Words from BN: Rah-Rah-Rah-Rar Rar Rar Rar Eeeyarr ar ar ARRreeeeyar Rarf! Nilknarf! Rarf!

The goal was to mindlessly deconstruct my room at the Dynashack such that it could be restored essentially the same at 129 Observatory.

8


:30am had come and I was up and warming the Dart at the Dynashack. Out at Godfrey's Land Company on Ivy Road, I picked up two sets of keys for the new house, 129 Observatory Avenue. Then I returned to the Dynashack and began loading the most essential of my possessions. My method for packing was simple; I pulled my drawers out of my dressers and stacked them up in my car. Everything came with me; I even packed obvious junk. The goal was to mindlessly deconstruct my room at the Dynashack such that it could be restored essentially the same at 129 Observatory.

Monster Boy showed up while I loaded the house with my stuff. He was mostly waiting for Deya to arrive with a truck so he could pick up a large sectional couch that last saw use in his room at the Jewish Centre prior to his eviction at the end of February.

T


he day suddenly took a turn for the worse. I was pulled over by a friendly-looking cop on Jefferson Park Avenue as I went for another load of stuff at the Dynashack. You know, I've never yet had a cop get behind me without turning on those damn lights. What the hell was it this time? It turns out he hadn't seen my Virginia State Inspection Sticker, which is very valid. The cop was so obsessed with its imagined absence (and then embarrassed with its obvious presence) that he completely missed the Fairfax County sticker right next to it. It hasn't been valid since 1995! I was a bit shaken up, but continued on. When you consider all the drunk driving I do, I guess I shouldn't mind getting pulled over by things that can only be noticed in the daylight.

That's right. I pay some noticeable amount every month only to find that my insurance doesn't provide any fucking coverage!

The next problem came as I checked my mail at the Dynashack. There was a bill for $230 some dollars from the dentist. Believe it or not, my dental insurer, Ameritas, hadn't payed anything. That's right. I pay some noticeable amount every month only to find that my insurance doesn't provide any fucking coverage! It's just another phone call I have to make, and I hate using the phone. I'd rather just make a "boycott Ameritas" homepage and have it register higher in the search engines than Ameritas.com.

At 129 Observatory, we started encountering a few problems. First of all, getting all the cars of all the residents (and I think there are at least five) parked is almost impossible. Certainly some cars are going to have to be stuck behind other cars. I'm glad I can just ride my bike to work. The congestion is so great that we already met one of the neighbors; a big friendly fratboy came by to suggest that Deya get her truck out from in front of his driveway.

Another trouble was identified by Matthew Hart when he turned up. The water had been cut off even before we'd moved in. So there was no way to clean things and the toilets wouldn't flush. Things were starting to remind me a little too much of Big Fun.

But the neighbors continued to be friendly. A woman living next door has zillions of cute pussy cats and speaks with a British accent. Her name is Angela. I hope to befriend some of the little furry ones before too long.

Zachary and Peggy had shown up, as had Deya. It was starting to look a lot like Big Fun, for better (but probably f)or worse.

M


atthew and Zach helped Monster Boy with the big items he'd had in storage and then they helped me get some furniture from the Dynashack. None of this furniture actually belongs to me: the dresser and closet had originally been on loan to Sara Poiron at Big Fun from a notorious breeder named Carrie. Like many things at Big Fun, I inherited the furniture when she fled Virginia. And my mattress belongs to someone else, but I don't know exactly who. It was something that had been left by some earlier generation of Dynashack occupant.

I look upon my former housemates mostly as tragic figures.

The Dynashack television had been the old Big Fun television. It belongs to Matthew Hart. He seemed to derive an inordinate amount of satisfaction from reclaiming it. This was associated with much anti-Dynashack rhetoric. For my part, I wasn't feeling so negative towards my former housemates. I look upon them mostly as tragic figures. I have a new house now; there's no room for pointless grudges.

We also grabbed lots of swivel chairs off the front porch. These were chairs I'd "obtained" from the NMRI facility loading dock. The overloaded truck was difficult to drive safely. We almost lost a mattress on a curve and we did lose a swivel chair as we climbed a hill. Matthew was driving carefully and I was human rope on the back, but it was a treacherous drive.

While the others were gone, I set off on bike for the JPA Jiffymart (or whatever the Hell it's called; it's the convenient store beside Dürty Nelly's at the intersection of Jefferson Park Avenue and Fontaine Street). There I came across Peggy and Zach riding around getting snacks with Matthew.

Yet again, Matthew needed to get some vodka to replace some stocks he'd depleted in his father's liquor cabinet. Since I'm the one who passes muster at the ABC store, I was recruited to make the purchase. It seemed as though Matthew felt the need to compensate for his earlier careful driving. Among the things he did was:

• use the bike lanes as a driving lane to bypass congestion
• execute a left turn on red

A


s we'd departed for this last mission, we'd seen the Gutter Punks and Brazilian Girls heading ominously up Observatory en route to our house. They looked like trouble. It seems there's no rest for the weary. And I wasn't at all pleased to see that infernal wormy dog BN leading the charge. Sure enough, when we got home, the Gutter Punks and Brazilian Girls were sprawled all over the front porch smoking their budget cigarettes. The smoke was blowing into the house and stinking up the place. We who actually live there do not smoke, but it wasn't as though we could expect the Gutter Punks to simply stop smoking. As it was they must have felt they were doing us an enormous favour by smoking and spitting on our front porch instead of in the house, where they would normally do their smoking and spitting.

And all those fluffy little cats I'm intent on befriending were no doubt off hiding in the bushes, thinking unkind thoughts about all of us who had just moved in.

I don't like Toni Dirtbag at all, but I absolutely despise the dog BN. There is absolutely no redeeming value to that dog at all. The whole time he was there he whined, pleaded, threatened and yammered with the most unendurably grating bark I have ever heard from a dog. The complaining was extremely loud and I'm sure the neighbors were not pleased. And all those fluffy little cats I'm intent on befriending were no doubt off hiding in the bushes, thinking unkind thoughts about all of us who had just moved in. The impression we were giving our new neighbors could not have possibly been a good one. I was absolutely disgusted with the Gutter Punks.

I wasn't the only one who hated having to deal with the dirty people so soon after moving into our house, but I was certainly the most disgusted. Luckily Matthew told the dirties that I didn't want any drinking at my house tonight and that they had to do their drinking elsewhere. The last thing I want is for my new house to become the place where smelly youthful homeless people all know they can go when they want to drink their booze.

The whole time the Gutter Punks and Brazilian Girls were present, I kept to my room. Whenever I did come out, I could be heard muttering hateful things about BN. I told Peggy that if I ever catch the dog alone I'll put it out of its misery.

I had some kind of pre-work nap in my room, but it took me a long time to fall asleep. There were too many things that needed doing for me to get the necessary amount of rest.

The Gutter Punks were gone and those remaining, the residents of the house, seemed to be having a good time hanging out in the living room as I set off for work. Among the new residents are Peggy and Zach, who have been granted permission to live on the tiny little back porch. I should say, however, that Matthew and I are worried that Zach will eat all of our food. Zach has a number of governing principles that could well lead to conflict. One of these principles is "what's yours is mine."

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