If Given An Inch, Will They Take A Mile?

Good morning, y’all. As you all I know I have been back and forthing with my attorney, Adam Dimwit, about some legal issues. I find that I need to rely on him more now that the Corona is making everything nearly impossible for everyone. Used to I could evict a deadbeat tenant by myself, but not anymore. The scenario has been my lawyer tells me he’s “working on it”, and asks for money, and I tell him I don’t have any.

It’s a vicious cycle, and it planted seeds of doubt in my mind. Am I actually getting the representation I’m paying for? After a great deal of consternation, I finally decided I was. So last week, I put up for sale on Ebay some of my classic, autographed guitar picks. I suspect everybody knows the old adage about the fellow that can fall into a septic tank and come out smellin’ like a rose, well that ain’t me.

It turns out it’s a buyer’s market for autographed guitar picks, and I take what I’m offered and send it on over to Mr. Adam Dimwit, Esq. Believe it or not, I got $500 for my autographed Ace Frehley, and $750 for my Billy Gibbons. I had hoped the Billy Gibbons would have brought a lot more. Billy certainly got more out of his pick than Ace did.

I might have mentioned earlier that Bud Jr. brought his family over for supper last night and what a joyous occasion it was. It’s been months since I’ve seen Bud Jr. and even longer for Bud III, or Trey as we call him. Trey is walking around now, and he acts like he owns the place. He is so cute in his little droopy diapers and t-shirt. Now, I know every Grandpa says this, but there can’t be a better looking boy out there.

Anyway, I was a little taken aback that Bud Jr. hadn’t changed clothes before coming over and was still in his police uniform when they arrived. Turns out that our dinner party is partially official business. Bud Jr. has been authorized to slap an eviction notice on my deadbeat tenant. Hallelujah! Saints be praised!

Let me modify my statements a little bit. I take no pleasure in putting someone on the street. I bend over backwards to help people that are making an effort to keep up their rent and their place. But when a tenant stops paying rent and then goes to throwing their chicken bones and other trash in their yard, well it’s time for them to go. I know the raccoons will miss them, but I won’t.

I walked with little Trey as far as his little legs would carry him while his daddy took care of business. We got about a quarter of the way around the oval here at TackyToo before he needed a “pick-up”, and I was happy to oblige. We walked that way all the way around park, him getting tired and me carrying him until he was ready to go again. The child shows a lot of spunk.

Retelling the story, I’m grinnin’ like a mule eatin’ briars. It is weird to feel this happy about such a simple thing. I guess getting to spend time with family was a big part of it, but I think I also know I’ve earned it. I’ve been working my program, attending my meetings, staying clean and sober. I’ve certainly gotten in touch with more feelings than I ever imagined I had. Most importantly I have not succumbed to the rage. The rage is still there, I’ve just found a more positive way to control it. Fingers are crossed.

In tribute to Mr. Billy Gibbons, I’d like for him to lead us in celebration: