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Month: September 2021

Introducing: Pony Boy And The Tree House Of Prison Time

4 Min Read

Oh man, Pony Boy just rolled into town.

You best believe that some horse sh*t is about to go down…


“Aw, crap! Now I’ll never get to be president with this on my record…”

In one fell swoop, I had just ruined my very nascent-yet-very-promising political career. And it was all because of that stupid ----- tree house.

Ok, I admit I’m being a little over dramatic here–calling it a “tree house” is stretching the truth a bit, seeing as how in SW Kansas trees aren’t exactly in ample supply.

It was more of a stilt-house, if you will. You see, someone had put 4 very tall poles in their backyard and built a sweet little clubhouse about 15 feet off the ground on top of them. And then, as luck would have it, whoever this mysterious someone was had decided to abandon their house (and our sleepy little hamlet of Rolla altogether), leaving it all vacant.

And that’s where a bunch of rowdy young vagrants came into the picture…


‘Twas the summer between 3rd & 4th grade, back in the day when my bro, 1 Skinny Jay (aka 1SJ), and I were living in Missouri with our mom during the school year. Which meant that we got to spend our summers back in our hometown of Rolla, KS with our dad.

We had come to an agreement with Dad that every other day we would go out to the fields and farm with him. And in then during the alternating days in between, we would get to live the city-slicker life and spend the day in town at our grandma’s and do fun kid stuff like going to the pool, hanging out at the Corner Stop,1The one and only convenience store in town. and engaging in general youthful chicanery.

Now, we were more than capable than entertaining ourselves on our own, but sometimes we liked to roll more than 2-deep, and on occasion we would form our own little posse to help keep us preoccupied.

During that fateful period back in the Summer of ’90,2Not to be confused with the Crazy-Ass Summer of ’99. we were trolling the mean streets of Rolla with an old classmate of mine–who we’ll just call Etu Brute for now–and a snaggle-toothed kid a year younger than me who had just moved to town–we’ll call him NKOTB (and yes, that is an unabashed reference to those early 90’s pop-culture icons).

Now, I don’t properly recall who discovered the empty “tree house,” but whoever it was was celebrated as a ----- genius amongst us. I mean, it was pretty dang sweet having a hangout spot that not only had a view, but where also we wouldn’t live in fear of being harassed for “trespassing” or whatever the term Old Man Degarmo used when he found out that we had been using the loft of his barn to stash our cache of trashy mags (but that’s a whole ‘nother story).

Yes, technically we were squatting, but we weren’t hurting anybody, and no one seemed to really care. So for a few blessed weeks, we were drinking up the high life, which was flowing like an avalanche coming down the mountain.

Or as the kids would say these days, we had a good thing going


“Pony Boy? What kind of nickname is that??”

Yes, it was none other than our slightly older cousin, a teenager with such impeccable judgment that he somehow had ended up with the moniker Pony Boy–but for all the wrong reasons, though. Rumor had it that it had something to do with a very stupid dare made in the barns of the Stevens County Fair…and I’ll just leave it at that.

Anyways, thanks to his notorious judgment (or lack thereof, *ahem*), there was never a dull moment when Pony Boy was around, so we didn’t mind when he started hanging out with us.

In retrospect, that was probably our first mistake.

Our second mistake was when we listened to him when he got bored just kicking it in the treehouse and suggested we up the ante and explore the main house on the property.

And by “explore” he meant…how did he put it? Oh yeah, and I quote: “Yeah, let’s break in and see if there’s any stuff like stereos and other sh*t that we can steal!”

Yes, yes, a man above all reproach, indeed.

And since at that point he was the de facto leader of our gang, we were all like “Sure. It sounds like fun…I guess.”

Well, all of us except for that party-pooper Etu Brute, who was like, “You guys are pretty stupid, and I ain’t havin’ no part of your dumbassery–I’m out!”

That left the 4 of us to figure out how we were going to go about breaking and entering at 3…p.m. Yup, we were going to do this in broad daylight. The incredibly brilliant ideas were just flowing like wine that day, no?

Pony Boy, our resident criminal mastermind, eventually decided that NKOTB, being the new kid, should climb up the T.V. antenna and onto the roof of the back porch. From there, he was to shimmy through one of the upstairs bedroom windows, then come downstairs and let the rest of us in through the back door.

A solid, solid plan. What could possibly go wrong?

So up and off he went, surprisingly making it into the house with no issue. Once we saw him disappear through the window, we started eagerly waiting for him to swing the back door wide open for our greedy little asses.

But after 5 minutes or so…still no NKOTB. What the heck was going on? Did he trip over a can of paint in there and break his neck?

Well, sh*t. That would be no good, now wouldn’t it? For serious, here–isn’t it that if somebody dies during the commission of a crime, then all of the accomplices are guilty of murder in the eyes of the law?

Oh, Pony Boy, what have you gotten us into this time?


“Wait!” you say!

“So what happened to NKOTB?!?”

“Will the Hardly-Any-Common-Sense Boys be sent to federal ‘#-me-in-the-a$$’ prison for the rest of their lives???”

“Will we ever uncover the true origin story behind the name ‘Pony Boy’? Like, surely a real pony wasn’t involved…right???”

“And most importantly, does NKOTB–poor guy, Rest in Power–die and have to persist for eternity in heaven as an awkward snaggle-toothed 8-year-old??”

“INQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW!!!”

Ok, I get it. You’ve still got questions.

Well, in that case, you’ll just have to tune in next week for the stunning[ly stupid] conclusion…


Content created on: 25/26 September 2021 (Sat/Sun)

Footnotes & References:[+]

I’ll Shut Up About Better Beach Rentals When Hell Freezes Over

8 Min Read

Hyperbolically speaking, my ranting and raving about Eden Cove 9 will never end.

Or will it…?


Friends…Romans…Countrypeoples…at long last we have arrived at the final leg of our journey that should in theory land us in the Guiness Book of World Records under “World’s Longest Vacation Rental Review.” Indeed, it is my hope that this is the very last time I have to remind you that I thought it was a good idea to air all the grievances I managed to collect during the 5 weeks my fam and I took refuge at the beach house known as Eden Cove 9 (aka EC9) while our home was being repaired and renovated.

If you need to catch up, you can do so here, but in case your in the mood for some brevity, all you really need to know is that this place had to have been designed with the goal of passively-aggressively slowly driving guests mad.

It’s as if every little detail was crafted to mess with your head in small and asinine ways–nothing exciting or obvious–just a thousand little pains in your ass, each one so small that no one would believe your complaint to be an overt act of aggression–ergo, why I’ve been using terms like “purgatory” and “almost hell” instead of outright likening it to Hades.

But when you stand back and survey it all, you see very clearly that this place was…odd. Everything seemed just a little bit off…


I’ve waited a long time to reveal to you my own pet theory, and finally here it is: It felt like being in a sci-fi/horror/psychological thriller where there is some malevolent force–say, aliens–that is trying to hold you captive without you knowing it. And to do so, they try to trick you into thinking that everything is normal by creating a fake version of reality and plop you into it.

Why would they do this? Maybe we’re part of one of their scientific experimentations? Or perhaps we’re their favorite food supply, but can only be truly enjoyed when eaten fresh? I don’t know…that’s not really the point.

Anyways, these beings manage to do a pretty good job of mimicking the reality you expect–say, they nail it with 97% accuracy. But, not being humans, they totally overlook details such as providing an elevator shaft but no elevator, or make the toilets easy for their alien hands to flush, not human hands.

…and just like in The Truman Show, you slowly realize that your entire world is a facade.

That’s what it was like to live in EC9 for 5 weeks, my friends. Thirty-five days of constantly questioning your own sanity. Fun times, indeed.

Welp, enough of my digressions. I best get to my last few items and then we can all be done with this fiasco once and for all…


Level 7: Purgatory Freezes Over

“You want some clean, cold water? Hah! Good luck with that!”

For the first 2 weeks or so, we had to constantly keep our bottled water supply fully stocked. Unlike at home, EC9’s fridge didn’t have the indispensable1Pun alert, mother ----- ! amenities of a built-in ice or water dispenser.

…or so we thought. I eventually made this discovery:

Gifure 1: A Most Inconvenient Truth: Getting Filtered Water From The Fridge Is A Right Pain In The Ass

So…good news/bad news: the good news was that we did have access to cold filtered water. The bad news is, O-M-F-G, how insanely inconvenient can you make it?!? As you can see from my mini-movie, it fully required 2-3 hands–like “oh, you want some refreshing water? Well it’s going to cost you! You better think long and hard about whether it’s really worth the effort!”

I also couldn’t help be reminded of this classic Far Side:

Pin on Hahahahahahahaaaaa........
Figure 2: This sh*t makes me chuckle every time…

Jeez, this is so on-brand for EC9, it’s not even funny…


“We’re all freezing down here!”

Boy was I tired of hearing Mother Dearest exaggerate about how cold they were at night on the first level, while we folks on the third level were getting the night sweats every stinking evening. (Though, in her defense, I simply couldn’t use any of the showers down there because it would be rather frigid when naked, even in the middle of the day…)

“Well, you have your own dang thermostat–just turn it up!”

With a thermostat on each of EC9‘s 3 levels, I could not understand how this was a problem. Why couldn’t we all be comfortable? Yet somehow, nobody was comfortable.

After only 4-5 days into our stay, and after 4-5 nights of nobody really getting any good sleep, I finally tried to investigate further into what the hey-ho was going on with the A/C.

Being ever the astute scientist, I decided it was best to proceed by changing one variable (i.e. thermostat) at a time, and then observe what effects that change induced (i.e. if the vents on a given level on were blowing air, and if so, was it hot or cold air?).

It sounded simple enough in theory, but quickly devolved into sheer madness. For example, I would set the thermostat on the third level so it should be blowing hot air up there. The result? The second floor air would turn off, and the first floor would still be blasting cold air. There should have been zero correlation there!

Later on, when I tried setting the second floor thermostat to cool, the third floor air shut off, and the first floor started blowing hot air. The holy ----- is going on here?!?

After about 3 rounds of complete and utter insanity of this variety I broke down and had one of these moments:

Will Ferrell Crazy Pills GIF
Gifure 3: Fun fact: I once looked almost exactly him, and loved quoting this much to the delight of those around me.

After that, I broke down and called those jackasses that call themselves the Better Beach Rentals maintenance team. Fortunately, the A/C pro the sent over came pretty quickly, because by then the whole place was being blasted with hot air and even turning the entire system off–get this–did not stop the heat from coming out of the ----- vents.

But oh man, I had no idea what I was in for when the grizzled ol’ A/C guy rolled up. He insisted on walking me through every single step of his trouble shooting process as if I was his protege-in-training, including having me feel the various copper tubes hooked up to the A/C-slash-furnace system.

“You feel that?”

He would gaze into my eyes looking for a response…which was incredibly awkward, to say the least.

“Uh, that’s…warm?”

“And…”

“And…it shouldn’t be that warm?”

“Bingo! Now let me explain to you what these red and yellow wires are connected to, Young Grasshopper…”

I’m not exaggerating. Except for him calling me “Young Grasshopper.” I embellished that part a wee bit.

And so it went…he would explain something to me in waaaaay too much detail, and then peer into the windows of my soul to see if I was appreciating his wisdom and knowledge on a deeper level. It was exhausting.

Oh, speaking of ‘levels,’ he dragged me and his ladder up to the third level balcony, where he proceeded to have me assist him in climbing onto the roof to get to the actual cooling unit. Because, of course, that’s where they had put the freakin’ thing. The whole time he was up there, I was just sure that he was going to slip and fall 4 stories to his death before my very eyes. Luckily, he made it back down safely.

After that, we somehow got off on a tangent taking a grand tour of Every. Single. Vent. In the. Whole. House. I guess, he vaguely remembered servicing that very unit several years previous, which had the comedic result of him closing his eyes and turning every which way, and then almost shouting as he pointed “Over there! Over there! There’s one hidden under the entertainment system!” …as if he was divining for water or something.

He even made me help him move the huge-ass entertainment center, just so he could have the satisfaction of proving how good his memory was. He was right, by the way–that dude had thermodynamic memory, if you will.

Eventually we made our way back down the first level where the main unit was, and we repeated the whole “Feel this copper tube, my friend” business, with him naturally being pleased as a pickle that he was able to get it back to cooling. If you’re wondering, the system had somehow got stuck in emergency heating mode, and since–fun fact–that either the whole system is either blowing hot air or blowing cold air in any given moment, EC9 had been literally turning into the hell that we were already suspecting it to be.

Anyways, the old dude, quite pleased with his days’ work, eventually left after about another hour of completely unrelated regaling…


“Why is still so ----- cold in here?!?”

I could only imagine that Mom was dropping the f-bomb in her head when, 1 or 2 days later, we discovered that we could simply not keep the cold air from blasting the first level any time we were trying to cool the much toastier upper levels.

“Dangit, I guess I’ll call the maintenance guy again…”

Old Man A.C. had made it sound like I could personally give him a ring should anything go awry again, but unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) he failed to give me his direct number. So I ended up having to deal with the BBR maintenance chain of command again, and eventually they sent out some young buck from the same A/C company.

After some troubleshooting that was much less involved for me (thanks be to the gods!), he determined that the flap that controls the air flow into the first level was busted. But the way they work, they are open by default, and so it was stuck open indefinitely, causing our personal hell to freeze over.

“No worries, bro! I’ll order that new part and we’ll have you fixed up and all comfortable-like in no time!”

Can you guess where this is going? Yup, it played out just like the “we’ll fix your elevator right away” ball of tomfoolery.2I really wanted to say “tomfuckery” here, but figured I would spare my mother the shame.

Three weeks. Three ----- weeks. They had that long to get what I presume to be a fairly common part, and yet they failed. By the day we finally vacate the premises, they still hadn’t fixed it.

Were we surprised? No.

Were we disappointed? Most definitely.

Again, I’m left to wonder if they ever even actually ordered the part. And judging by all the other evidence that I’ve presented to y’all over the last several months–and some other exhibits I’ve withheld–I’m very much inclined to say that those cheap-ass incompetent nincompoops never did, and instead they just hoped that future vacationers would never be there long enough to really complain about it…


All that to say, you can bet your bottom dollar that I’m no fan of this place that hath robbed me of a little bit of my soul, and the fools that ran it.

So much so, in fact, that when it came time for our annual late summer beach vacation–and don’t you dare try to tell me that those 5 weeks at the beach were a ‘vacation’–the Boss Lady suggested foregoing our usual spot of Carolina Beach, and finding a place in Oak Island.

I had to sit her down and explain to her that thanks to EC9 and the folks at BBR, I was suffering from a bit of PTSD, and that I never wanted to set foot on that god-forsaken island again in my life. I actually don’t understand how she wasn’t traumatized either, but that might have been because she was focused on her work, and unlike me, wasn’t simultaneously being traumatized by handling all our remodeling shenanigans.

But I digress.

The point of the story is, if you’re ever in Oak Island, NC, and in need of a place to stay, for the love all that is holy, stay as far away as you can from a little piece of purgatory on Earth they call Eden Cove.

Come to think of it, stay far away from Better Beach Rentals altogether while you’re at it. I went back and did some retrospective Google research on them fools, and peeped at some of the less than kind reviews (and there were PLENTY). Big mistake…but a highly entertaining one that I recommend you make for yourself…


Content created on: 17/18 September 2021 (Fri/Sat)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Feasting At El Fiasco Loco

5 Min Read

A Groupon for a date night at the Melting Pot and the movies? $70.

All the regrettable shenanigans that are bound to ensue? Priceless…


“A Groupon for $100 towards a Melting Pot feast and 2 movie tickets? For only $70? Sounds suspicious…”

I was in the middle of a conversation with The Boss Lady, and on the verge of making a decision that in no way I could ever possibly regret.

“No, I swear that’s The Deal: A Groupon for $100 towards a Melting Pot feast and 2 movie tickets! For only $70! And you know how I love the Melting Pot so…”

She batted her eyelashes at me with that “come-hither-and-dip-your-apple-in-my-melty-cheese” look. A look she knew would melt my willpower just like said melty cheese, and so of course I conceded to her wishes.

“OK, fine…”


Fine? More like fine print. As in, “It’s Groupon, so of course your ass better be reading the fine print.”

What this Groupon actually got us was $100 of credit at restaurant.com, the shady older brother of the (slightly) more reputable restaurants.com. Not a problem in and of itself, especially since it did indeed have Melting Pot certificates in $25 increments. So far so good, right?

Well…just one problem: you could only redeem one at a time, and only towards the 3-Course Meal For Two, which is roughly $100. And, hooo, boy! Let me tell you it’s pretty awkward to find out this fact from the waiter who is impatiently waiting for you to pay your bill. Anyways, if you do the math, you’ll realize that this oh-such-a-great-f*cking-deal Groupon only got us out of paying the tip.

So, to recap: we just paid $70 to have someone else trick us into going to the Melting Pot.

No. No, Honey, this was not fine at all…


All was not lost, though. Although we would have had to blown another $300 just to use the rest of our restaurant.com credit at the Melting Pot, there were a decent number of other restaurants where we could redeem the remaining $75 without having to drop as much cash up front.

I eventually managed to use up $25 of it on some verifiably mediocre meal, but that of course still left me with $50 burning a hole in my pocket.

Well, luck would have it that our annual apple pickin’ trip was nigh upon us, and as a tradition, me and the family would always eat Mexican in nearby Siler City on the way home from out little outing. Ah yes, a perfect opportunity indeed to extract the last bit of value still tied up on our foolish investment.

It wasn’t our usual joint, but I was able to find the one and only participating Mexican restaurant in town–one that we’d never been to before. But hombre, I was super excited because it appeared to be super authentic. And also I was pretty pumped that its deal was $25 off if you spent $50 or more–meaning we could wash our hands of restaurant.com for good after this was over.

Now I had the keen insight to do my research, as it turned out that they only took cash. Accordingly, I made sure to have $40 on hand–more than enough to cover the anticipated bill that would be $25-$30 after the discount. This Boy Scout was coming prepared this time!

We get there, and it turns out that I actually wasn’t prepared for exactly how authentic of Mexican restaurant this place was–in that they clearly never were expecting gringos. I shit thee not when I say that there was not a single English word on the menu. Not a single one!

Oh, and not a single price on the menu either (see Figure 1).

Figure 1: Good luck, Gringos!

Ok, that’s not completely true–there was a handmade sign when you came in advertising there especial: various tacos at only $1 each.

“Oh man, this place must be ridiculously cheap!” was the first thought that I had upon seeing it.

And “Oh sh*t, though–I did not anticipate that it would be a challenge to spend enough to be able to activate the discount,” was my second thought.

This was a few years back, so t’was I, The Boss Lady (who was rather pregnant with The Younger), The Elder, and my Mother Dearest. But, even with 4 1/2 of us, I knew we were going to have to work pretty hard to hit $50, espicialmente if we were going to have to do it $1, $2, or $3 at a time.

What it ensued was very much a Seinfeldian “More of everything!” moment, with me basically twisting everybody’s arms to order twice the amount of food they wanted or needed.

“I’m getting our $25 discount if it’s the last thing I do! Besides, you are eating for two!” I hissed at The Boss Lady when she gave me a look for doubling her fajita order.

Although we were flying blind–having no clue if we were even close to spending enough–if I was going to miss the mark, I was dang sure going to err on the side of spending a bit more than $50, amiright?

Well, after seriously feasting on way too much Mexican grub, we followed it with an excessive round of desserts…and we were long past the point of actually enjoying our meal, and well into the land of being extra miserably bloated and engorged.

Finally, the time came to settle up the bill and put this whole matter to rest, and while the cashier is ringing things up I’m like “Whoa, hold up a sec, some of these dishes are $10-$12!” I mean, based on those stupid ----- cheap-ass tacos, I would have never imagined anything in that place would top $7. “Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t.” I kept mumbling to myself like the pinche gringo that I was.

In the end the total bill was just over $60, so I was relieved to at least have spent enough…and it looked like I was going to have barely enough cash to cover the bill. Whew!

“Oh wait one sec…I have a coupon here for $25 off!” I couldn’t have been more excited to be such a tightwad in that moment.

The cashier looked over what I had pulled up on my phone, and stoically replied, “Oh, I’m sorry, we’re not participating in that any more.”

You have got to ----- be kidding me. THAT WAS THE WHOLE ----- REASON WE ATE HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE!

“Well, this is embarrassing. I don’t quite have enough cash.”

“Okay…” the cashier stared back at me vacantly.

“Um, can I leave my mom and daughter here as a deposit while I go find an ATM?”

“Sure.”

So I left them just awkwardly loafing about while me and the Boss Lady drove a few blocks to a nearby ATM–which was not without its own set of shenanigans, such as our regular bank’s ATM had been relocated, but nobody had thought to tell Google Maps.

“Dangit, woman! I ain’t gonna pay no extra $5 ATM fee on top of not getting my ----- discount!”

Let’s just say I wasn’t taking too kindly to The Boss Lady’s suggestion to cut our losses and just get the money from any ATM we could find. Whether or not our loved ones got kidnapped in the meantime? If that was the price of sticking to the principle of the matter, then so be it!

It may have only been 10 or 15 minutes later before we finally rolled back up to the Human Pawn Shop, but ----- if it seemed like forever at that point. I quickly hustled my ass through the door, waving the money over my head.

“I got it! I got it! Here’s your ransom–I mean “dinero.” We’d like the other generations of our family back now, por favor…”


The point of the story is, next time anyone tries to cajole you into buying a Groupon, I have the perfect response for you:

Chinga tu madre.”

Um, just whatever you do, make sure mom doesn’t Google the meaning of that…


Content created on: 19 September 2020 & 11/12 September 2021 (Sat/Sat/Sun)

In The Spotlight Now: Payback Is (Almost) Hell

4 Min Read

Like the pirate with a steering wheel in his pants once said:

“Argh! It drives me nuts…”


Five weeks. Seven Levels of Purgatory. All courtesy of Eden Cove Nine.

I promise, folks, that I am almost done with my way-too-in-depth vacation home rental review of the infamous fun house known as EC9. For those out there unacquainted with old friend EC9, they can catch up on all the fun here.

And for those of you keeping score at home, you will recall that last week I covered Level 6 of Purgatory. Soo I bet y’all have got your hopes up that this week would be the 7th and final level of the Purg’, right?

Um, so, I have some bad news for you then: I got one more light-themed complaint that I need to get off my chest before we can ascend (or is it descend?) to the 7th Level.


Level 6b: A Thousand Points Of Light And One Heart Of Darkness

“A Thousand Points of Light”…besides being former President George H.W. Bush’s favorite catchphrase, I strongly maintain that that’s what they really should have named this place instead of “Eden Cove.”

Though I don’t have another milquetoast anecdote to illustrate my point, this place was absolutely rife with nuanced bits of questionable design, and the lights were no exception to this.

In addition to the master bathroom lighting shenanigans that I spoke of in Level 6a of Purgatory, EC9‘s illumination situation had two main flaws that would only become apparent to a vacationer until it was far too late.

Let’s shed some light on the first one, shall we? Now, take a closer look at the Figure 1 below:

Living Room
Figure 1: To the untrained eye, just your average luxurious living room…

Looks just like a run-of-the-mill place to relax and recuperate, right? Not so fast, my friend!

You may note that there are regularly spaced lights on the ceiling. Well, I actually sat down and counted exactly how many there were on this level, which comprised the kitchen, living room, and dining area.

Not counting lamps, fridges, bathrooms, and stove hoods, there were thirty-six lights on this floor. THIRTY-SIX! Me-thinks that to be a bit excessive, no?

In fact, it makes you wonder if whoever designed this was over-compensating for something–say, the emotional darkness pervading their insides–right?

But! The Heart of Darkness is not merely a random-ass theory I just pulled out of thin air. There is more evidence to support this crazy idea. And that leads me to bullet-point #2.

As if having an incessant amount of light fixtures baked into the design of the condo wasn’t bad enough, the least they could have done was wire them up to the light switches in an intuitive manner.

As foreshadowed by my previous light-related tale, that was most definitely not the case. Like, there was almost zero correlation between where the light was, and the location of the switch that controlled it. This was especially notable in the kitchen, where the kitchen light switches were located more in the dining area, next to the bathroom, and half the lights in the dining area were controlled by lights in the ----- kitchen.

During our 5 weeks there, I spent many a late night at the dining table working on home-reno related tasks. And for about half of those nights I was on baby-monitor duty, as The Younger is prone to waking up in the middle of the night in a fuss, and will need some comforting stat before she wakes everybody else up.

There were countless times that she did indeed wake up and I needed to hastily shut things down for the night, and almost every single one of them played out like a Benny Hinn Hill montage, with me running back and forth in a panic trying to find the right light switch(es) by trial and error.

Given the sheer number of pairs of lights on/lights off sequences that would ensue, combined with the funky sweat smell that I would work up in the progress, and then add in the rhythmic cries of a toddler coming through the baby monitor…and, yeah, the second level of EC9 would basically transmogrify into Oak Island’s hottest discotheque every other night…

Okay, well I guess I did have a milquetoast anecdote in me after all. I have to apologize, as the whole “The system is down…the system is down…”1This pop-culture reference goes out to all of you old-school HomeStar Runner lovers out there. techno beat now playing in my head distracted me from doing what I came to do: reveal to you the theory-of-everything that could possibly explain how such a place like EC9 could even exist (apart from me being stuck in the all-time lowest-rated episode of The Twilight Zone).

Like a seasoned forensic analyst declaring that a crime scene is so gruesome that “it had to have been very personal for the murderer to make such a gratuitous mess”, Mom and I formulated our own hypothesis that EC9, too, must have been an act of personal aggression.

So the point of the story is, if you’re going to invest money in building the most luxurious condos on all of Oak Island, for the love of G0d, don’t hire your ex-husband to handle the electrical engineering…


Content created on: 28 August 2021 (Saturday)

Footnotes & References:[+]

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