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Walden Pond

Being a Chronicle of Man against Men

Walden Pond

Being a Chronicle of Man against Men

Wearied and Worn

My neighbor, a former wharfie and inbred communist, threatened my physical integrity and I quote by bludgeoning with a bucket of cement, because he figured that a newly appeared scent of manure had to come from my plot, since it wasn't coming from his. Never mind that my plot had been cultivated for the previous six months, with waist-tall stalks - the brute just would not have it any other way, in his dichotomy of myplot/hisplot. 

 

I tried to press charges for threats (in public - the whole exchange took place across the wall that divides our properties) but the National Guard, sympathetic and polite, told me that a €204 fee would be required in advance due to the nature of my complaint. The lieutenant in charge, intelligently and in proactive fashion, also advised me not to waste a good 200 bucks, for without any witnesses, in under three months the court would just close the case. 

 

Today the same wandering piece of worthlessness, a net State receiver among some 3 million such walking leeches, missing one of his chicken, demanded that I admit to having found and subsequently absconded the fowl within the boundaries of my property. Again, his reasoning was that if his flock was short one piece of poultry, and it not being inside his land, then perforce it must lay within mine. I turned my back on him and went about my business. 

 

My mother had to wait for six hours at an hospital ER, bleeding profusely, before she was transferred without any file, notes or patient routing slip to another healthcare unit. Both my parents are bled dry of their pensions for services they never used, and never will, mainly due to inexistence of said services. 

 

A state trooper is jailed for nine years and sentenced to an absurd amount in compensation for killing an underage armed robber. 

 

Two lowlives walk free and hi5 their buddies live on TV while families bury the corpses of two policemen caught by a freight train during pursuit of aforementioned, and hot-handed, "youngsters" turned alleged perpetrators. 

 

I am weary to a point that defies lexical exertion. There are days like this. I stare at pictures of a forgotten happiness and wish for my kids to become independent away from this hundred-year old mess, so that I may finally pick my exit route. 

 

It may come late, but it won't be disappointing anyone with a sense of humour. 

posted at 14:08

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