The Eviction Fiasco (part 9)

[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 5: Chapter 26]

This is where most of our interactions occur.

Subject: Update on Cyberdemon351 and Deek
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 13, 2022 at 5:05 PM

I received the following reply this morning from Andrea, to my “I did NOT know you’re transgender until watching this video” comment:

“ahaha thank you so much!”

To which I replied:

“You are MOST inspiring, especially since you maintain an outrageous sense of humor through it all…and your life certainly hasn’t been, and still isn’t, easy. In case you don’t come across the following message in a fortune cookie anytime soon, allow me to declare it now: ‘Your indomitable spirit is the key to success in everything you do.'”

As for Trickster Deekster:

One of the rude things he said to me in his prolonged string of screeching accusations (like the Devil’s Rosary, one bead after another):

“Where’s my advance allowance? Can’t you give it to me now? You don’t have fitty dollah upstairs? Why are you doing this to me, you’re fukkin with my head!”

I calmly told him it’s way too soon, as Thursday is still four days from now:

“You’ll have to wait till tomorrow, Deek, since it’s after 8 PM and my bank’s ATM lobby is locked up for the night, and it won’t open for business again until eight in the morning.”

Now, as you already know, Wattson, there’s a Wells Fargo ATM station right there where Deek and pups often camp out, and it’s a source of frustration for him, since I refuse to use any open air cash machine, nor do I ever use another bank’s ATM because of the fee incurred. But most important of all is that if I ever DID start withdrawing cash from the ATMs right beside the front gate, Deek would keep pushing me to employ it so frequently, he’d suck up his entire month’s allowance by week three! Though I’m glad to say he HAS accepted my rule in this matter years ago, and has NEVER griped about it since I set my foot down. Yet so MANY of our meetups occur within the bounds of, or right in front of, that very same ATM alcove!

The next morning he showed up super early, calling his typical “Yo!” at my window barely ten minutes after I had risen from my cot: 7:14 AM to be precise. I wasn’t pissed at him for breaking my no-visiting-before-10am rule which, to be honest, he’s pretty much respected for the most part. But these days, considering my present ugly conflicts that include evicting the pooches, I am not about to give him a hard time over this, or most anything else. For his burden is heavy, as a result…and for this reason he deserves far more kindness and patience than ever.

And, wonder of wonders, he actually APOLOGIZED to me last night, for the first time since we’ve known each other these 12+ years, for ANYthing. And he’s continued to be contrite so far, since that impressive atonement.

So I lazily shuffled on over to the window (bare feet scootching across the dirty wooden floor, as I have yet to cover it with fresh newspaper since yesterday’s caulking, nor topped it with my cheap throw rugs from Bangladesh via Amazon Prime) and looked out to see Deek smiling up at me, and his two darling pups tethered to the cart and standing in the shade of the bus stop’s stall:

“I saw your window is open!” he said, squinting up at me through the bright rays of the morning sun.

I grinned back with an “okay” nod to show him I’m not upset by this early visitation, then shrugged my shoulders:

“The bank doesn’t open for another 45 minutes, Deek!”

“I just went by there,” he countered, “I saw people going in and out of the place already!”

He must’ve been talking about the workers who arrive early to prepare for the day, I thought. Deek has NO awareness of the workaday world and how it operates…or maybe he just made that up, being the asshole he sometimes is. But rather than engage in any further badinage through my window, where my neighbors could hear us, I simply shook my head and replied: “Nope, ya gotta wait. Sorry.”

Upon hearing that, he heaved a mighty sigh and acceded:

“Okay, we’ll be right around the corner!”

I managed to get more writing done and check my email, as the minutes passed. Then, at precisely seven minutes before eight o’clock, stepped outside and proceeded to walk towards the Chase branch three blocks northeast of my location. Making a point as I crossed 16th Street to turn and signal to Deek that I’m on my way.

I inserted my card into the slot by the bank’s doors, expecting the little green light to blink “on,” but it did no such thing.

Hmm, I’m probably a minute or two early, I thought. So I stepped away from the entrance and seated myself on a nearby ledge of dark-gray brick. But some seconds later, it occurred to me to check their hours, just to be on the safe side. So I stood up and approached the doors once more, to read the following signage:

“New lobby hours: 9am to 8pm.”

Nine AM? I thought. It’s always been eight AM till now! Just my rotten luck they should change their opening time at THIS precise moment. As if the Fates were fukkin with me. Again. NOW what do I do?

At first I figured just to return hovel and tell Deek he’ll have to wait a bit longer. But I thought, no, that’s not a good idea. Then a light bulb ignited above THIS befuddled pilgrim’s cranium:

“Of course! Use the Wells Fargo ATM right below my window!”

But I’d have to move swift as a fox, and evade Deek’s spotting me on the way there…so I crossed to the other side of Market Street as I hurried on homeward, and eagerly inserted my debit card into the slot. When the options appeared on the screen, there was no “withdraw cash” selection on the list! Maybe I’m missing something, I thought, and peered more closely: nope, no option to procure dah moolah.

Whaaat? I griped to myself. This doesn’t make any sense! So I tried once more and, this time, voila, the option to withdraw appeared alongside the other selections.

But on my rush to this ATM station, I wondered how I could give Deek exactly $50, if all I could withdraw were bills of twenty! For THIS dispenser may not provide smaller bills of $5 each to non-Wells Fargo customers, like my own Chase ATMs do.

Give him $60 then and be done with it? I certainly can’t tell him he’ll only get $40 next time around, that would set him in a rage…or at least he’ll finagle a way to get the full sixty outta me.

Do I have two fives or a ten in my secret spot? I had no idea (I didn’t think so), and was too flustered at the moment to rush upstairs to find out, before sucking on the Wells Fargo teat. I did NOT want to keep Deek waiting.

But when the display appeared to select whatever bills, lo and behold, there was an option for a single Ulysses S. Grant! I was in such a hurry, I didn’t even BOTHER to see if I could get two fives or a ten to go with a pair of Jacksons…I just tapped on Ulysses. Maybe because I’m such a lover of Greek mythology? And my own Brindlekin Tales are just as epic as his own adventures? I think that’s the case, Wattson…albeit subliminal! (Come to think of it, I don’t think any ATMs offer a ten-spot because that denomination is the most widely counterfeited. Chase certainly doesn’t offer Hamiltons, but DOES allow you to withdraw as many Lincolns as you’d like. Yay, free the slaves!)

I then folded Ulysses into my pocket and skedaddled around the corner to present it to Deek. And there he was, nodding off against the stuccoed wall, with the hounds cozily curled up on one thick jacket, each, right alongside. There was also another vagrant nodding off close by, adorned in a pink silk gown, a huge, floppy straw hat kissed all over with little paper flowers, and a beige handbag with a golden loop for a handle in his/her/their grasp. I could not see his/her/their face, as his/her/their head was bowed toward the sidewalk. He/she/they also wore a flashy pair of deep, rose-colored stilettos.

The dogs were sleepy, but Flaco immediately rose to greet me nonetheless, with a drowsy demeanor on that sweet little face. I gave her many kind strokes, then reached into my pocket while she clambered onto her master’s lap. Lucky raised his dreary head to greet me, but plopped it back down an instant later. He had found a shady spot and didn’t want to leave it, nothing personal. I pet him, too, before tapping on Deek’s shoulder to wake him up:

“Deek, Deek, pay attention!” I whispered so as not to arouse the transient in pink, whose preferred pronouns I could NOT discern. I also blocked his/her/their view of him so that he/she/they could not witness the passage of money from my hand to his.

“Deek, wake up!” I spoke close to his left ear. Upon which he raised his head to look up at me:

“Yeah?” he answered in a slumberous tone.

“Here, this is a fifty dollar bill,” I whispered. “Now place it in a safe pocket!”

He then looked over the bill between my fingers and grumbled: “I hate fitties!”

Of course he does, good doctor; if it’s not one thing with Deek, it’s another.

“It’s all they could give me,” I explained. “We’d have to wait another hour for them to load their machines with the other bills, I got there so early.”

He finally accepted the note and stuffed it deeply into the right-side pocket of his black sweat pants. I then stroked the pooches once more for a few seconds each, and departed.

Some minuites later I decided to take a pic of Deek, hounds and visitor zoned out along that side of the building, a third of the way up the hill. But when I turned the corner to do just that, I saw his guest had already gone (hoperully without pilfering that fifty-dollar bill from his pocket), and Deek was now standing up and packing the cart while the mutts remained at rest until he was ready to go. So I slipped back behind the opposite wall so he wouldnt spot me, and returned back upstairs, minus that snapshot.

About a half hour passed before I received that first email from Ms. Elvensborn. And some moments after reading it, I heard Deek call “Yo!” again. So I stepped to the window and looked at him:

“Ya got a C chord?”

I nodded my head yes.

“Just toss it down, thanks!”

So I pawed through my thinning Ziploc of USB cords till I found a “C” and flung it out the window in his direction. It landed maybe two feet behind him, on the asphalt close to the curb. The pups were across the street and tied to the cart, where they waited patiently for his return. Fortunately, it was shady on that side…as the day was a bit too warm for furries.

Then I sat down again to complete this, my latest, and most elegant, missive.

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: Wells Fargo charged me $3 for the withdrawal, but I think Chase waives the first five such transaction fees for each month. Or maybe it’s just three; I really have no idea, as it’s the first time I’ve done this, ever. I am SO not a part of this world!

P.P.S.: Upon returning hovel after handing Deek his advance allowance, I discovered that I did, indeed, have not just a ten-spot, but two fives as well, lodged beneath a round-cornered, Bakelite type, square plastic container tinted a lovely shade of aquamarine, atop my nightstand. The gods ARE fukkin with me, no question. See pic.

Re: America’s Gun Fetish
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: MCN announce, MCN discuss
Date: June 13, 2022 at 11:20 PM

On Mon, 12 Jun 2022 Kim Varraneez posted:

> Guns made my family

Buns made mine…cinnamon buns to be exact, from the local bakery shop three long blocks away. Every Sunday morning when I was just knee-high to a squirrel, and reading the Sunday Comics. One of my favorite childhood memories, sitting there at the kitchen table with mom and dad and my only sibling, enjoying my sweet, sticky snack that stuffed my mouth with oral comfort, and a cold, tall glass of milk. And see what’s up with Alley Oop, Peanuts, The Katzenjammer Kids, Pogo, Beetle Baily, Mandrake the Magician, Popeye, Dick Tracy, Mutt and Jeff, Brenda Starr Reporter, Blondie, Mickey Finn, The Lone Ranger, Yogi Bear, There Oughta Be a Law, Flash Gordon, Nancy, Family Circus, Henry, Dennis the Menace, Lolly, Donald Duck, Felix the Cat, Marmaduke, Bringing up Father, Archie, Hagar The Horrible, Jiggs, Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, Li’l Abner, Little Iodine, Little Lulu, Little Orphan Annie, and B.C.

– Zeke Krahlin

Buns & Guns: every cop’s delight!

Subject: DOWN TO THE HOME STRETCH (I hope I hope I hope)
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 15, 2022 at 2:39 PM

This missive begins “The FINAL Final Chapter (part 26),” also called “Chapter 18z” because it’s the end of the alphabet, which I have used to extend the last two chapters into 26 lengthy pieces each, in order to maintain my opus as a trilogy (or trinity if you want to put a religious spin on it)…rather than create Book Four, Five, etc. Thus:

BOOK 3 NOW HAS 67 CHAPTERS, SOON TO NUMBER 68!!! Whereas Books 1 and 2 contain a paltry 19 and 18, respectively.

So I already have Book 3’s Chapter 17 extended into 26 parts (from A to Z):

Chapter 17a: The Final Chapter (part 1)

all the way to:

Chapter 17z: The Final Chapter (part 26)

Chapter 18 is likewise almost complete, as I am now slapping together “Chapter 18z: The FINAL Final Chapter (part 26),” of which this missive will be a cherished part. And since I MUST put my attorney chapters on hold for the nonce, I have redacted my table of contents’ bottom section to look like so:

Click here for a larger view.

I have conjectured that this amazing crescendo of events swirling around me these past few weeks, is a clear sign that my marvelous Brindlekin Tales will shortly come to its inevitably JOYFUL conclusion…or “Z” finale if you will. I seriously canNOT imagine continuing on to “Chapter 19a: The FINAL Final Final Chapter (part 1)” and beyond!

But the only way a startling and JUBILANT conclusion COULD suddenly unfold within a few short days from now, is if, and ONLY if, mine enemies are indeed bodhisattva guardians who’ve created This Astoundingly EPIC Saga scripted in such a brilliant and clever manner that *I* become the hero, and Deek, the dogs and myself are presented with a lovely home, my writings get published to become the greatest bestsellers in all of literary history, I become a global leader for LGBT equality, and so on!

You, of course, good physician, will likewise be swept up in this Tidal Wave of Good Fortune, thanks to your MAJOR role in this play as my confidante and loyal friend…which email exchanges between us–including all messages outside of these doggy tales, and which ARE copious–will become LEGENDARY for time immemorial. BTW:

Early this morning, just when I hopped out of bed, I found this spam message in my emailbox. You can tell it’s spam simply by the subject title alone…but what a terribly SAD title it is:

“Subject: Lots of decent Ukranian women to choose from.”

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: DOWN TO THE HOME STRETCH (I hope I hope I hope)
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 15, 2022 at 4:26 PM

> Re: Decent Ukrainian Women
> I find voice mails on my phone, offering me Viagra!

I call it scattershot spam…they’re bound to get more hits than misses, compared to spending the time tediously sifting out men from women, or straight from queer. Ain’t capitalism grand…setting NEW standards below the bar every day, demoralizing and disgracing every human being on the planet, plunging us all deeper and deeper into a depraved hell of crass commercialism and ever-harsher punishment simply for not being part of the uber rich jet set!

> I am actually in SF at the moment (what a gorgeous day), while Erwyn is at a VA medical appt. The view from Ft. Miley stupendous.

Yes, it IS a loverly day, Wattson! I hope Erwyn comes through with a healthy checkup…and that you both enjoy Baghdad by the Bay one way or another (maybe dine out), albeit such a brief visit.

> I think you and Deek and the dogs should have a Pacific Heights mansion, at the very least. I saw some doozies on the drive to the VA.

He thinks Bay View/Hunter’s Point is da bomb…scenery wise because of the view of the East Bay, as well as where all his homies congregate. So if I have to, I’ll purchase a separate abode for him, and live elsewhere, maybe Pacific Heights. Won’t matter WHERE each of us resides, because we’ll both have top-notch chauffeurs who’ll drive us anywhere, even if just to pick up the dogs to bring them TO me, or vice versa. Besides which:

Deek would be too much of a headache sharing the same living quarters: loud rap music half the time, sketchy, meth addicted guests, and so on. He’s a party animal at heart, and I’m the opposite.

Incredible video coming up shortly!

– Zeke K-Holmes

From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 15, 2022 at 4:33 PM

In light of the ongoing war in Ukraine, that particular “Ukranian women” title strikes me as profoundly sad. Comparable to, say, some horrid plague that causes a certain percentage of men’s penises to shrivel up and fall off (and a greater percentage of wangers just shrink down into a useless flap)…but their inbox still gets flooded with Viagra spam.

No, come to think of it, THAT example is not sad at all! Never mind.

Subject: You’re gonna LOVE this video…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 15, 2022 at 5:28 PM


It sure made MY day, boy howdy!

Subject: An Imaginary Conversation With My Attorney, Magdalena Elvensborn
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 16, 2022 at 1:07 PM

Ms. Elvensborn called me into her office today, for an update and to sign one more form. So it’s now 2:15 PM, the scheduled time for my appointment, and I’m sitting across from her with a Plexiglass divider between, nursing a paper cup filled with Arrowhead 100% Mountain Spring Water as she opens a folder and shuffles some documents around, then looks up and smiles at me while sunlight casts a warm glow from the picture window, and she queries:

“So, Mr. Krahlin, you mentioned in a text the other day, that you don’t believe the eviction notice is legitimate, for reasons beyond the scope of the mundane. Could you be so kind as to elaborate?”

Then she adds, gesturing to a microphone just inches away from my arm, and which cord snakes around one side of the divider, to disappear over the table’s further edge: “Permission to record?”

“Of course, Ms. Elvensborn, I preFER my words go on record,” I assure the young, blonde sprite from the Netherlands who wields great power of the law here in San Francisco, and no doubt beyond. I can easily imagine her a fairy queen wielding a crystal scepter that passes judgment on all matters of import across the magical kingdom of Erewhyreve. I clear my throat and begin:

“It’s all a ruse: dog bite, eviction notice and everything in between. YOUR time is being wasted, MY time is being wasted, and possibly a judge and even a JURY’S time may be wasted as well.” Then I lean towards her with an index finger jabbing in the air towards my brilliant advocate:

“But it’s for a noble purpose, and we should all feel HONORED to be so embroiled in this astounding fiasco!”

“Fascinating, Mr. Krahlin, just fascinating!” declares my attorney. “DO go on!”

“I call it my Bodhisattva Premise,” I resume, after a brief pause to enjoy some refreshing sips of nonalcoholic aqua vitae; a tiny beam of Sol causes the wobbly surface to sparkle within the curl of my hand. “It is based on the Buddha’s principle that we have no enemies, only teachers.”

Ms. Elvensborn interjects with a tinkling bell of jollity: “THAT philosophy, if it grows widespread, would certainly end my attorney days in the long run!”

“Ha!” I respond. “Never thought of that, but yes it would. The belief itself, if not put into practice to manifest authentic world peace and compassion, would overthrow the legal system as we know it, eradicating any sense of justice altogether! For if the judicial system decrees there are no enemies, then ipso facto there can be no crime.”

I then proceed to describe how My Premise operates on a practical level, and give several solid examples…just as I’ve done for you, Wattson, in many previous emails. And, by extension, in my WordPress blogs, mostly under the Brindlekin Tales section. Concluding with:

“So the complainant, the building manager, Ablablah Realty’s attorney et al are NOT my enemies, but bodhisattva spirits who have conjured up this fantastic scenario, that I become the HERO, and gain worldwide recognition as an activist, author and all-around superlative thinker, as a result. They may even see fit to FORCE me into litigation where I could very well appear in court before judge and jury, to achieve this auspicious outcome.

“Ergo, instead of manifesting as a tragedy, it is actually my one great opportunity to really shine…my life’s labor of love culminating in that brief, but benevolently explosive, moment, where I will speak my insightful words to both judge and jury, if it comes to that! This is MY achievement of learning how to turn any negative event into a POSITIVE result for all parties involved.”

And in a respectful bow to Ms. Elvenborn’s possibly nonreligious stance, I append the following sentence:

“I like to call it a gift from the gods, though an atheist COULD call it a gift from a gifted mind.”

“You are indeed a most creative thinker, Mr. Krahlin,” replies my attorney with a heartfelt sigh, “but I have one question, and it regards your dog-bite accuser.”

“Yes, I’ve already deliberated on that days ago,” I counter, “so no need to pose your query, as I already have the answer.”

Ms. Elvensborn tilts herself forward, her arms splayed across the conference table, nose almost pressed against the Plexiglass, to drink in what I say next:

“How could my claimant set me up for a false accusation if he was already in the lobby beFORE the pups ran down the stairs…rather then show up AFTER they were already present, and perform some mock scene to make it APPEAR to the camera as if they bit him?”

I then take another pause to quench my thirst before pressing on:

“As a bodhisattva he has the remarkable ability to peer into the future. Easy peasy then, for him to manifest in the lobby just seconds before the hounds arrive. But I want to add the following observation:

“He did NOT provide any medical proof of seeking a doctor’s treatment for this alleged bite. So obviously, he has no intention of suing me…as the bite, if it occurred at all, was minor, barely a scratch. For once I arrived in the lobby and swept up the pooches, I saw NO evidence of blood, let alone even a mark anywhere on his feet, ankles or calves. Clearly, there will be NO litigation over this incident. And don’t forget:

“You have yet to see the alleged photo of the dog bite, OR that video (which *I* have not seen, either). I SAW the snapshot, but it was far from evident that any injury occurred. And I wonder: was that even HIS foot? After all, the image did NOT reveal the person attached TO it.

“I want to note at this point, that YOU are likely to ALSO be one of my guardians playing out this hyper-clever scenario as precursor to my extraordinary breakthrough soon to occur!”

Having now completed my Bodhisattva Premise regarding the eviction/dog-bite brouhaha, I lean back in my chair with hands stretched palms up to indicate “finis.”

“Mr. Krahlin!” she exclaims with a broad grin that brightens the airy, multi-use enclosure beyond the sunlight’s own contribution. “You DO have quite the imagination, but I assure you, I play NO part of any contrived script!”

“Well,” I chortle amicably, “That’s what you’re SUPPOSED to say, anyway, if indeed you ARE as I suggested. NO ONE ruins a prelude to a surprise party if they want to make the most fun of it.”

“Okay, we can let that stand simply as a tête-à-tête,” she obliges, “but you understand I cannot POSSIBLY use such a remarkable hypothesis in your defense, as it’s hardly down-to-earth.”

I wave my hand dismissively in response:

“No, I never expected you to do so. But I just wanted to acknowledge that, if indeed you ARE one of these bodhisattva guardians: I have figured out the game, and am MOST grateful for the playing OF it. But if you truly are NOT such a one, I want to prepare you for an outcome that I am firmly convinced WILL occur…and very soon. Furthermore:

“Feel free to write me off as a delusional–albeit charming, sweet and intelligent–long term sufferer of borderline schizophrenia who has managed, after many arduous years of struggle, to keep it in check and achieve a very HAPPY life, regardless.”

And with that final statement, I pen my John Hancock to one final document (which I don’t even bother to examine because, you know, this tale is made-up anyway), we wish each other a most excellent rest-of-the-afternoon, and go our own separate ways for the nonce.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: An Imaginary Conversation With My Attorney, Magdalena Elvensborn
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: Calvin Hope
Date: June 16, 2022 at 3:06 PM

On 2022-06-16 14:59, calvin hope wrote:

> Fascinating. Well done. Ms. Elvensborn has her name to recommend her. An elf. Most propitious. Great job on the story, keeping it in the finest traditional mode of the loving warrior. Ms. Elvensborn has her hands full. You have allowed her complete openness to make her moves in the judiciary world that she inhabits. Your words translate on the highest level as well as the practical level of denying the bite. Let’s see what happens next. You have an amusing writing style, conveying the tale well. I hope she recorded or even filmed this interview.

Thank you for such an incredibly supportive and kind critique on my latest episode, Calvin. However, it is a FICTIONAL piece (as the title itself reveals), and my attorney has NOT seen it. The name I use to represent her is a pseudonym BTW: “Magdalena Elvensborn,” suggestive of the idea: “Mary Magdalena, born of elves.” Thus a mash-up of Christian and pagan lore.

I’m sure you are already well informed of Mary Magdalene’s association with Jesus Christ, in both the Canonical and Gnostic Gospels. Wikipedia gives a fairly impressive bio of this woman.

My attorney’s REAL name, BTW, has an impossible-to-pronounce surname, which is: [xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxx]. She hails from the Netherlands, and is the Senior Attorney of Bay Area Legal Aid.

And she IS now familiar with my Bodhisattva Premise, which inspires me to be totally positive wherein my mission is to turn this conflict into a win/win outcome for all parties involved. She also now knows I am an author and LGBT activist with a focus on our homeless populace…around which MANY of my tales revolve.

Thus my fictional conversation with this excellent woman is simply a projection of what I’ve already discussed with her, though embellished just for the fun of it.

May the rest of your day be EXCELLENT, for both you and your feline amigos!

– Zeke

Re: An Imaginary Conversation With My Attorney, Magdalena Elvensborn
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: Calvin Hope
Date: June 16, 2022 at 7:33 PM

On 2022-06-16 18:18, calvin hope wrote:

> I knew that because you told me but thought the riff itself worth exploring as fact. Good job. So, your attorney is the daughter of Vikings. That may work as well as elves in this present dispensation.

I’m sure it will. This is my destiny…and at this late point in my life, only the BEST will protect, guide and promote me the rest of the way. Which “way” is eternal.

> Years ago, when I was peripherally involved in some other person’s high crimes and misdemeanors, I heard, “The attorney you want is a foul-mouthed Italian who eats garlic for breakfast, swears uncontrollably, never bathes, has b o, and farts often.” I asked why. “He’ll get what he wants because everyone wants to get him out of the room.” I know I know but still, it makes me laugh.

Truly hilarious, thanks for the guffaws.

> I used to think that the civil justice system was better than the criminal justice system until I was in my first deposition, in the Mills Building of all top line places, and I’d assumed gentlemen’s rules. Wrong. At break, I fired my attorney who had cost me $1900 because she knew the ropes but hadn’t protected me at all. It’s street fighting all the way, because the judge isn’t in the room. Anything can go on.

Egads, what a story! I look forward to when your OWN books get published, I’m sure they’ll be overnight bestsellers.

– Zeke

Re: An Imaginary Conversation With My Attorney, Magdalena Elvensborn
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: Calvin Hope
Date: June 16, 2022 at 8:53 PM

On 2022-06-16 17:43, calvin hope wrote:

> Mary Magdalene remains one of the real mysteries of the New Testament.

Quite true.

> Btw, do you know what the “New” Testament is, exactly, in a nutshell? It’s Jesus saying love all people, turn the other cheek and no more vengeance.


> I have a long way to go on that, especially the turn the other cheek part. There is a very deep part of me that just loves a good fight, can’t wait to take an ‘enemy’ down. That’s why it’s so helpful to me to read your take on this, no enemies only teachers, as it is for me to read the New Testament and put it firmly into my thinking.

I’m sure you’re more salvageable than you think, Calvin.

> I don’t front my Christianity because I am still just a work in progress in that and I see how reactive I can become, still finding “enemies” and enjoying taking them down. Of course, it doesn’t work. Never has, never will but there’s this thing inside that rages up.

There ARE no enemies, so you’re tilting at windmills, anyway. In short: you do not SLAY the dragon, you win its heart. And achieving THAT high level is not without going through grueling tests, and a long and winding path.

> It’s really tricky evaluating oneself in the absence of a community or commonly accepted criteria.

Yes, it truly is!

> Anyway, excuse my babbling on. Thank you for helping get the 3 Marys in focus.

You’re more than welcome, Calvin…glad I could help. Though I’m of the impression you are FAR more educated on early Christianity than yours truly! I just have a grasp at drilling into something specific, even in books I’ve never read. Like some people who have that magic touch of finding a needle in a haystack, when no one else can.

> Most of the people calling themselves Christian in America today are so far from that. I know that, you know that. They are professional haters and using Jesus as cover will cost them heavily in the long run. They put His name to an open shame.

Exactly, and Jesus WARNED us of those types in Matthew 7:21-23. IOW he essentially said the majority of Christian churches would become corrupt, in a future time…when he returns.

> All my liberal and progressive friends who scorn Christians have only seen those types.

Quite understandable.

> The little Pentecostal Church I got changed in was 90% black people 9% Latino and two white persons, my brother and me. It was the real deal. It’s long gone and I’ve never found another, though I’ve looked for years. White people don’t get it, they have it too good in their lives to give it all up to Jesus.
Anyway, excuse me babbling on.

I’ve looked for years, myself, but no cigar. I once hoped the progressive churches that welcome gays would be the answer, but no… they’re affluent snobs who are glad to be charitable to the poor and homeless, but really don’t accept them as participating members.

– Zeke

Subject: So where is your holocaust, Zeke?
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: MCN announce, MCN discussion
Date: June 17, 2022 at 10:44 AM

Some on the MCN discussion list have mocked and challenged me, regarding my prediction of an anti-LGBT pogrom here in these dis-United States. Two, to be exact.

One, Arron Cooper (a.k.a. “Mr. Pooper”), claimed last year that I am an unnecessary alarmist because such a horrific outcome is highly unlikely in a nation where same-sex marriage is legal in all 50 states. This is the same person who also claims that racism is no longer an issue, since we’ve had a black president.

The other person, Jared Fisher (a.k.a. “Mr. Filcher”), declared around two years ago “So where is your holocaust?” after I posted my prediction of just that.

FYI, my prescient foresight was born of a vision way back in 1996 after then-president Bill Clinton signed DOMA (Defense of Marriage Act) on top of DADT (Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell) in 1993. If you’re not already familiar with these two disgusting decrees, just look ’em up on Wikipedia.

I was SHOCKED to see a DEMOCRATIC president pass not one, but TWO, anti-LGBT laws that would surely trigger a NEW rise in homophobic attacks by the Republican Party and its Christo-Fascist members. And that is EXACTLY what’s happening NOW, though my vision caused me to believe this bloody attack on sexual minorities would occur years SOONER than 2022. FYI:

Bill Clinton is the ONLY president in this nation’s history to embed a clearly HOSTILE policy against sexual minorities into federal law. And he’s a Democrat, not a Republican. I am not saying that the GOP is friendlier to queers (they aren’t), but Clinton’s signing these two bills opened the floodgates for right-wing goons to move full steam ahead towards what would eventually build up into Holocaust v. 2.0…only this time targeting LGBTs, rather than Jews.

Though I must note here that Germany’s Nazi movement also attacked homosexuals/transgenders/etc. FIRST before they did Jewish people…starting with the burning of books about alternative sexuality, just as is now occurring here. And it is to their shame that many Jewish people participated in this rabid insanity. (And even when shuffled off to concentration camps, Jewish prisoners continued to persecute their own LGBTs who were also rounded up.)

Though since queers remained perceived as subhuman perverts in western societies well beyond the end of WWII, this truth (that Nazis persecuted LGBTs first) was long BURIED in history until some time in the 1970s.

In fact, I would say that Germany’s Nazi empire resurrected a witch hunt against queers that had been dormant for centuries…and now continues to this very day, and has resulted in yet another round of persecution against them, this time in these dis-United States. IOW:

While the allied forces freed the survivors of concentration camps, those who wore the pink triangle were transported to prisons in their own home countries, including those in Germany. Thus, THE HOLOCAUST AGAINST QUEERS HAS NEVER ENDED, albeit only in part, with the recent exception of some western nations…though homophobia remains a horrific issue in those same countries, among the Christianized and Muslim populace.

As a result of Clinton’s signing of DADT and DOMA, I grew greatly disturbed, and wound up having the following vision some weeks later:

I saw an anti-queer pogrom spread across our nation, resulting in mass migrations of LGBTs and their allies, to California and Quebec. Shortly followed by secession of the northern part of the Golden Bear State (from a lattitude parallel with the southernmost point of Santa Cruz County all the way up to CA’s border with Oregon), by urgent necessity. And then the collapse of America into seven or more NEW dominions.

California would become the world’s first LGBT nation (as Israel is for Jewish people), and be renamed “Athenia,” with San Francisco the capitol.

I therefore regard this holocaust soon to explode, as the LGBT family’s passage of fire before we blossom into a revolutionary NEW movement that shall be VICTORIOUS and WORLDWIDE.

– Ezekiel J. Krahlin

Re: So where is your holocaust, Zeke?
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: MCN announce, MCN discussion
Date: June 17, 2022 at 10:44 AM

On 2022-06-17 10:35, Jared BOOGALOO CREEP Fisher squoinked:

> On Jun 17, 2022, at 10:44 AM, Pathetic List Liar wrote:
>> declared around two years ago “So where is your holocaust?” after I posted my prediction of just that.

> Bullshit. Do you even know when you’re lying? Post that message proving it or admit you’re lying. We’ll wait while you make excuses or go silent.

Gee, SOMEone’s having a hissy fit right now! What would be the point of offering “proof” by reposting your childish rebuke? ANYone could fabricate it, including date and time stamps and message ID. Unfortunately, the only SOUND evidence would be a link to MCN’s mailing list archives…but since they don’t KEEP any archives, that is NOT in the realm of possibility. But here ya go anyway, pal, though of course you’ll accuse me of fabricating it out of thin air:


Re: Holocaust v. 2.0
From: Zeke Krahlin MCN
To: MCN discuss
Date: Thu, 3 Jan 2020 16:07:13 -0800

On Jan 2, 2020, at 12:06 PM, Jared FASCIST OLD FART Fisher squoinked:

> Our list's token scatological expert made a factually ungrounded loony "prophecy" years and years ago, 1996. So where is your holocaust now, Gay Jesus? Never happened.

Yes, Mr. Filcher, I predicted an anti-gay holocaust soon to arrive on our shores, way back in 1996...though I thought it would occur much sooner, say, before the year 2000. However, it looks pretty damn inevitable to me these days, what with all these ever increasing witch hunts against transgender folks, that anti-LGBT bigotry will take off like a rocket within the next several years, and morph into a bona fide pogrom. Furthermore:

I prefer the name I use for my standup comedy skits: "Jehovah's Queer Witness," as the title "Gay Jesus" has been long worn out by those tricksters who've preceded me. Not to mention that scatological humor is common among raunchy-style comedians, whom I occasionally enjoy imitating.

The /real/ Zeke Krahlin


Re: So where is your original?
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: MCN announce, MCN discussion
Date: June 17, 2022 at 1:13 PM

On Fri, 17 Jun 2022 12:35:53 -0700 Jared RIGHT-WING SCUMBAG Fisher squoinked:

> That’s a fabrication and you know it.

See what I mean? Just as I predicted, you’d claim that post is false. Ho-hum.

> I’ve never used that term – ever! Post the original with header information included.

And just what term is THAT, Mr. Filthy McFilcher? It would help if you actually quoted it, or something. Then I can more readily slap you back down on your silly, hypocritical ass.

> You won’t and we all know it unless you fabricate another lie.

Your blatant attempt to weasel your way out of this will NOT gain you friends and admirers, I assure you, Poopie Baby.

P.S.: That IS the original post to your reply. And if I copied the entire THREAD, which is scattered across several list digest files, you’d STILL accuse me of faking it…so what’s the point, you silly goose? Honk-honk and woo-hoo!

P.P.S: I’m WAY too busy to get embroiled in your tar baby antics, what with signing contracts, agreements and documents, visiting my attorney several times a week, and getting my copious collection of pro-LGBT tales out there for publication, via various LGBT organizations ACROSS THE GLOBE…98 percent of which profits go to THEM, and a scant 2 percent for yours truly. Whew, I’m totally pooped! (Oops, sorry there Mr. Filcher, for yet ONE MORE scatological comment…not to mention your own “bullshit” remark in your previous message.)

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