Fucking Meth Heads

[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 6: Chapter 26]

Subject: Just more white trash BS!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: December 12, 2022 at 6:47 PM

Again, Deek threatened me with violence by saying he’ll have so-and-so beat me up…who was sitting just three feet away on the sidewalk and high on meth because I saw them share a bubble pipe earlier. And, as expected, he also threatened I’ll never see him or the dogs again. All because the pocket radio I returned to him (after recharging it) had a broken micro SD card that got stuck in the slot. Now, it wasn’t broken when I handed it to him, and it’s impossible to easily break the chip; only a serious knock-up could do that. Such as setting it precariously atop a mound of items in his cart, whereby it slides off and crashes onto the concrete. Which is exactly what I think happened, but he decided to blame me. He had it for almost two hours before he waved it in my face and claimed I fucked it up.

“You probably sat on it,” was his ridiculous accusation.

“No I didn’t, I’m always careful with your electronics. More likely you dropped it and decided to lay a guilt trip on me,” I retorted.

“Why would I do that? Why would I make up such a story?” he scowled.

“Because you have a wicked streak in you,” was my blunt reply. I almost added that maybe he intentionally broke the chip to set me up, but I kept that thought to myself.

I then went upstairs to pull the half-chip out with a tweezers, and insert a new one in with all his music on it. Deek tried to play the radio off the chip, but no dice; the slot must’ve been damaged as well. Everything else works fine on that radio, just not the chip. Well, at least he SAID it doesn’t work but he didn’t give me a chance to check it out myself…so I remain dubious.

It also has a USB port so I decided to copy his rap songs onto a flash drive so he could use that. But I never got that far, since he continued to rail against me, so I told him this just cost him Thursday’s allowance:

“I warned you, Deek, every time you threaten me with violence I’ll dock you $50. So no money till Sunday.”

“I don’t care, I don’t care!” he hollered.

“Well I sure do,” I replied. He also called me a faggot and other stupid things, as well as claimed he didn’t threaten violence. He then started screaming “Get outta my face! Get outta my face!”

I didn’t, but just stood there and said: “Wow, Deek, so you’re a scammer and a homophobic, white trash punk. Tell me something I don’t already know!”

Right at that point, the so-and-so sitting nearby piped up: “You SHOULD get out of his face.”

He’s an elderly black fellow, tall and emaciated; been around the Castro for well over twenty years. Totally placid and not too bright…I’ve seen Deek yell at him for no good reason once, maybe six years ago (I was across the street). His name is Derrick. I first met him when he was friends with an alcoholic vagrant whose brother was a graphic comic artist on the east coast. You might remember that chapter in my life, and how he died in Davies Hospital, where the brother asked me via email to visit him there before he kicks the bucket, and I refused.

“Please stay out of this, Derrick,” I said while pointing at him where he still sat. “You have NO idea what’s going on!” Of course he didn’t, but obviously his addiction inspires him to side with his “provider” no matter what. “DON’T feed his temper tantrums,” I finished.

Deek sorta grinned at that and, with bowed head, gestured to Derrick, “He’s alright, he’s alright.”

Of course I’m alright, Wattson, but his unexpectedly calm reaction in my defense suggests this is just another scripted scene to test my mettle! And I sure hope that’s the case, and nothing truly serious.

Fed up with his white trash bullshit I declared, “I’m bringing your stuff down now!” Upon returning and handing him his devices, I crouched down to pat the doggies, who were clearly concerned about me, what with that attentive look in their golden dachshund eyes.

“Don’t touch my dogs!” Deek proclaimed. “Don’t EVER touch my dogs again!”

I ignored that order and continued to caress them with kind words for a little while longer, then stood up and told him “I’m just making sure they know they’re loved, because you’re doing a lousy job of it. You used to take better care of them, kept them in sweaters and fluffy blankets. Now you don’t do any of that.”

Earlier in our meetup today I brought down a dense sheet of cardboard for the pups to rest on, along with a large thin blanket that Deek left behind a few days ago, since he refused to lay anything down for them in spite of the ample contents of his cart.

Upon returning upstairs while Deek was bagging around three pounds of shake he collected the night prior and had spread over a large sheet of cardboard right there by the bus stop, I decided to also return his damp, stinky load of OTHER shake that I had stashed for him in a large open box, so it would cure over several days. I dumped it in a trash bag, sealed it with a double knot, stepped back outside and dropped it by his feet.

“What’s this?” he inquired.

“It’s the shake you asked me to hold onto,” I replied.

“That’s how you stored it, in a trash bag?” he queried. “I don’t appreciate that.”

“No, I had it spread out over two large plastic box covers that I used for trays and set them near the window for sunlight,” I calmly explained. “I’m returning it because I don’t appreciate your threats and false accusations. And if you don’t leave really soon I’ll call the cops.”

Interesting that he didn’t argue with me this time around when I returned the soggy ganja. And he DID move along a few minutes later. I also want to note that when I said he screamed and hollered, it was nowhere near the top of his lungs or as ridiculously dramatic like past hissy fits of three and more months ago. I’ve noticed his more recent tantrums have been relatively subdued by comparison. Surely an improvement, and possibly a scripted plot anyway. BUT:

I don’t like this white-trash aspect of his personality since those are the kind of people I choose to stay far away from…but I guess you can’t avoid it when it comes to homeless outreach. Now for a hopeful part of my latest Deek update:

Before all this horse hockey came down and when Deek had first shown up today, I heard the pups bark and looked out the window. They walked right below my window without stopping, and continued on to the corner where they finally parked. Deek looked up towards me and gestured with a wave of his hand to not come out. I nodded “okay” and pulled my head back inside, because I remembered he said he’s to meet his shelter advocates this morning, right at that spot.

But after twenty minutes or so he called me down to hand me his devices for a recharge. He told me that tiny-house offer was no longer available, it may take two or three months more to get him indoors. I told him I’m sorry to hear that, and just when I did, those two advocates showed up in orange vests and a badge to identify their outreach group.

I stood by quietly while they talked to him, a black man and woman. The chap gave me a radiant smile, exposing his lack of teeth which I could easily appreciate. I grinned back with a knowing look. They were kind folks, told him to hang in there, “We’ll get you a place soon enough!” And then walked up Market Street to continue their rounds.

So THAT’S great to see, Wattson: that Deek really IS working on getting a roof over his head, it’s not just fake talk! Though I’m sad to realize the brindlekin will have to live through an entire cold rainy season before they have a real home.

Not making any excuses for his nasty behavior later today, but I suspect his temper tantrum has something to do with this disappointing outcome re. the tiny house. BUT:

What, me worry? No way am I gonna let ANY of his trickster antics wear me down or ruin my day. Nor will I twist myself into an angst-ridden pretzel over the pups’ remaining outdoors for awhile longer. I am being tested.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: Just more white trash BS!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: December 12, 2022 at 7:54 PM

> Oh, so exasperating and exhausting. Fucking meth-heads; that shit brings out the WORST in people who are already fucked up.

I’m not so sure about that, but we’ve discussed the pros and cons before. Deek comes from a rough background.

> The meet-up with the outreach people was a real grace note. Very civilized, the way they come to the street to meet the street people they are trying to help, instead of requiring them to come into a fluorescently-lit office.

Though a brief visit, I was impressed.

> So it seems they will allow him to have the dogs, nyet? That seems too good to be true, but I pray that it is.

Yes, if a homeless person has a pet or two, they’ll allow for that.

> How you hold up under the torrent of abuse, ingratitude, threats and insults he heaps on you is a real wonder to me.

The troubled people outreach workers deal with day in, day out–not to mention your own trials caring for your mother in her last years–make MY situation come off like a walk in the park on a sunny spring day! Besides which, Flaco & Lucky’s boundless compassion inspires me like you wouldn’t believe. I can’t afford to wallow in hurt, it does no good for anyone.

Thanks to the wisdom of My Bodhisattva Premise, I know now that one can turn any crisis into a win/win outcome for all parties involved. Ya just gotta sail through whatever rough seas come your way. The sunlight SHALL break through once all challenges have been met, all lessons learned. Schmaltzy but true. Hero’s journey and all that rot.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: Awesome Meetup!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: December 14, 2022 at 11:21 PM

But before I get to today’s report, let’s go back to the last time Deek dropped by two days ago when he threatened and screamed at me. Three more annoying incidents I didn’t mention, just for the record:

1. Deek had given me a gift card he found that can be used at certain department stores, claimed it had a value of $51, so handed it to me and said visit the card’s website and input its number to verify. The instructions on the back were too tiny to read, so I just took it and said okay. Later on I snapped a pic of both sides, then read everything in enlarged format on my screen. It didn’t even have a website to go to, and the required name on the front had been scraped off…thus the card was no good. See for yourself.

So I held onto it and the first thing he said to me this morning after calling up to the window, was: “Did you check that card?”

“Yes, but it’s no good, Deek,” I called back.

“What? No, it’s gotta be good!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t you go to the website?”

Not pleased with him starting an argument by hollering up to my window, I said I’ll be right down and show him. Upon handing it over he said while feigning to read off the card:

“To check your current amount, visit our website!” then attempted to hand it back and said, “See it’s right there!”

“No it doesn’t say anything like that, Deek,” I answered, knowing he made that up on the fly. “Besides, the customer name has been rubbed off, and without that it’s no good. But even if it wasn’t you’d need some picture ID that matches the name, anyway.”

He then squinted down at the card and actually read the instructions out loud, to discover there WAS no website mentioned. Of course he didn’t apologize but tossed it and moved on to something else, which was breaking open another bag of damp shake and spreading it over a large sheet of cardboard by his cart and the doggies.

Though I was impressed with his reading skills: he read every single word correctly! So he’s a better reader than he lead me to believe, the little skunk. As for the card’s $51 value I have NO idea how he came up with that!

2. Awhile later, after my serving the dogs food and water, Deek asked: “So why did you tell me the other day that housing is a human right? No one just gets free housing in Louisiana, everyone there works.”

“That’s not true,” I replied. “That state’s one of the worst, like all the southern states. So many people are without jobs OR housing, and it’s not their fault. Free housing for the poor gives them a leg up. It’s unspeakably cruel to expect anyone who’s homeless to hold down a job! Folks in your state are in a bad way.”

“Nah, nah, that’s crazy,” he retorted like he just sucked a lemon. “The government’s not gonna give everyone free housing so they can hang out in their homes and not look for work.”

“Most people want to work anyway, Deek,” I explained with a twinge of exasperation. “It’s in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution that all citizens have a right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Better wages would certainly motivate them.”

I was about to elaborate upon that, what it means in day-to-day terms, such as the right to universal health care, a good education, decent housing for everyone including the poorest, etc….but he cut me off and continued this ridiculous tirade about how free houses don’t even make sense.

Seeing that he wasn’t interested in what I had to say, but just wanted to gripe, I threw up my hands and exclaimed:

“Never mind, you know everything, you’re the last word! Stay ignorant, see if I care!”

“I’m not ignorant,” he mumbled while picking seeds and twigs from the shake as he sat there, Indian style.

“Oh yes you are,” I replied. “But you always cut me off whenever I try to answer a reasonable question, so I give up. You’re the lousiest listener I’ve ever met! You talk and think like someone who dropped out of school after the sixth grade.”

So I returned to my hovel in resigned frustration, but thought about his superb reading of the fine print on that card. Concluding he’s a lot smarter than he lets on, but loves to get under my skin for the fun of it. Ergo, he AGREES that housing is a basic human right, or IOW as my bodhisattva guardian he gave me yet another clue, that all is not what it seems…in this case, about HIM.

3. He said Boulevard Joe is now living indoors, but sharing a room with two others. Joe told him his things got stolen, then Deek told ME that’s the usual arrangement for emergency housing: two, three or four to a unit. “Not always, Deek,” I replied, “Arrangements vary across the city, and those tiny homes are for just one person each.” I knew Deek was conjuring up excuses not to move ahead with getting off the streets, so started painting a totally negative picture. But at least I now know why I haven’t seen Joe in the past few weeks. Or anyone else from his crowd. But this conversation was before those two shelter advocates showed up for a brief, friendly talk with him.

Oops, I almost forgot to mention the Cracker Jack toy in that meetup two days ago, Wattson:

When I first stepped out to greet the pups and their master, Lucky instantly flopped on his back and started wriggling to and fro in sheer joy for my presence. Flaco quickly followed suit: they were in perfect sync, like a pair of Rockettes…adorable! Of course I crouched down and snuggled my face between theirs while scritching both bellies. Now, as I’ve mentioned before, it’s rarely Flaco’s habit to squirm on her back; that’s her brother’s shtick. So I’ve only seen her do it twice before in all their years together. Obviously, she sees the attention Lucky gets from me when he does that, so competes for my love! In fact, I’ve never seen her do that spontaneously, but only after Lucky starts in. They charm me to pieces. Artemis willing, they will all three soon have a comfy sanctuary of their own. Warm and safe and happy. Now, speed forward to today:

He had another speaker, this time shaped like an over-sized breadbox, though black in color all around. But what was so delightful about it was a large sticker on one side depicting Rick & Morty as homies hangin’ out together, one arm around the other. Wish I had taken a snapshot to show you, but maybe I’ll have another chance. I don’t think he even KNOWS who Rick & Morty are, as he never watches TV, nor has had a real home for decades in which he could!

I was impressed by Deek’s humble demeanor when he asked: “Can I get some money today?” So I replied, “Well, if you insist.” Had he resumed his diatribe about my “breaking” his pocket radio, or brought up any OTHER false accusation, my response would have been QUITE different, and he’d’ve had to do without his next payment, in whole or in part. IOW he’d never see it again. His approach was better than an apology, and I’m sure he respects my not rubbing Monday’s nasty behavior in his face…in fact I didn’t bring it up at all, as if it never happened. I think my returning his muggy weed I had been curing for him, as well as his electronics sooner than scheduled that day, were adequate reprimand.

As he settled down with his shake on the cardboard, I saw that the pups were left to rest on the concrete. Not a single thought for their comfort, these little darlin’s who deserve every kindness in the world! He had THREE shopping carts this time, one half-filled with empty bottles and crushed cans. Another cart stuffed with clothing had a large, thin bedspread partly hanging over one corner…the one he had left behind a week ago and which I took hovel for another time the mutts needed it, which was two days back. Time to use it again, I thought, so I walked over to it and asked him:

“Can I lay this down for the dogs?”

He didn’t look up but continued to sort through the shake, muttering what I thought was “Okay, go ahead,” though I couldn’t be sure because the traffic flow caused a rumbling din. However, his body language that included a blasé shrug of the shoulders struck me as a yes. Lucky was already curled up on the bottom shelf of that same shopping cart: cold, hard plastic. While Flaco was sitting up on the sidewalk beside her master. But at least the pups had new sweaters on, which were delivered by Amazon only last night.

The bedspread was a light brown and, though thin, once rumpled up into a pile was sufficiently cushy. I placed over half of it on that lower shelf, which delighted Lucky no end and he soon dozed off. I allowed the remainder to flow down onto the concrete, in case his sister wanted to rest on a piece of it, too. She did not, so I went to the basement of my building and procured a flattened cardboard box for her to lay down on. Later on Deek had tossed a thick swath of cloth for Flaco, atop her cardboard pallet. Gee, how gracious of him! So much plush material in one cart, yet barely a scrap for them!

But our meetup was peaceful, no drama except towards the end when he was preparing to depart. He yanked the bedspread unceremoniously from beneath Lucky, who jumped off out of necessity, and griped at me:

“I told you not to give him this, but you paw through my cart and do it anyway!”

“Well, I asked you and thought you said okay,” I replied. “But you mumble your words sometimes, and the traffic din doesn’t help either.”

I then noticed Lucky attempting to finish off what little food remained in one dish. But the kibble was stuck together and all he could do was push the bowl around. So I crouched down and used my fingers to break it up.

“What are you feeding him NOW?” Deek grouched.

“Nothing,” I replied. “The food was stuck together so I just loosened it for him.”

As I held the bowl in place so Lucky wouldn’t have to follow it around, Deek then blurted:

“If you’re such a great activist, how come nobody knows you?”

“Most activists do their work in the background,” I replied. “Only a few get well known, Deek. Besides, it’s for my own protection.”

“Protection?” he squawked. “Protection from WHAT?”

“The City protects me by keeping me under wraps,” I explained. “If I got well known before my time, I’d’ve been shot years ago. I like to say I’m San Francisco’s best kept secret…so best kept in fact, I didn’t even know it myself until quite recently!”

He mulled that over with a grumbling undercurrent, then decided to bring up Michael Savage (king of hate talk radio) again, because he knows that upsets me:

“Michael Savage is an activist and everyone knows HIM. All my friends like him, except you.”

“Doesn’t sound to me like any friends I’D care to know,” I quipped. “Savage lives up to his surname because he’s downright wicked.”

“He’s what?” Deek queried as if he couldn’t hear.

“Wicked,” I answered back.

“What?” he pressed again.

“He’s fuckin’ EVIL,” I replied, figuring he might not know what “wicked” means. Either that, or Deek’s just trying to needle me further. At any rate he dropped the subject and asked for a razor and a black marker, so I returned hovel to procure them.

I also decided to bring down one of the two sleeping bags I ordered from Amazon almost three weeks ago. They were still tightly rolled up in their original, clear plastic wrap.

“What’s that?” he said as I handed him the razor and marker.

“A sleeping bag to keep the dogs warm at night,” I replied. “But it looks like you have plenty of stuff to keep them warm, so maybe I’ll hold onto it for another time.”

“No, I could use it,” he replied, so I tossed it into one of his carts.

I pet and hugged the mutts again, then stood up and said: “Anything else to complain about before I step inside? In which case I’ll just stand here and listen.”

He immediately went off on a tirade how he’s gonna sue the fuck outta me for writing about him and the dogs…he’s got a lawyer now because of another lawsuit for when he got run over and it broke his leg, and he’s gonna collect a million dollars soon.

“You never got run over, Deek, or broke your leg,” I retorted. “That’s just another one of your scams. I was there, you didn’t even suffer a scratch. In fact you were PISSED at me for calling 911.”

Well, that just got his dander up further and he warned me again, with impressive pomposity: “I’m gonna sue the fuck outta you, Zeke, just wait and see!”

“Fine with me,” I said with a shrug.

“You think that’s funny? You’ll die on the streets bawlin’ your eyes out!” he added for dramatic effect.

“Whatever,” I replied. “I’m goin’ home now. God bless your little family, and happy trails.”

I then turned away and proceeded towards the front gate. Don’t know what else he was gibbering on about since I ignored him, but just before I entered the building I called out once more: “God bless you!”

Well I asked for it this time, didn’t I, good physician…and he gave it to me in spades! A pretty damned good meetup all in all.

And there was Flaco gazing at me from a distance, radiating so much love in my direction! Yet she didn’t make a single stir to run up to me, as she knows there’s a good reason I can’t bring the pups over. So she just sat there all noble with chest puffed out and brimming with pride, regardless. What good little soldiers those proxy-doxies truly are!

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: 8 Reasons to Stop the War
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: MCN announcement, MCN discussion
Date: December 14, 2022 at 4:49 PM

On Wed, 14 Dec 2022 02:12:05 -0800 Jaded Ernie posted:

> Calling for a Christmas truce

I’m sure Moscow will be very touched by watching this video, and will call for an immediate ceasefire over the Christmas season and through New Year’s Day. If it’s one thing Vladimir Putin has a soft spot for, it’s Youtube videos in the name of peace. Though if you REALLY wanna end this horrid war for good, post an email to Putin with a link to my Brindlekin Tales channel. In fact, my tales will end ALL wars once they flutter across the globe like cyber-doves and a tsunami of donations floods my Paypal account.

– Zeke Krahlin

Re: The Christmas Fairy (a poem)
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: MCN announcement, MCN discussion
Date: December 14, 2022 at 5:13 PM

On Wed, 14 Dec 2022 12:16:12 -0800 (PST) Ron Sack-o-pits posted:

> Oh simple thing! Where have you gone? Why have you disappeared?

The Exmass Tree Fairy tested positive for Covid two days ago, and will be living in isolation in an undisclosed Motel 6 room for two or three more weeks. She apologizes to all her fans who paid Ticketmaster to see her onstage this weekend in Placerville, and promises to refund all purchasers.

She also regrets her anti-vax/anti-mask position that has led to this health crisis. Her cousin the Tooth Fairy contracted the virus from her and has recently passed as a sad result…so no more putting your tooth under a pillow, okay kids? Just stick it into a Ziploc baggy and toss it into the trash to avoid any spread of harmful bacteria, like any sane person would do.

Meanwhile, in her stead her good frenemy Rumplestiltskin will stand in for the Exmass Tree Fairy through the Ghoultide Season. Unfortunately he deplores children and is known to eat them if no other food is close by when he’s hungry, but he was the only one available at such short notice. Oh, I almost forgot: he hates cookies and is lactose intolerant, so forget about leaving them out by the Exmass tree or he will stomp all over your presents.

– Zeke Krahlin

Re: Awesome Meetup!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: December 15, 2022 at 10:40 PM

> He’s gonna sue the fuck out of you. What a blast of hot, fetid, empty air.

Well he didn’t break out into a tirade until I ASKED him if he has anything else to complain about. I don’t think he was serious in the least.

> He sure can turn on a dime, can’t he? Pleasant and reasonable one minute, vicious and nasty the next.

I’m under the impression that’s the kind of people he grew up with, both family and community wise. Typical ghetto life.

> Tell me more about Michael Savage. Sure, I could look him up, but I’d rather hear it from you!

I already told you about him, but that was many years ago when Deek first brought him up to harangue me. Savage is almost solely responsible for turning San Francisco into the hate talk capitol of the country for almost four years. This was back in the mid-nineties…when KSFO switched to hate talk radio format, as Clear Channel and Cumulus began gobbling up independent stations across the continent and turning them into right-wing propaganda mills. When Trump was president, he gave him a position on the Presidio Trust Board of Directors. See this article.

He is one of the hate talk radio pioneers, like Rush Limbaugh and, to the Bay Area’s misfortune, resides in Tiburon. His radio show out of SF poisoned many of the homeless against liberals and LGBTs…you could hear them parroting his hatred as they acted out on the streets. Of course, his show also poisoned the minds of many low-income, poorly educated residents as well.

Savage constantly vilified gays, the homeless, the poor, you name it. And he’s STILL very popular. He may be Jewish, but he’s a Nazi through and through. Here is an 11-year-old 7 minute video about Savage by The Young Turks.

And this from Wikipedia:

“According to the Southern Poverty Law Center, Savage subscribes to the white genocide conspiracy theory, a white nationalist belief, which claims that white people are becoming extinct through forced assimilation or violent genocide. Savage blames Barack Obama and the Democratic Party for promoting the concept within the United States. He has claimed there is a cultural genocide being promulgated against Caucasians.”

In short, he’s a raving lunatic like the rest of these hate talk idiots.

> Housing is definitely a basic human right, along with a guaranteed income and healthcare. And this country is rich enough to provide for every single citizen. Nobody should be cold, hungry, homeless. Imagine the Eden this earth could be…

You’re preaching to the choir here. I wish I had a strong-arm to force Deek to sit down, shut up and listen to me.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: Awesome Meetup!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: December 16, 2022 at 1:56 PM

> Ah, yes. I remember now. The cruel irony of recruiting homeless people to the right-wing “cause” is truly mindblowing…savage, in fact.

I even lost a good friend who is houseless thanks to Savage’s bigoted rants. That was Johnnie, who, after his father suddenly passed away, began showering me with hatred, using many verbatim quotes from Savage’s radio show, including the term “psychobabbling lefty.” From the Michael Savage Show (which he calls “The Savage Nation”):

Why the Left is Provoking a Civil War (episode #476)

Can you believe that Apple, Inc. includes him in their podcast library?

This media feeding of right-wing propaganda to the homeless, the poor, the unemployed and the stupid and poorly educated is right outta the Nazi playbook. Which is how the brown shirts came into being: Hitler offering the desperate citizens employment to do his dirty work. All we need is a similar strategy by the right wing to accomplish the same horrific outcome. I’m sure they have every intention of doing just that.

I predicted an anti-LGBT pogrom as a result of Prez Clinton’s DOMA and DADT policies, ’cause it emboldened the hateful right to attack queers with ferocity…so now we’re very close to my prediction. It is therefore quite obvious at this point, that sexual minorities will soon be persecuted as national policy. Most folks don’t know that all (or at least most of) the books burnt by Nazi Germany were from libraries of the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft (the Institute of Sexology) of which homosexuality was a major topic…in a positive light, I should add.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: Jebus Freak Psychopaths Invade the Castro (17 sec. video)
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: MCN announcement, MCN discussion
Date: December 18, 2022 at 3:29 PM

This hasn’t happened in years; no doubt they feel emboldened by right-wing christo-fascist terrorism sweeping this sorry nation. I hate to say it, but I doubt it’s gonna stop here, not by a long shot. In fact, San Francisco is likely to become the main, and first, target of homophobic troglodyte attacks, violence and smashing of windows, especially gay bars. Fasten your seat belt, it’s gonna be a bumpy pogrom! Such is the price we pay for allowing free speech to include excessive and vitriolic bigotry that OBVIOUSLY foments violence and persecution. And for allowing the Christian churches to play a major role in shaping our laws. Separation of church and state, my ass! It’s NEVER been that way, it’s a ruse.

Click here for a larger view.

Subject: 4 New Doggy Jackets!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: December 18, 2022 at 10:53 PM

Towards the end of this morning’s meetup he told me “Hold on, I have four jackets to give you!” I thought he meant he held onto the jackets I recently gave him in the past two weeks, but assumed he “lost” them as he usually does. So my first reaction was to be impressed that he managed to keep them, and now I could wash them for later use. But no:

They were all NEW jackets he said were donated by a pup-friendly group called “The Woof Pack,” but I can’t find them on the web. Though I found an organization called “Bay Woof,” however I don’t think they’re the same outfit that donated the jackets. It’s an impressive site nonetheless, so I bookmarked it:

Check out the pic and you’ll see all four jackets, with the leftmost one spotted with shake debris. So I’ll have to wash that one since impossible to brush off. Anyway, I told him they sound like nice people, and this will save me money. You’d think he’d bother to hold onto the doggy attire I give him, but alas he seems to enjoy wasting my money. Thanks to his carelessness (or whatever it is: jealousy of how much the pooches love me…resentment that I can’t provide them sanctuary anymore?) I gave him three sweaters and two jackets in just two-weeks’ passage from late November into December!

The rainy season is ALWAYS more expensive for me, because Deek is mostly irresponsible for any number of reasons, including allowing the contents of his cart to get soaking wet rather than protect them with a cover (such as two large, plastic trash bags, of which I always keep a supply). Though I must admit: he HAS been keeping his carts dry of late, so that’s a hopeful sign.

On another good note: he’s taking better care of the hounds, providing them warmth with a supply of comfy material…and keeping their sweaters and jackets on for a change. Last night he was with some young woman who is nicely dressed, friendly, and loves the pups, who seem to love her back. Flaco was sitting in her lap when I stepped out to return Deek’s electronics. I believe she is homeless, but may have places to stay with friends, shelters, whatever. Deek seems comfortable and happy in her presence, so I hope this may lead to a friendship where she will encourage him to take better care of the doggies.

He did throw a minor hissy fit this morning, over yet another speaker I was charging for him. The details of his tantrum are irrelevant; suffice it to say it barely lasted a minute and he was otherwise thoughtful and polite to me during both last night and today’s get-together. He even offered me a thick sheath of papers he found on his walks. “They’re legal documents, I thought you might like to read them!” he explained.

“Oh thanks, thoughtful of you,” I replied. “But I’m gonna turn it down as I already read tons of printed material on the Internet.”

I now regret not accepting them, because I later realized he was gifting me with something, and it would’ve been better to graciously receive them, no matter I’d toss it out shortly thereafter, once he departed. Anyway:

Marshall finally got back to reading my tales, and next Friday I have an Exmass story lined up for him, called “A Real Christmas Story Happening Right Now!” Which I wrote back in 2020 and includes a delightful parody of Sermon on the Mount as I preached to my houseless audience seated on the sidewalk, with the opening line: ““All people are assholes!” Then went on to declare how a doggy’s love surpasses that of any human, because our species is just too messed up and complicated, etc. It’s a great little piece I know you’ve read (but certainly can’t expect to remember), and I look forward to hearing Marshall’s narration with much happiness. And now some bad news:

Scooter’s back with a vengeance, the past two weeks or so. Hollering up Karlsen’s window with angry threats and shrill, earsplitting whistles in an attempt to summon him outside. Always at nighttime and sometimes VERY late…disturbing my sleep (and no doubt that of others living here, though no one bothers to stick their head out and tell him to shut up). For the past several days he seems upset that Karlsen either broke his phone or gave him the wrong one. I suspect, however–from the little that I’ve heard of his bellowing–that it all boils down to neither party understanding the basics of how smartphones work. Which is also Deek’s problem, and source of more than half his explosive rants.

One night he even threatened to force himself inside and pound on Karlsen’s door until he opens it. Upon which he started to kick the front gate and bang on it with his fists for a few minutes…around 3:30 AM! This doesn’t happen every night, thank the Druids, but has been going on every two or three nights over the past two weeks…though sometimes two nights in a row. So I have to curtail the moments I step outside, to avoid the skunk.

And I can’t enjoy looking out the window as much or as long as I’d like, anymore. For he DOES look up at my window now and then…and all I need is for HIM to start hollering up at me, too…for he DOES know my name. Thanks to my being so foolish as to think Karlsen was a nice guy when he moved in, and about two years later introduced me to Scooter outside, by Cafe Flore when it still had benches.

Often, I see him standing across the street (usually partly concealed behind a black lamppost, looking up at Karlsen’s window and sometimes whistling), loitering at the streetcar island or bus stop, and sometimes even hangin’ around RIGHT BELOW MY WINDOW (because it’s an inviting location thanks to the old ATM nook now boarded off, where you won’t be standing in front of a shop’s doorway).

Between Scooter, Deek, the building manager, obnoxious residents and certain folks outside, I sometimes wonder: what am I, a stupidity magnet? At any rate, here’s a brief video of Scooter trying to get the equally morbid Karlsen’s attention:

Thanks to a certain obnoxious, alcoholic resident down the hallway, we now have this unwelcome pest screaming right outside, on and off over the past several months, trying to get inside our building. He often shows up VERY late at night, disturbing the peace and acting scary. He is short tempered and obnoxious, like most people who smoke cotton candy. What few quiet nights we enjoy on Market Street are even fewer, thanks to this idiot.

I don’t know, Wattson, I just don’t know: if it weren’t for your kind friendship over the years, and these lovely brindlekin in my life (and now, Marshall narrating my parables), I’d be one sorry picture of a lost soul! Yet I nonetheless feel so very blessed for the three gifts just mentioned, and I am both motivated and inspired as a result. Arf arf, bowwow and woof woof woof!

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: 4 New Doggy Jackets!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: December 19, 2022 at 1:53 PM

> Those jackets look divine!!

I can’t imagine a doggy jacket that doesn’t.

> Keeping a jacket on Pluto is a real challenge. He’s a regular little Houdini.

Pajamas are just as good, and even cuter.

> More later–am on the run, as usual…

How I envy your laid-back country life in rural Unicorn Land! /s

This cold snap is finally coming to an end, starting tomorrow. I normally enjoy chilly, wet weather, but for the love of Flaco & Lucky I now abhor it. Hope you can find some time to relax later in the day. I’m watching Lewis Black’s latest rant cast right now…he’s a welcome breath of sanity.

– Zeke K-Holmes

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