn is typically getting to be around knee-height if things are going well. Grandpa spent a long time asking how things were back on the farm, plying them with ice tea and grandma’s lethal Angel Food cake, before politely inviting Leone and her Husband Scotty out back to see how his patch was doing, oh its not much really, just a bit of fun for me and the children-
Scotty and Leone stared at the nine-foot-tall goddamn corn which was already setting fruit because it had been going since January. At the watermelon plant that had taken over the side-yard, and at the other oversize and thriving crops that had taken over grandpa’s yard. There was a few moments of awed silence.“Well fuck you Edwin.” Scotty eventually said, before Leone whopped him over the head and the rest of the visit was a pleasant diversion.
the following spring though, Grandpa received a package from Iowa, specifically a small peach tree with a note saying “With Love, Scotty.”
Leone knew better than to engage in such shenanigans, because this is irish-agrarian passive-aggressive Bullshittery at its absolute finest. “Sure, yeah, you can do corn. Any asshole can do corn. TRY THIS FUSSY-ASS PEACH VARIETAL INSTEAD, YOU ASS” is perhaps a more accurate translation.
Grandpa, not about to be intimidated by a mere tree, planted that sucker in the front yard and proceeded to pamper it- bone meal fertilizer, a brand-new irrigation system, the works. Hell, he would go out some times and talk to the darn thing. It flowered, and he borrowed a behive from one of the local farmers to make DARN SURE that it got pollinated, because he was going to mail peaches to Scotty for Christmas, that asshole.
The tree. Did not. fruit.
That fall, grandpa reccived a letter from Scotty, asking after a couple paragraphs of circumlocutions, how that tree he sent was doing?Grandpa got up, made himself a martini, picked up Dad’s baseball bat, and walked out to the front yard to have a discussion with the Peach tree. “I’ve just received a letter.” he explained, waving the paper at the tree. “Asking when you’re going to fruit. Now, I think I’ve held up my responsibilities to you as your caretaker, so it’s time for you to start providing. Do you understand? This spring, you better start fruiting or I will personally take this bat to you and turn you to into kindling.”
He stepped close to the tree, sticking his face in the branches as though whispering into it’s hypothetical ear. “Do not test me, you little shit.”The next week, the tree bloomed out of season, and by February, it had set an obscene amount of fruit, which grandpa gleefully turned into preserves and mailed back to Iowa.
BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE: I e-mailed dad to tell him that that peach tree story is much popular on this site, and he mailed me back with: “You realize Scotty mailed Grandpa an ornamental tree right? It wasn’t supposed to fruit at all.
He was gonna tell Grandpa it was sterile on his deathbed, because Scotty was an ass like that. He was so mad when Grandpa mailed the peaches that he wrote a fairly nasty letter back accusing him of being a charlatan and that his corn was skinny and probably fake too. Grandpa was furious and mailed them polaroids of the tree to show that HE WAS NOT FAKING IT, THANK YOU, and Scotty accused him of taping store peaches to the tree, ad so on.
This went on for several years and got rather bitter, until the Iowans came out to California again, and Grandpa drove Scotty from the airport at ten at night to show him the goddamn tree, with the real fruit it was actually growing, thank you.
Scotty was about to argue with him when Leone whopped him over the head with her purse and said “If I hear one more goddamn word about this tree, they’ll never find your corpse. Now lets go in, I want a martini.”
Things got much better with the Iowans after that.
You should’ve heard Leone cackle when your grandmother showed up at Scotty’s funeral with a peach cobbler though.”
I’M FUCKING DYING. WE MOVED THAT TREE AFTER GRANDPA DIED AND IT’S STILL FUCKING FRUITING.
Close Encounters Of The Idiot Kind
Welcome to another family Lore! Content warnings for Insects, drug use (medical, not illicit), aliens, alcohol mention, really poor life choices and leather.
As usual, all the names have been changed to protect people’s privacy. If you want to share this story on other sites, PLEASE include a link back to the original post! Thank you, and enjoy:
A couple Octobers ago, I had to do some yard work.
One of the side effects of mom keeping a stocked bird feeder is that the sides of the driveway and entire section of front yard that touches the street have been seeded with several hundred sunflowers by the birds, who like lunch to go apparently. It’s really nice- they don’t need any more water than summer thunderstorms bring and make a pretty privacy shade between my parent’s house and the street. It’s full of birds and butterflies and local bees and is just generally awesome.
Until about October.
Once we have the first frost, the sunflowers start to die, slowly collapsing under their own weight and the lovely birds and butterflies all scarper because the yellow jackets have realized that they can chew holes in the stems of the dying sunflowers and lap up delicious sugary plant juice. Being big fans of Sugar water, the wasps then defend their sunflower stalks with the vigilance and aggression to rival a dragon on it’s hoard. My family is pretty live and let live when it comes to wildlife but ALL of us are very allergic to yellow jacket stings, so this is a bit of a problem.
Since the Yellow Jackets are very territorial and tend to just stick with their favorite snack, we theorize that if we just lop the stems off and pile them in the back corner of the yard, all the wasps will stay over there and we can use the driveway again in peace. It’s a family plan of action, but since mom was recovering from hip surgery, dad is even more allergic than most of us and my sister was in the Philippines, it was a job for Me, specifically.
The Yellow Jackets would be angry with me moving their sugar buffet, naturally. I could barely go out the get the mail as it was, God help me if I started thrashing the sunflowers. So I did some research, and came up with a plan.
Firstly, Yellow Jacket stingers aren’t that long and can be repelled with sufficiently heavy clothing, like my mom’s old motorcycle jacket, gloves and chaps. If it can repel gravel flying at you at 70 miles an hour, it can probably stop an angry wasp or twenty, right? Lacking her helmet, my choice of facial protection is a plastic respirator, reflective swim goggles and a gimp mask from the props closet.
My parents do political comedy theater. The gimp mask isn’t even in the top 10 of weird shit they have in the props closet.
Next, they’re sensitive to strong odors and most bug sprays, so I douse my idiot ass in high-grade DEET, completely failing to read the warning label about not exposing yourself to fumes for extended periods of time OR remembering that I am on bipolar medication that leaves me supremely fucked up when exposed to DEET.
Additionally, it’s widely recommended that you take benadryl beforehand if you think you’re going to be exposed to an allergen. It’s NOT recommended to take anything like benadryl at all, ever if you’ve got any kind of dopamine/serotonin problems, like the aforementioned Bipolar Disorder.
Also, the best tool for hacking hundreds of overgrown sunflowers off at the base is a Machete. That’s like, an actual fact, not me being an idiot, for once. I collect my machete, Brutus, from his usual place in the back of the Ford POS.
Finally, Yellow Jackets are exclusively Diurnal and sluggish when it’s cold out, so I’m gonna take my stoned, leather-clad, machete-wielding ass out there in the middle of the night to do this. Since my hands will be full of Machete and Sunflowers, I won’t have a free hand for a flashlight, so I take my dad’s oversize book lamp and clip it to the back of my jacket collar.
So, you know. Totally Normal sight if you happen to be up at 3 AM.
And for about the first… half hour or so it actually goes great. The DEET hasn’t leaked into the respirator yet, I’m slashing away and making good progress on the sunflowers and the wasps are sluggishly crawling over me, half-hearted buzzes of rage, but can’t find a way in through the head-to-toe leather. Most of them are distracted by the light, crawling distractedly over the lamp and occasionally across my goggles, looking as bufuddled as an arthopod can look. I’m a fucking genius.
I start to feel giddy with success. I have outwitted an entire swarm of insects! I am engaging in successful terraforming! Given that one sting could send me to the ER, I am dancing with death iteslf! It’s 3AM and nobody else is out, so I decide to start singing. I have the voice of a tone-deaf crow and I pick Bean Pháidin by Planxty to sing, probably for the tempo. My half-assed attempt at gaelic and off-key corvid voice probably sound extra hilarious through the respirator.
It is at this time that Todd comes out.
The more sensible among you were probably wondering earlier why the hell my family just didn’t ask a neighbor or hire a service to come clear them if we’re all allergic.
1. Absolutely nobody short of an exterminator will come out once the word “wasps” is said and that’s expensive.
2. My neighbors consist of:
Mr. Drossel, the Lawyer who while a legal genius, is somewhat lacking in the physical coordination department can’t be trusted with anything sharper or larger than a spoon
The Stoffels, who are good and competent people but were away in Uganda at the time.
An old folks home full of Alzheimer’s patients
Todd
Todd is in his forties and probably reasonably competent with yard tools but there is little love lost between my family and Todd- He’s trained his dog to shit in my parent’s yard so he doesn’t have to pick up after it, parks his horse trailer in the middle of the road so traffic can’t get through, throws semi-weekly house parties that have to be broken up by the cops and leave broken glass everythwere and mows his lawn at 11 PM.
Additionally, Todd is prone to the mental complications of many a mediocre man, namely that he would much rather live in a paranoid an dangerous constructed reality wherein he is the subject of many fictional persecutions because that means he’s Important rather than admit that his life is pretty ok and that he’s not doing anything that would warrant men in black suits chasing after his ass. If there’s a conspiracy theory out there that could potentially be worked into a victim complex, Todd believes it hook, line and sinker.
I am alerted to Todd’s presence by a soft, awed “Oh my god.”
I turn around to find him standing in the middle of the road wearing a t-shirt, boxers that need adjusting to hide his penis better and a single flip-flop. I can smell nothing but DEET and my own marinating flesh but it’s a fair bet he’s been into the Pabst Blue Ribbon again. We stand in silence for a moment, one of the several dozen wasps swarming on me making the best go it can at my respirator in a misguided effort to sting me inside my nostrils. I am about to speak up and assure him that I am only doing horticulture and not felonies when he interrupts.
“You’re an ALIEN.” He gapes.
I stand there for a minute. I’m nearly done, but the fumes are getting to me and I’m covered in impotently furious wasps. It’s 4 AM now and I haven’t slept in close to 30 hours. I don’t want to try to explain this to Todd.
“Sure.” I shrug, before going back to the Sunflowers. Why deny this poor man a drunken fantasy?
“I- I’m an important human.” Todd says, still wearing dirty boxers that are falling off his ass and a single flip-flop. “Lots of connections. Government connections.” I slash faster.
“Maybe you don’t speak english.” He realizes after a few more minutes of standing in the road. “You’re from like. Quasar or something.”
He drunkenly watches me for a few more minutes. Normally this would be a cause for worry but I have a machete and he has inadequate footwear so I’m feeling good about my odds. He wanders off, and I take the next load back to the far corner of the yard.
When I come back out he has a camera. Like, one of those cheap disposables that still has film. It’s 2016. I don’t even know where he GOT that thing. And he’s standing out in the road, still in his shorts and a single flip-flop. Man can locate a goddamn kodachrome but can’t find two shoes.
So I do what any chemically altered and sleep-deprived person does, and strike a pose.
Todd goes BANANAS, and starts snapping away on his crappy little camera, and we have ourselves Milkyway’s Next Top Model shoot out there in the yard. I pick up random objects and pretend to be confused by them. I stand on the roof of the car and hold a USB up at the night sky like I’m looking for a cell signal. I fucking vogue because why not.
Todd is crying with happiness. “I KNEW YOU WERE REAL.” He sobs, snapping away. “I’M GONNA BE SO FAMOUS.” He loses his flip-flop in the excitement as I climb on top of the mailbox and make a Peace sign at him.
It’s 4:30 AM and we’re out in the middle of the road and I’m doing my best Tyra Banks despite the fact that I’m 5’2” and wearing motorcycle gear that’s three sizes too big for me when the guys who deliver the paper roll up.
Jamie and Miguel stop the truck, leaning out the window and over the cab (Miguel drives, Jamie stands in the bed and tosses papers out the back because fuck OSHA) at us two morons in the headlights.
“¿Que cojones estás haciendo?” asks Miguel, entirely reasonably.
I pull the mask and goggles off and walk up to the truck. “I was doing yard work and didn’t want to get stung by wasps. I dunno what he’s on about. If you have my paper I can take it in.” I probably look like hell and am still covered in wasps, but I don’t care.
Jamie hands me my paper, I wave bye and go into the house, leaving three extremely confused men in the road.
And that’s how I made, then completely destroyed my neighbor’s night.
If you got a laugh out of this story, please consider Donating to my Tip Jar or PayPal, as telling stories on the internet is my primary source of income.
this will be the year I finally convince everyone to abandon New Year's resolutions in favour of Yule Boasting, the clearly superior tradition
allow me to explain. Yule boasting is an old Norse tradition of getting shitfaced at the winter solstice feast and standing up to proclaim all the great, infamous, and wildly improbable deeds you will perform in the coming year. can range from an unlikely but technically possible claim, like "I'm going to rob 300 banks", to something you'd have to bend the laws of the universe to actually accomplish, like "I'm going to punch a god in the dick and steal his horse". these are not plans. they're not even goals. they're the things you'd do in a self-insert superhero fanfic. and honestly all I want this holiday season is for a bunch of friends to go all in on this nonsense with me and hype ourselves up in ways previously unimaginable
“IT’S A SWORD, IT’S NOT MEANT TO BE SAFE.” My favourite scene from The Hogfather. ___ See how this comic was made here.
an obviously stolen copy of this crossed my dash last week, and i wanted to reblog the real thing. tracking down an image that originates in social media is a bit of hassle, but i am the citation fairy (sort of), and this is her quest. and she had to do whatever it took on this one. that only turned out to be less than 10 minutes, but she was prepared to put in a few hours. the hogfather lit the spark of her creation, and this is his night.
Thank you, citation fairy!
Watch out! Although this animal might look like a honey bee (Apis mellifera), it’s actually a guinea pig (Cavia porcellus)! It has donned this dastardly disguise in order to access your garden and EAT your flowers instead of pollinating them! Don’t fall for its trickery.
GUINEA BEE!!!
why do Tinamou eggs look like that. i want to eat them whole
im going to swallow these like a snake
I was seized with a primal need to know what this bird looks like and I’m not sure what I was expecting but:
I am EXTREMELY pleased with everything about this animal.
I was thinking through what else I’m looking forward to this holiday season and I realized I haven’t mentioned it on here, just on discord, but— MY MOMS BEEN MAKING ME A REALLY COOL ART THING??
I think I’ve talked about it before, but my mom has been a quilter for most of my life and in the last few years started doing these really cool fabric collages, and it was my turn to request one so I asked for a phoenix cause I’m obsessed with this one art piece I did in art therapy ages ago
Anyway, my mom has been working on it and THIS was the last update I got???
I’m so excited for it?? Can’t wait to see where it’s at by the time I get there this weekend
dude holy fucking shit???? this is. beyond insane. i also quilt, though i've never tried paper piecing - though this doesnt even look like that. this has surpassed any and every sort of traditional quilt work. i can't even imagine how this is put together. im just staring at it in absolute wonder. youve short circuited my brain with how beautiful that is, and 'beautiful' isnt a strong enough word for what this is
So, as far as I can tell, this is a technique involving cutting tiny pieces of fabric with the colors/patterns you want and pinning and using fabric glue, and then sometimes sewing over top depending on the size of the pieces (this is what I’ve gathered from listening to my mom talk about it, but I know she learned the technique from a specific artist I can’t remember the name of who sells books and classes). My mom also frequently uses tulle over areas with lots of small piecing, usually as a way to adjust color but also I think cause it’s easier to sew the tulle piece than try and quilt aaaaalll of the little bits and pieces.
Here’s some pics from the workroom when I visited in November, and some pics from in-progress pieces before they were finished, if that gives you a better idea of how it works ^^
And here’s some finished pieces!
dang buckaroos what holidate does the tingleverse have in store for you this year?
THE CASUALNESS OF THAT COLLIE SLIPPING RIGHT OUT OF THEIR COLLAR. That dude is a Willing Participant of this walk and by god everyone else is going to follow the RULES.
im a fan of the moment where the husky is like 'wait you're not authorized to do that' and the collie is like 'THE FUCK IM NOT'
I feel so much for that husky, a true gentleman who slowly and gently wanders a little further away, keeping an eye on his human, not moving at a speed where the human can't easily catch up... only to be yanked and body-slammed by the insane rules maniac collie who has not only made up a whole set of Correct Walk Rules but is determined to make that everyone else's problem. Weird that the notes are full of people saying the husky is stupid. No, the husky is behaving like a normal dog. The border collie is behaving like a total nutter, and the husky deserves praise for being so chill about it.
That's just a border collie being a border collie tbh
Today's Adventure is that I, after an unintentional 13-hour power nap,
Got woken up at 6AM by a phone call from a friend stranded in Montana because of the heat wave and almost no cell service because of their crap provider.
OhSoThat'sHowIt'sGonnaBe.jpg
Ok.
I somehow summon a week's worth of spoons and in less than 30 minutes and 5 phone calls, get them
A hotel
An appointment with a mechanic from 2 states away
A perscription refilled from 2 states away
and A Pizza
Go me.
But then it's 8AM and there are unscheduled live humans at the door and while EVERGENCY MODE is still on, I have already blown through a ton of spoons, and also probably shouldn't meet whoever it is wearing just a pair of bootyshorts that say "CRYPTID" in Gothic Font on my ass.
So I greet them in those shorts and a T-shirt that I manage to put on both inside out and backwards
#nailedit
It is, Fortunately, not the mormons.
it is, Unfortunately, two UPS guys trying to deliver my other in-house friend's new phone except the new guy doesn't know how to operate the "sign for package" device, and the old guy that's supposed to be mentoring him is like, 92, deaf as a post, and doesn't actually know how to operate the device either.
by the way
it is already
over 100 out
it takes almost 30 minutes to sign for the phone
when i get back inside, i discover that apparently the Corgi has learned how to open his kennel from the inside because he is now out of the kennel and waiting for me to come in.
he also has cat litter all over his face because while he was waiting for me he also learned how to open the baby gate to the cat's room and help himself to a cat shit breakfast.
He'll be fine
He's a cattle dog, they're legally required to have at least 1 really disgusting snack they love.
but
more to the point
i have no idea at what point he learned to open his kennel from the inside
has he been staying there out of politeness this whole time??
And
I got other shit to do today.
namely.
I'm seeing a realator
The Devils most pathetic yet effective demons
I get a reminder text that I have an appointment with her
at least
I think that's what it is because what she sends me is: "🏡⏰12:00 ❔"
With the time typed in the middle like that.
She is, according to her profile, at least 80.
so I reply "😎👍"
and then she sends me a string of GODDAMN POST-MODERN EMOJI HEIROGLYPHICS THAT TAKE UP MY ENTIRE SCREEN.
She's on an iPhone so half of them don't even translate across platforms
It takes me half an hour and three different software programs and goddamn wingdings to translate, but she has sent me the address and rules about masking and not wearing shoes inside.
in emoji
instead of like
literally any other format
I am
FASCINATED
and simply must meet the woman so if I don't come back to update I got stolen by the fairies but I'm taking the Corgi with me as protection so I'll see y'all later.
Update:
It's not fairies
It's Doris.
might be about to get a sewing machine and/or start an ACAB riot.
Ok, so:
I'm going to see a prospective house because due to various circumstances, I'm probably going to be moving to the other side of a major metropolitan area in the next few months, but that's not important.
I get to the house
I get a text from the realtor
The realtor is not the person who has been texting me in emoji
The person texting me in emoji is the homeowner, who the realtor says will let me in if I want, she's running late.
Sure
Why not
I put Herschel on leash and go to the front door
As much crime as he commits at home Herschel The Hanukkah Goblin has terrific public manners, and is Very Cute so I'm about 90% sure the emoji fairy is going to let me take him through the house
Door opens.
90-something blue haired old lady with a spine like a question mark and glasses that could be used as telescope lenses opens the door.
"OH [Gallus]! How lovely to see you!"
This woman clearly knows me because she remembers my anniversary was last week and that my sister is back from Australia.
Problem is
I know about 500 geriatric ladies with blue hair, scoliosis and extreme prescription glasses, because I am a member of 2 quilt guilds, the scientific illustration guild, the rocky mountain SCA and stagehand for three different theater companies, so I know everyone's grandma and fuck me if I can tell them apart.
Wait
There's a quilt in thekitchen, visible front hall
I don't know faces but apparently I can recognize applique techniques at 40paces.
"...Doris? From SAQA?"
"YES! Who is this handsome little man?"
Herschel speaks enough English to know that "handsome little man" means "this person will feed me milk bones and bacon if I'm cute enough"
Immediately does a Sit Pretty and Shake.
Doris is bewitched
This is fine, but I also know I'm about to severely disappoint the realtor because there is no way in hell I'm moving into this House.
Because
The reason Doris is moving out is that her neighbor is a Cunt Magnifique and has been harassing Doris and everyone else to form an HOA and "improve the quality of our residents" because this woman has nothing better to do than be a racist-ass busy body, and recently, she's set her husband, a county sheriff on Doris, trying to bully her into signing paperwork and threatening her with legal action and writing her up for bullshit property violations
Ain't putting up with that shit
And neither is Doris, so she's selling all her shit and moving out to live with her grandchildren in Santa Monica.
But she's technologically impaired, so the only indication that there is an estate sale happening is a small paper sign in her front yard.
"Doris." I say, as Herschel makes himself comfortable on the couch for belly rubs and pieces of ham. "Did you tell SAQA or FRCC or anyone on Facebook that you're having the sale?"
"oh, I don't know how to do all that!" She sighs. "I tried to call the Denver post but they just put me on hold for ages..."
"Watch Herschel for 20 minutes and he's only allowed to have that one piece of ham."
Pics of everything
Address, time and pics to Facebook, both quilt guilds she's in, two more I have contacts for, nextdoor, and the local SCA discord for good measure.
It's 12 minutes and Herschel persuaded her to give him at least three pieces of ham.
He is petitioning for a fourth by doing a little puppy dance on the living room rug.
"OK, that's enough ham, people will be here in 10. Where is your cash box?"
Because apparently I'm running an estate sale today too.
It's fine :)
There's about 7 minutes of quiet.
Then
They DESCEND
The first on the scene is DeeDee, who doesn't believe in speed limits. She's arrived with a horse trailer. I remember that she is also moving.
"HI DORIS SWEETHEART WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL I HAD NO IDEA THIS WAS TODAY I WAS GOING TO TAKE ALL THIS TO THE GOODWILL HERE LET ME SET UP ON YOUR LAWN "
DeeDee is 73, and has a special spiritual bond with Hello Kitty. She weighs like 98lbs, dresses exclusively in neon pink sanrio clothes and the kind of eye makeup drag queens aspire to.
She also speaks non-stop at a volume normally associated with jet engines.
Half the horse trailer is already spread out on the lawn.
Doris is putting price stickers on stuff
Herschel is trying to tear open a bag of cotton batting.
This, and the arrival of approximately 56 minivans, five more trucks with horse trailers and Corgi Excitement Screaming alert Cunt Magnifique that something is happening outside.
Madame saunters off her porch up to Doris and Demands to know what's happening, you're supposed to notify the neighborhood and get a permit to-"
Doris, surrounded by her pack of silver wolves, shouts. "OH HELLO! EVERYONE, THIS IS MARCIA. I'VE TOLD YOU ALL ABOUT MARCIA." >:)c
... further details in a bit I think the Vikings are here.
~`* SOMEONE'S GETTING FIRED!!*`~
OK so.
You know those high school house parties you see in movies, where the person invites only a few friends, but those friends call their friends, and those friends call THEIR friends and soon like 500 people show up to one house and someone calls the cops and that one John Mulaney sketch with "SCATTER!" happens?
Old people will 100% do this too, except instead of a house party it's an estate sale on a wednesday afternoon and when the cop shows up there are lawyers present and he is in DEEP SHIT because his wife just spent the afternoon admitting to doing a bunch of wildly illegal shit on tape.
So when we left off, the party had really started getting underway, because Marcia the Cunt Magnifique had decided to crash the estate sale and whine about "we're supposed to coordinate garage sales as a neighborhood" and "your friends are blocking traffic on this cul-de-sac while nobody is home" weh weh-
DeeDee is about ready to throw hands but she is nowhere near the most dangerous of the Silver Silver Wolves.
That's Dr. Ruth.
Dr. Ruth turned 99 this year and went paragliding for her birthday
So you understand just how hard she goes
Dr. Ruth sort of hobbles over and point-blank asks "So I understand you've been trying to start a homeowner's association?" :3c
Marcia
Entirely misunderstanding how much danger she's in
Starts enumerating the TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS of trying to start one, because SOME PEOPLE DON'T RESPECT AUTHORITY and all the paperwork and talking to people and she even had to ask HER HUSBAND. A SHERRIF. To go around and hand people stuff to sign.
Some people, right?
Dr. Ruth nods. Some people. She agrees.
You know.
Her son is a lawyer.
Why doesn't she give him a call?
Marcia, a Moron: Oh that'd be great!
Dr. Ruth, hobbling back to Doris: "Don't worry. David will handle this."
Meanwhile
The Friends-Of-Friends and the Friends-Of-Friends-Of-Friends are arriving, lured in because they heard the words "Longarm Sewing Machine" and "Hand-made quilts"
Various factions present include but are far from limited to: -Probably Six Quilt Guilds -The Denver Art League -The Denver Leather League -The Vikings -The Klingons -The Colorado Wild Game Share -A Pack of Scientific Illustrators -A Pack of Assorted Scientists they brought with them -The Sheep Lesbians -The Horse Lesbians -Three Extremely Competent Finnish People (My Scientific Illustration Professor and her sisters) who immediately take over the estate sale and turn it into an auction to maximize profit and keep the taxes in order.
Someone brings two additional Corgi called "Cap" and "Bucky"
They are Pembroke Corgi, and weigh about 21lbs apiece
Herschel is a Cardigan Welsh Corgi and weighs 42lbs because he's hug even for a Cardigan, and is Delighted with his New Minions.
They worship him as a God and follow him around so every time he sticks his face in something two smaller corgi faces immediately follow, like some kind of adorable cerberus.
Pelts and meat shares are being traded out of the backs of trucks and vans
Someone is making bratwurst.
Intrigued by the Brouhaha, Doris' neighbors emerge.
They are also Geriatric and very nervous, because Marcia has been harassing them too.
They are telling this to the members of these factions that are also lawyers.
There are at least 5 of them so far and David isn't even here yet.
I realize my realtor isn't even here.
I decide to text her.
She is somewhere in the crowd and having a nervous breakdown because She's SO LATE!!!
Ma'am.
It's 103 out.
I was just handed a freshly grilled Brat
Some bitch is incriminating herself on the lawn.
Nothing scheduled is happening.
Come sit in the yard and watch the Corgis play on the Palyskool plastic slide set. They're disassembling it like tiny furry engineers.
Have a bratwurst.
One of the Klingons appears, having physically carried my realtor through the crowd, and gently deposits her on the lawn before handing her a Bratwurst.
Diane, the Realtor, is not much older than I am, and from the preppie swaths of society that has "Never had a dog growing up" and "Didn't Know People Could Just. Make. Blankets?" and "What is this? It's like a hot dog but spicy?"
She is having a LEARNING EXPERIENCE.
One of the Horse Lesbians comes over and compliments Diane on her Dior handbag.
Diane thanks her ans compliments the apparently expensive brand scarf she has on. Do you. Know all these people?
Horse Lesbian explains that she's part of the SCA, and what that is, and that why yes. Her girlfriend Tasha is an armorer. Yes like for knights.
More Livestock Lesbians assemble.
They are pulling off shirts to show off livestock and battle scars, and biceps.
Diane is LEARNING A LOT TODAY.
I am just getting everyone's contact info and making sure Herschel does not consume his weight in bratwurst.
BWOOP!
Uh-Oh.
Marcia's Husband is here.
I step out front.
He has used the siren to largely part the crowd and pull into his driveway but it has closed around him and there is No Escape.
He starts huffing and puffing about blocked traffic and permits and the like, but this is not his usual Can-Bully-Without-Consequences crowd.
These are Grandmas.
Veterans of the 60's protest front who never let up.
He's starting to turn bright red and looks like he's about to cry and I've got my phone out to record whatever Incident is about to occur.
-And a Mercedes pulls up.
It's David.
Dr. Ruth's son.
The Lawyer.
And I emphasize that The because David is not some mere ambulance chaser.
David is the guy that the state sends to prosecute Corporate Fraud and Organized Crime and Other State Departments.
David was part of the team that took down the CO Branch of the KKK.
David is all of 5'4", very round and a balding little man that looks like the Dictonary Definition of "Nebbish" that moves with such intense confidence and authority that he pretty much has the Pillar Men Theme Blasting behind him at all times.
So when he and three other lawyers from the state's office step out of the car
Mr. Sherrif goes from red to while like color-changing octopus and I am like 50% sure he shit himself.
Because what he and Marcia have been doing is Very, Very, Very, VERY, Fucking Illegal.
"mArCiA!" he garbles. "sHuT tHe fUcK uP!"
Marcia is standing in the middle of the cul-de-sac, having spent the last 3 hours recounting to anyone who will listen about the 'measures she's had to take' and now the 5 lawyers that were here are delightedly handing over the paperwork that she had forced on Doris and her Neighbors, and pointing at all the doorbell cameras and witnesses out to the state's top prosecutor.
Friends
I ugly laughed.
FOUR HOURS LATER: -Auction wrapped up with a solid $40K to Doris' name plus pending sales on some of her larger furniture and antiques
Plus whatever David gets in damages from the county sherrif's office.
Marcia and husband are fucking busted
Herschel spent all afternoon running around and eating snacks and is passed out on the floor
Diane is "meeting up with" one of the Horse Lesbians next week.
The sewing machine went to someone else but I did open my purse and found out Doris or someone shoved a bunch of cash in there.
I'm getting ice dream and going to bed.
Not to make this monster even longer, but I slept, and can answer a few questions:
Dog Tax:
Little Ham Man himself.
2. What was Illegal about what Officer and Mrs. Cunt Magnifique did?/If they're hosed, are you moving in?/Does Doris still have to move out?
I don't know all the details, but Officer Magnifique was going door-to-door, in uniform and armed, telling his neighbors they had to sign this paperwork or there would be legal consequences, which is pretty textbook coercion and abuse of office. Also If I understood the summary someone told me while I was dying of heat exhaustion, the actual legal setup they were trying to push was some shady land-ownership/tax evasion nonsense too.
But also. All of this happened YESTERDAY. Charges aren't files (tho they are definitely coming) let alone the trial held/conviction/payout or other consequences, so they could still be living there and involved in active litigation for like. A year. And it's an unfortunate truth that living near a cop that's having a meltdown is a great way to get shot.
So No. I'm not moving in there.
Also, Doris originally brought up the idea of moving because of them, but she is also very close to her granddaughter and they both want her to move out there.
3. You live like this/How do I get a life like that?
The process is fairly simple, but takes a lot of work. It goes like this
Go Outside. And do things. In person.
Specifically, go join a bunch of organizations that are relevant to your interests, and keep showing up to/participating in those events.
People will notice and remember you. They will notice and remember you faster if you're like 40 years younger than them and have purple hair but I digress. They will come over and say hi. You say hi back, and talk about your mutual interest. Also listen to what they have to say about your mutual interest.
GET AND SAVE THEIR CONTACT INFORMATION, THEN GIVE YOUR CONTACT INFORMATION. Everyone you meet. It's actually great to print out business cards with your contact info and hand them out. When saving contact info, I make a note in my contacts about name/where I met them/who introduced us/any random fact they divulged because I have the memory of a sieve.
Introduce all your new friends to each other, and invite them to any event you think might even vaguely be within their interests. Even if they can't come, it's nice to be thought of. They will also invite YOU to things and the rule is: UNLESS YOU ARE ILL, GENUINELY BROKE OR ALREADY HAD PLANS, SAY YES. Even the "broke" bit is flexible because if you're making friends with Boomers you can say "Hm. I'd love to, but that's not within my budget" and there's a good chance one of them will pay for your ticket anyway. Go to these things, and enjoy yourself.
Eventually, you will know approximately a fucktillion people in a bazillion fields, and in an emergency, you can make 2 phone calls and a facebook post and summon the hordes. You will also be constantly invited on Adventures.
Congrats, you've made your life mad complicated and dramatic but very, very fun.
4. Are. Are you alright OP?
LMAO.
Things will probably calm down by Tuesday Afternoon, but until then I'm gonna be running on all cylinders until the wheels fall off. If you want to contribute to my "Stress Ice Cream/Herschel's Special Little Ham Boy Fund" You can Donate to my Ko-Fi, and if you want more stories, check out the #Family Lore tag on this blog, or head over to my Patreon for additional stories/to pre-order the book I'm writing about my and my ancestor's lives because this shit runs like rivers on both sides of my family.
5. Were you wearing the Cryptid Booty shorts for this?/Where did you get them?
They were a bespoke Wedding Gift from @theshitpostcalligrapher but you can always make your own with a pair of shorts and some fabric paint. My beloved Husbeast has a matching neon pink pair that say "BARD".
If you had an identical twin that you get along with, you could probably have a lot of fun by getting to know other sets of identical twins and then pulling pranks with them.
Like seeing two people who look exactly the same close proximity to each other? Yeah that's totally twins. But imagine being in an art gallery where there's a group of five people on the 1st floor, and you go up the stairs and ???? the exact same group of five people is also there?? And you didn't see them pass you at the stairs?
You could convince A LOT of people the matrix was glitching
you people have reaction images for everything
I am still fucking losing it at this tweet
honestly i think a good place to start for People Who Don’t Have Disabilities But Want To Help Out People Who Do is to just… take more breaks when you’re doing stuff. set a precedent where you are not always pushing through fatigue just because you can. it is literally humiliating to have to be the first and or/only person to take a break from stuff constantly. it makes me feel so terrible to be doing the least amount of work in a group setting even when i am doing as much as i am physically capable of, even in circumstances when i know no one else is necessarily judging me for it.
As a history teacher I can confirm the human tendency to take all evidence from the past at face value and assume that people in the past just weren't as smart as we are and were wrong about most things.
