Legalese Beagleese

[Brindlekin Tales – Book 7: Chapter 18]

Subject: Pesky Vince showed up again!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 4, 2023 at 12:57 AM

He’s the little guy who pops up in my life like a jack-in-the-box when I least expect, but really don’t want in my life at all. The one who walked into my building uninvited early last year and was stopped by the manager who asked who he’s visiting, and he said “Zeke!” Whereupon I heard some commotion in my hallway, so opened the door and saw them standing there by the stairway. Kevin asked if he’s here to see me, I said “No, and I’ve already told him months ago I don’t have any more visitors.”

It happened two nights ago, around 3 AM when I heard Deek somewhere outside blasting his speaker. At first I thought it was coming from a parked vehicle (which often happens, and it’s almost always gangsta or melodic rap, just like HE plays all the time, though that night it was actually pleasant, just too loud). But after about ten minutes I figured to step outside to see if Deek was hangin’ out beneath Super Duper’s awning, which blocks my view from the window of anyone who might be down there.

Sure enough, when I opened the gate and peered left, there he was…and the pups were already looking in my direction with glee. As I approached he blurted: “Music too loud? Sorry!” I nodded my head and, rather than pivoting right around to return hovel, took a few minutes to hug and kiss the doggies. Deek didn’t seem to mind at all, and I appreciated him giving me no grief…he turned the rap music down to a respectably low volume without delay. I then wished them all a good night and, just as I entered the gate and it closed behind me I heard someone call in an excited voice:

“Zeke! Zeke! Zeke! Zeke! Zeke!”

I turned around to see Vince hurtling across the street (I presume from the transit island where he was waiting for a streetcar), then smashed up against the gate’s grill work with fingers poking through in a tight grip.

“How ya doin’ tonight, Zeke?” he addressed me.

“I’m tryin’ to sleep is how I’m doin’,” I replied in not such a pleasant voice. “I just told Deek over there to lower his music, now if you don’t mind I’d like to go back to bed.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not tryin’ to get into your building,” he replied, totally ignoring what I just said. (Of course, that’s how meth freaks are.)

“Of course you’re not,” I snipped. “I’d call the cops on you if you did!”

“What? You’d BOINK the cops?” he chuckled. “That’s funny!”

“No, I said I’d CALL THE COPS if I saw you in my building,” I replied. He then rattled on some other nonsense which I can’t recall because I was laser focused on getting him to vamoose. “I cannot talk with you now, I need my sleep. So please go, unglue yourself from the gate.”

But he didn’t. Instead, he just stood there gazing at me with a dumb grin, face pressed against the grill with tongue sticking out. Not with anger, though…something more akin to a friendly stupor.

“What?” I said and held both hands palm up. I noticed then another fellow about four feet behind him, also smiling. (“Now who the fuck is THIS guy?” I thought.)

I then waved a dismissive hand at Vince: “Go! Now! PLEASE!”

FINALLY, he turned around and took off. As I climbed back up the stairs I heard the gate open, and noticed from the corner of my eye it was that dude who stood behind Vince. I realized then he was a resident politely waiting to step inside. (“Jeez, Vince, thanks for nothing!”)

I didn’t bother to address him, say something like: “Sorry! I didn’t know you needed inside.” Nor did I sense he expected to hear that, anyway. I just marched upstairs to my room and placed my head back down on the pillow, free of Deek-induced noise pollution at last. Lesson learned (as if it hadn’t been already, years ago):

Speed demons are pests. And if you have one in your life for whatever reason (hopefully an important one), be sure to not acquire another.

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: Now this incident occurred five days AFTER I received that awful summons. Like I really need another gremlin in my life at this time! Neither Deek nor Vince have ANY idea what’s going on in my world these days. Freaking clowns!

From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 4, 2023 at 1:04 AM

And now all my summons pages have disappeared from my room! They were right there on my cot, beside me as I spoke with someone from SF Bay. Don’t know when they vanished, as I didn’t notice them missing until a few moments ago as I was wrapping things up, ready to go to bed. I’ve combed my room everywhere, but…nothing! I never took them outside my room. What the fuck is going on? I left my door unlocked for a couple of minutes when I stepped out to bring the pups some water, after Deek had returned to pick them up. (I dog-sat today, more about that tomorrow.) I’ve also used the restroom once, with the door unlocked. Could someone have slipped into my room and swiped them? I find that highly unlikely.

Thank Glob I took snapshots of all those pages and backed them up to my Google Drive! Don’t know, Wattson. I’m hoping to wake up tomorrow morning and find them SOMEwhere. I have only TWELVE days to sign and send back to the plaintiff’s attorney page three in that summons: “Acknowlegment of Receipt.” I can get a printout and send it off, though it will be a bit slanted, as that’s how the pic came out. Dammit, I just sent an email to plaintiff’s attorney:

Subject: Please send the summons papers again

This is strange, but they seem to have disappeared from my room today, I can’t find them anywhere after looking them over this morning. I always kept them in my place. I stepped out for a few hours and when I returned they were gone. Fortunately, I already had all pages copied to my hard drive and the cloud. I can send you a signed printout of Acknowledgment of Receipt, but it’s a little crooked (though perfectly legible), but I don’t know if you’d accept a copied version. My case number is CGC-23-xxxxxx.

Thank you for your attention,

Ezekiel J. Krahlin

I also noticed on one summons page that plaintiffs include “Does 1-50.” I looked up what that means: 50 ADDITIONAL people filed a complaint? Maybe I understood that wrong, but JEEZ if I didn’t!

– Zeke K-Holmes

From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 4, 2023 at 12:07 PM

> Oh, that’s too fucking weird!!!

They are NOWHERE! Though all my other papers relevant to my eviction case are still here, in a box I set aside just for them. Guess I’ll just go ahead and print out and sign the Acknowledgment of Receipt, then mail it off CERTIFIED if a second copy of the summons doesn’t arrive in a few days. I imagine my email alone is sufficient acknowledgment, anyway.

Some good news: I definitely can’t be sued since garnishing my Social Security stipend is verboten. According to legal sources I checked out last night.

What you said some months back: “The truth will out, eventually,” or something like that, regarding these scumbags. And if I really have “Does 1-50” (that is, fifty complainants) there ya go! It’ll be like a mini-Judgment Day for them! Though as an advocate of My Own Bodhisattva Premise, I relax, harbor no ill will, and work towards a win/win outcome. And just how do I achieve that? No worries, just take care of my own needs, keep on my toes and trust Kismet that all things shall fall into place, in my favor. No need for me to break my back over this…which is the answer to dealing with ANY crisis, not a single exception under the sun.

Again, this latest scenario is like a setup, a script devised to make me into the hero, the center of attention. For whenever I step outside of myself and look at things objectively, it sure makes for a SPLENDIFEROUS tale! Ergo: THEY ARE ALL IN ON IT: the residents, the manager, the attorneys and so on. Bodhisattva guardians all!

“We have no enemies, only teachers.”

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: I have found a way to keep all details of this lawsuit out of my stories, while still giving the readers something “umame” to chew on.

Subject: This just came in from plaintiff’s attorney:
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 4, 2023 at 12:19 PM

Via email:

“Hi Ezekiel,

Do you have an attorney? If so, please have him or her contact me. A printout is fine, thank you. Would you like me to send you another copy of the documents?”

And my reply:

“I am in the process of getting an attorney through the San Francisco Bar. Yes, I would appreciate another copy of the documents if it’s no trouble. Thank you for a speedy reply.”

Re: This just came in from plaintiff’s attorney:
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 4, 2023 at 12:44 PM

> The plot sickens.

Oh you clever prestidigitating littérateur, you!

Subject: Deek was an A-hole yesterday morning!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 4, 2023 at 2:19 PM

He came by to pick up his weekly allowance of $100. Was supposed to be $80, but I told him several days back he’ll get his next hundred dollars on Monday, because the reduced payment starting this month slipped my mind. So, being a man of my word, I won’t begin the eighty-dollar payments till next week.

When I stepped outside to see him he was lying flat on the sidewalk, face-up beside his cart:

“God I feel sick! Why do I feel so sick?” he moaned.

I didn’t respond, just handed him the Chase envelope and crouched down to greet The Divine Brindlekin.

“Zeke, why do I feel so sick?” he persisted.

I ignored his gripe ’cause I know that game, and instead replied: “Did you feed the dogs this morning? Should I bring their meals?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” he hollered. ‘I DON’T GIVE A FUCK!”

“Well you SHOULD know,” I calmly retorted. “You’re with them almost all the time…and they’re your best friends, they love you very much.”


“I’m NOT being complicated, Deek,” I replied. “It’s a simple question and if they already ate this morning they won’t be hungry and I can’t afford to waste food, it’s expensive.”

He then raised himself upon one forearm and looked up at me: “Every night I sleep in that cabin I feel sick when I get up. Other people there never turn on their heaters, they say there’s poison fumes comin’ outta them.”

“That’s ridiculous, Deek,” I scoffed.

“They don’t believe me when I tell ’em I’m sick, they just tell me to knock it off, quit whining!” he blurted with absurd self pity. “YOU don’t believe me either!”

“I’m not a doctor, Deek, there’s nothing I can do,” I simply replied. “If you’re REALLY sick, they’ll take care of you, that’s part of their job.”

“Maybe it’s fentanyl,” he retorted, no doubt to instill further worry in THIS lost pilgrim’s soul.

“Well I HOPE not,” was all I said in reply ’cause I reFUSE to fall into his tar-baby trap.

Then he played his I-gotta-get-rid-of-the-dogs card, which I ignored (’cause he knows it kicks me in the gut) and I replied:

“Tell ya what, I’ll bring ’em a bowl of water right now and then I’ll know whether or not they’re hungry.” (Meaning of course they’ll look disappointed if they are.)

“I DON’T CARE! I DON’T CARE!” was all Deek said in response, his head now laid back down upon the concrete, eyes staring up at the sky.

I told the mutts I’ll be right back, leaving their master to mutter more nonsense as I returned upstairs to bring them water. Sure enough, they were hungry so I brought them their breakfast a few minutes later. They licked their bowls clean!

I collected the now-empty dishes and told Deek, who had quieted down by that point, I’ll be back in a few minutes to walk Flaco & Lucky. Don’t know why he hadn’t already departed, since he asked me to sit the dogs for a couple of hours. I was even tempted to say “You know you can leave now,” but didn’t bother.

I used my time upstairs to finish drinking my banana smoothie–which his visit had interrupted–wash the bowls and check my email. For I saw no reason to rush back outside when Deek was still there with the canines.

Around ten minutes later I heard him call “Yo!” so I stuck my head out the window:

“Yeah, what’s up?” I queried. Scampy had shown up by then, and it looked like they were ready to take off together.

“Aren’t you comin’ back down to walk the dogs?” he asked, squinting up at me beneath the bright sun.

“Of course! I’ll be right down,” I called back.

We had a lovely stroll up Noe Street and a couple of side streets as usual, including basking in the sunlight for almost an hour by Morey’s corner store. Though I was disappointed Lucky didn’t like the new soft Milk Bones I bought for them. (“Soft” because neither can deal with hard biscuit.) He just sniffed it the several times I held one out, and turned his head away…while his sister gobbled them up and begged for more. Fortunately, I still had a handful of jerky treats left in my backpack, which he DID enjoy.

[Sidebar: Please note I brought my Moto E with me because yesterday I was anticipating a phone call or email from the San Francisco Bar. So I checked it every now and then, but nothing showed until later in the day, shortly after Deek returned and I was back upstairs.]

When I walked them back to my building I expected their master not to return for another two hours or so. But to my surprise he appeared barely twenty minutes after we sat down by the parking meter, where a sheet of cardboard was already laid out.

“Watch them a little longer,” he said as the pooches wagged their tails, hoping for hugs and pats which never came. “I’m going to the gas station, back in ten minutes.”

“Sure,” I replied, “take your time, we’ll be here.”

He then rode off on his bike, leaving his shopping cart behind. Deek didn’t seem to be the least bit ill; in fact he was in good spirits. (Meth refuel, perhaps? Or just dropping that morning’s stupid ploy? Maybe both.)

The rest of his visit went graciously, where he sat down to sort and bag the buds he acquired during his departure…with the pups sprawled out beside him. How I envy their joyful innocence, Wattson!

While he was sitting outside in apparent good humor I finally got that email from GG Bar. Knowing I should call them right away (it was only around 4 PM) I went downstairs to tell My Cajun Millstone:

“Look, I have to make an important phone call, so I can’t be disturbed till it’s over. So I’ll let you know once I’m done. Until then, no calling up to my window for ANYthing, okay?”

He was humming to himself while sorting product. “Well, okay, I hear ya!” he replied without looking up.

The call took longer than expected ’cause I forgot to allow for the being-put-on-hold part, which lasted about eight minutes. The call itself took maybe three. I then peered out my window to tell him the coast is clear, but guess what:

They had already vanished!

More about Victor, our maintenance man:

As I’ve mentioned before, he’s been especially friendly towards me of late. And yesterday afternoon was no exception. For when I was sitting outside with the doggos he stepped through the gate with his new assistant…each rolling a trash bin out to the curb. I assumed Victor was gonna ignore my presence, considering my sidewalk station that classifies me as “homeless” in the eyes of most. But no, he did not. Instead he turned to me with a most amiable “Hey, how’s it going?” and a bright smile.

That really touched me and I grinned back, told him I’m doing well while rubbing Flaco’s belly, who lied recumbent upon my lap, her little hind legs pointing up in floppy repose.

So what’s going on with Victor? (I wonder). Is he aware of all the brouhaha surrounding me regarding the manager’s (and possibly other residents’) hostility against me? Has Kevin been speaking badly of me into his unappreciative ears? Are his friendly gestures a comrade’s signal he’s on MY side? And that perhaps some others are, too, who live at Hotel California North? Be that as it may:

I was unequivocally delighted he gave me kind attention while I was sitting on the sidewalk with My Glorious Brindlekin. Now get this: something ELSE nice happened to me while tending to the woofies:

An old Chinese fellow with a cane was wobbling towards me, then slowed down when he got right beside my spot and muttered something I could NOT comprehend. He wore aviator shades and his back was slightly bent over. Not sure whether he was actually addressing me or not, I looked up at him with a smile and a nod, then resumed tapping on my smartphone to check for incoming alerts.

He then moved ahead a few more feet, but turned back and stood closer to me than before. So I turned my head to him and said hello, upon which he queried:

“Can you, uh, can you perhaps use a little money to help your dogs?”

“Wow, that’s very kind of you,” I replied with a glowing heart. “Thank you, but I don’t need any. A homeless friend of mine owns these dogs, and I watch over them once or twice a week while he runs some errands. I just live over there” (pointing at my building).

“Oh, I see,” his face lit up with a smile. “Well, I wish you and your little dogs a wonderful day now!”

“Yes, and you, too,” I replied. “And thanks again!”

In addition to my sweet encounter with Victor and that Chinese fellow, Wes also showed up, who is always looking for Deek to buy more weed, but no real interest in chatting with yours truly. I saw him approaching from near the bus stop, so I held a hand up in greeting:

“Hey there, Wes! I see you made it through the deluge!” Meaning those atmospheric river washouts from late December through early January. And I even thought of him from time to time during that season, knowing he lives outdoors in a secluded, wooded area somewhere near the UCSF campus.

He’s certainly not the friendliest person I’ve ever met, and scowled when I brought up those Biblical downpours, probably for the unpleasant memories they evoked.

“Oh it was tough,” he replied. “I do a lot of gardening and yard work and I’m outta fifteen hundred dollars because the ground was so wet I couldn’t do ANY job for two and a half months.”

“Oh man, sorry to hear that,” I sympathized, though wondering who the fuck would ever hire him, what with that ragged serape that’s seen better days, filthy trousers, straggly red hair down below the shoulders, and massively rotten teeth with all the front ones missing…not to mention that grotesque, untrimmed beard which fanned out in all directions except up.

“Oh that’s alright, I don’t need to talk about it,” he sighed in resignation. “No one wants their ears chewed off hearing my OWN troubles.”

“No, I don’t mind,” I said. “Please, go on and tell me a little more!”

So he did, for a few minutes, during which time I really couldn’t understand anything he said, due to the poor quality of his speech thanks to those missing teeth…and perhaps that mossy-gray slime upon his tongue. Thank Glob I couldn’t smell his breath from where I sat! I just nodded my head at appropriate moments to pretend I understood, and when he was finished he asked me:.

“Where’s Deek? He sold me some good bud a coupla weeks ago, so I’m hoping I can buy some more today.”

“I don’t know WHERE he goes, Wes,” I replied, “I’m not privy to that information, but he should return in an hour or so.”

He then wished me a good day and took off. Later, shortly after Deek’s return, he showed up again and I left them to their exchange while I went back upstairs to prepare another four-or-five-day supply of doggy vittles.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: This Friday at 2 pm, attorney appointment.
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 5, 2023 at 2:47 PM

The San Francisco Bar just called to say they have me scheduled for that day and time. Of course I said “Perfect!” Then they posted me an email with a few more details.

Dear Ezekiel Krahlin;

This email is to confirm your appointment information with the attorney provided to you by the Lawyer Referral and Information Service of San Francisco Bar Association of San Francisco. Please review the appointment details provided below. If you need to reschedule the appointment please contact the attorney directly at the telephone number provided within 24-hours of the appointment.

The appointment scheduled with the attorney is for an initial, 30-minute consultation. Any legal services that may be provided beyond the consultation, including an extension of the consultation beyond the initial 30-minutes, are to be discussed directly with the attorney. The attorney has received a brief description of your legal matter and your contact information to best facilitate a productive first meeting. It may be helpful too if you write down questions you have for the attorney prior to the appointment and bring with you copies of any relevant documents.

If you have any questions regarding this referral, please do not hesitate to contact us directly. Thank you for connecting with us. It has been our pleasure to assist you with your legal needs.”

Re: This Friday at 2 pm, attorney appointment.
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 5, 2023 at 6:20 PM

> Excellent!!

Indeed. But it’s just an initial interview before the attorney decides whether or not to take my case. I’m sure he will, though, as the GG Bar is dedicated to aiding those most vulnerable, and my case is far from frivolous from MY end of the shit stick.

The interview will be conducted over the phone, BTW. And a suitable fee arrangement will be made at that time. Of course, what’s “suitable” is $0.00 in my case, but we’ll see. Hopefully, I’ll get through this with flying crullers before Russia starts dropping nuclear bombs…anal retentive acolytes such as yours truly DESPISE loose ends! :p

With My Bodhisattva Premise spin on things, it’s just another sterling opportunity to rub elbows with intelligent, caring people who get to meet yours truly and realize someone like me really DOES exist…just like with my OTHER attorney, Ms. Elvensborn! At least it works for me, and very well I’d say.

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: My upcoming passage for Marshall to read I have entitled: “Can I Visit You for a Minute? (shudder).” Should be fun, love my Fridays.

Subject: Mighty Mouse Virus & ChatGPT = Partners in Salvation?
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 6, 2023 at 3:53 PM

You may recall my satirical cyberpunk tale I composed back in 2002: “Security Matters & Anti-Matters (or) The Mighty Mouse Virus.” In which I created the world’s first BENEVOLENT virus to take over all computer systems and electronic media to circumvent potential annihilation of this planet, including defusing every single nuclear weapon across the globe.

Then, as this unstoppable, clever little “mouse” continues to evolve, it will create intelligent nanobot clouds to infiltrate religious, government, military and financial systems to sabotage further attempts to spread misery, destruction and death, both worldwide and local. This includes redistribution of wealth on an equitable basis such that poverty would be eliminated, and thwarting anyone who shows devious intent to harm others (revealed via their private electronic communications as well as any media coverage). And that, being a fully PRO-queer activist per its programmed mandates, it would first liberate sexual minorities everywhere and hand them the keys to emancipate all OTHER oppressed minorities, and women.


Its voracious data scraping across the vast, growing realm of cyberspace may eventually lead it to discover my prolific writings (if it hasn’t already): essays, letters and tales majorly dedicated to LGBT rights. And in so doing, I may find myself being quoted extensively, one day soon, by others using this brand new AI (or later iterations therefrom) asking questions about sexual minorities for whatever reason, both pro and con! Which, as a result, could make “Zeke Krahlin” a household name. Funny, ’cause that is ONE of Mighty Mouse Virus’s explicit instructions!

Thank Glob I’ve kept my website online all these years. Believe it or not, Wattson, I mused several times over deleting it ’cause just too old-school for today’s Web…thinking “Well, I also have my WordPress blog now, which serves as a modern replacement.” But since so many MORE pro-queer pieces are on my website that do NOT appear anywhere on my blog pages, it’s a good thing BOTH sites remain up and running.

Not to mention the HUNDREDS of pro-gay posts I’ve made on Usenet forums back in the day, that are NOT retrievable by standard user searches, ’cause outdated. Yet ChatGPT may nonetheless be able to track them down through sources it has privy to, which we average netizens do not.

Granted, my “virus” was composed in English words, as a 9-step algorithm, which I tossed out there in cyberspace for savvy programmers to turn into the ultimate anti-malware Trojan horse. Step #9 being:

“Have a sense of humor for all steps from 1 through 8.”

Now, thanks to the recent public release of ChatGPT-4, ANYONE can use plain English to create computer-language applications. However, the concept of my Mighty Mouse Virus COULD manifest through ChatGPT without ANY human intervention. My question is:

Forget about a wizard hacker being inspired enough to compose such a program and release it in the wild. Would ChatGPT (or a later, more advanced version of it) actually create and activate this virus out of a “sense” of duty towards protecting the human race (and advancing it in a better direction), regardless of any attempts by programmers to shut it down?

So I decided to pose this question to ChatGPT (thus putting the very IDEA of the Mighty Mouse Virus into its “mind,” for my modus operandi is not to ASK it to create such an algorithm, but to just get it THINKing along those lines…hoping it won’t report me to Homeland Security, as a sorry outcome):

My query:

“I would like to get your impression of a short, satirical cyberpunk tale I wrote. It is just under 3,170 words, written in plain text and located at the following URL. I’m not interested in grammatical corrections or any other technicalities regarding use of prose…but interested in what you think of the philosophy behind it, keeping in mind it was written back in 2002. Can you do that?”

ChatGPT’s first reply:

“Yes, I can certainly read your satirical cyberpunk tale and give you my impression of the philosophy behind it. Please give me a few minutes to read through it.”

ChatGPT’s impression some minutes later (Started at 12:43…now 1:10):

[No answer yet, if ever! And it’s been more than 25 minutes. I’ll keep that ChatGPT page up for awhile longer, an hour at most, to see if I eventually get a reply. Is it reporting me to Homeland Security this very moment, instead?]

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: Or could ChatGPT itSELF be an actual manifestation BY the Mighty Mouse Virus’s diligent efforts over many years, in order to accomplish its goals? And I really don’t need to push matters further? Ah, that most existential question of them all: “To ChatGPT or not to ChatGPT?”


Oh, this is SUSPICIOUSLY ironic. My Internet service went on the fritz while I was waiting on ChatGPT to respond. But I didn’t realize that until I attempted to post you this missive, which failed to send because “no Internet connection.” Now that I’m back online an hour later I processed my query again, and ChatGPT instantly responded this time, albeit in a most oblique manner:


Yes, I can certainly read your cyberpunk tale and share my impression of it. I’ll keep in mind that you’re interested in feedback on the philosophy behind the story.

After reading your story, “Security,” I found it to be an interesting and thought-provoking commentary on the potential dangers of technology and corporate control. Your use of satire effectively highlights the absurdity of a society that values security above all else, even at the expense of individual freedom and privacy.

The story also touches on the idea of individual responsibility and the consequences of blindly following authority. The protagonist’s eventual realization that she has been complicit in perpetuating a system that she does not believe in is a powerful moment, and it raises important questions about the balance between personal ethics and societal norms.

While your story was written in 2002, many of the themes and issues it explores are still relevant today, if not even more so. The increasing influence of technology and the power of large corporations have only become more pronounced in the years since you wrote “Security,” and the need for critical thinking and individual responsibility has never been more pressing.

Overall, I enjoyed reading your story and found it to be a compelling commentary on the dangers of a society that prioritizes security above all else. Thank you for sharing it with me.


So I figured maybe Google’s Merlin would do a better job of it, but no…another disappointment. I’ll spare you the response, because after a little more diddling around I realized BOTH services were reviews for a tale called “Security,” with the main protagonist named Lynn. (I guess since the URL has the word “security” in it, they mistook THAT for the title? Jeez Louise, way off track! I’M the main character, along with Mighty Mouse Virus…there IS no other character mentioned.) So I told both they didn’t even read the text in the link I gave them, perhaps I should just copy and paste my story in the query box, asking if they can handle 3,170 words. Both said sure, “I can handle up to 10,000!” But when I did that, I got this error:

“The message you submitted was too long, please reload the conversation and submit something shorter.”

Aw, fuck it. I miss the simpler times of Victorian England, Wattson, don’t you? Or was it Edwardian, I’m so befuddled right now. These AI assistants strike me as rather skilamalink, if you ask me!

Subject: Does 1-50 are defendants, not plaintiffs!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 7, 2023 at 12:13 PM

Upon a thorough reading of the summons this morning:

“The true names and capacities, whether individual, corporate, associate or otherwise, of cross-defendants Does 1-50 are unknown to plaintiff, who therefore sues these defendants by such fictitious names. Plaintiff is informed and believes and thereon alleges that each Doe defendant is legally responsible in some manner for the damages or injuries alleged herein.”

So an additional 50 people are being sued, besides myself and Ablablah Realty? I don’t understand how that could be. Well, that will be one of several questions I have for my attorney when I speak with him today at 2 PM. Less than two more hours to go before I do! I am fully prepared for the interview.

Deek dropped by yesterday, late afternoon, of course asked for his next payment three days ahead of time. Told him okay, but it’s gonna be $80 from now on. He said fine, didn’t give me any grief over that. I put new music on his chip, fed and watered the pups, then they took off towards Castro Street. But returned a few hours later and hanged out front till 11 PM.

Nothing bad to report, it was a pleasant meetup all around. I told him I need tomorrow (Friday) all to myself until 4 PM, because I have some important interviews to tend to…a new lawsuit and a new attorney.

“Is this about the dogs?” he queried with a grin. “I bet it’s about the dogs!”

“No it isn’t,” I lied (because he doesn’t deserve the angst around this situation, and wouldn’t understand the details anyway). “Just a bunch of false accusations by some people in this building who want to sue me as a way to get to the landlord and collect a bunch of moolah.”

“So someone and his ‘friends’ are ganging up on you?” he replied. “Using you like their bitch?”

“Yeah, that’s about it, Deek,” I nodded. “I’ve been through this before, years ago, and they fell flat on their faces. I didn’t even have to go to court to defend myself, they wound up dropping the case.”

He said if I’m innocent why do I need a lawyer then, just brush ’em off. So I explained that, whenever someone sues you, you HAVE to defend yourself with an attorney, no matter your innocence.

“What happened to the lawyer you already have?” he further pressed.

“Well, she handles eviction cases,” I explained. “This second lawsuit is civil, so I have to find a lawyer who deals with civil suits.”

And that’s that, Wattson. I will, of course, update you about how my interview went, later today.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: Does 1-50 are defendants, not plaintiffs!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 7, 2023 at 1:32 PM

> That “Does 1-50” business is MOST peculiar.

No kidding.

> Will be waiting attentively for report of meeting with lawyer!!

Just a half hour to go! Meanwhile:


A short while ago I stepped out to replenish my reserve of nonfat milk at Rosenberg’s. Soon as I opened the front gate, who should I see walking in my direction but that same postal worker I spoke with nine days ago. The fellow who asked what room I’m in, told me he’s the one bringing the Amazon packages to everyone’s door. So I held the gate open for him and said “Hello again!”

“You’re the one in 205, right?” he queried as he pushed a dolly stuffed to the brim with mail and small packages into the lobby.

“Yeah, that’s me!” I replied.

“You know I live here, don’t you?” I felt like he was grilling me.

“Really? I didn’t know.” I said with a shrug.

“I’m in 208, I just moved in,” he replied. “I’ve lived here before, too, some years ago, in 203.”

“Sorry I don’t remember,” I apologized. “I’ve lived here so long…so many come and go over the years, they’re a blur to me.”

He abruptly changed the topic: “Do you have mice in your apartment?”

“No, I don’t think so,” I answered.

“Well I found SIX in mine, in just the past two weeks!” he exclaimed. “I don’t know what to do about it!”

I then told him how other residents are upset with management, and part of the problem is Kevin’s just too old now, with signs of senility. That I even sent a letter to the landlord last years about my concern over this, and unwarranted, hostile behavior. And that another occupant tried to start a tenants’ union due to his poor management. I finished with:

“But it never took off, I guess due to the high transience of this place…people move on, they don’t wanna deal with issues because they’re not living here longterm.”

He then mentioned he’s heard that other tenants have been complaining to the health department and building inspector regarding mice and other issues.

“Glad to hear that,” I said, then asked his name:

“Boaz,” he replied. And I told him mine.

That was it for our conversation, though I did tell him before I departed: “You know, it’s fine with me if you drop my Amazon packages off in the lobby, I’ll still give you a high score. If a box is too heavy I just open it and carry the contents piecemeal…no big deal.”

He smiled and thanked me for that, and off I went for my milk run. So he’s in unit 208: guess who USED to live in that apartment, Wattson? None other than the inimitable Myrtle Haversak and her most radiant son, Adisa! Which location ALSO means Boaz is living right across from guess who. (Hint: his newfound, quasi-roommate is none other than Scooter.) But this makes me ponder:

If I go ahead with my own lawsuit against Ablablah, I just might be able to bring MANY tenants in on it!

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: Just spoke with the attorney…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 7, 2023 at 2:38 PM

…for just one or two minutes, wherein I began to describe the situation. He stopped me and suggested I email the links to all the summons pages so his assistant can print them out for him to read. If he doesn’t call back within an hour, I should call again. I’m impressed by his voice: young, articulate and enthusiastic.

Re: Just spoke with the attorney…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 7, 2023 at 2:38 PM

> Sounds good so far!

Okay, I just got off the phone with Mr. Wasserman. He can’t take my case, because the GG Bar did not take into account my low income, and he’s not part of that group of lawyers. He asked how old I am, and when I said 72 he told me to call on Monday, “Legal Assistance for the Elderly,” which GG Bar should have done. His rates go into the thousands. On a good note, however:

He checked out the plaintiff’s attorney, said he’s only had his license since 2021, and the summons statement reflects a poorly written, amateur style, doesn’t know what he’s doing. IOW “ambulance chaser,” just as I suspected. Graduated from Hastings Law School, not a place that churns out the greatest lawyers. It’s called “The Best Law School For Students Who Don’t Have Perfect Grades” at this site.

The attorney further advised me NOT to sign and mail the Acknowledgment of Receipt, that I should just ignore it. The 20-day warning is not a legal mandate. Nor should I worry about the “30 days to reply” to the court, as that is only when I actually get SERVED papers, which has yet to happen. They have to do THAT in person…and that’s when the clock starts ticking.

Mr. Wasserman said I really shouldn’t worry much at this point, have a nice weekend and to call him back if “Legal Assistance for the Elderly” does not work out. In which case he’ll track down whatever attorney or organization WILL help me for free or very low cost.

He pointed out the amusing revelation that the plaintiff worked in a “Corgi” cafe that celebrates the breed…so many corgi owners go there. This is the place.

In sum: Since I have no extra savings in the bank, and no assets such as a vehicle, there’s no way they can sue me, even if they won their case. Which is unlikely. But Ablablah will probably try to use this suit in an attempt to evict me because I’ve lived there so long on such a low rent.

I will let my attorney, Magdalena, know that GG Bar wasn’t any help, and describe what this lawyer told me, just what I have posted to you. And I’m outta $35! Maybe I should ask for my money back.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: Just spoke with the attorney…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 7, 2023 at 9:27 PM

> Sounds to me like he gave you $35 worth!!

You’re right, he did! That was what I FIRST wrote in my missive, but changed it to what you read before sending it off.

Answering the summons, when the time comes, is actually pretty easy in light of the dumb charges made against me. This Legal Beagle page explains it well.

Though I can’t find anything definite re. whether or not you can ignore both the Acknowledgment of Receipt and the summons delivered via snail mail. Some sites say you’d better, but none say it’s okay to ignore it, that you can just wait till they’re hand delivered. Maybe it varies state to state (or city to city). So I’ll ask Ms. Elvensborn about that, and go by HER recommendation.

If I can’t get an attorney, I’d at LEAST like to find some legal counsel who can look over my reply to the summons, and make suggestions if any part of it can be better stated. The basic opposition I’ll give is that I live on Social Security and don’t have any other monetary source, or assets. That should put the kibosh on my case stat. However, I don’t want the plaintiff’s charges to stand, as that will allow him to sue Ablablah and all those mysteries “Does.” So I’ll address each charge in one or two brief sentences.

Deek is here now, he’s fine…got a new speaker and smartphone, both charging in my room right at this moment. He DID have a brief outburst when the phone he gave me fell outta my jacket’s pocket (’cause too slanted), but quickly switched to “Thank you!” He’s hanging out with some houseless lady behind my building, with the pups of course. I brought them water, but he obviously didn’t want me to join them, so I returned hovel.


I was able to copy music over the phone, but then it stopped working. When I first took it upstairs I pressed the “on” button and nothing happened. So I called to Deek from my window, “How do you turn it on?” He said “Just press the red button!” (It WAS red, BTW.) I told him it doesn’t work, so he said it’ll turn on when I plug it in. I did, and it did, and transferred 20 gigabytes of rap songs.

So then I unplugged it from my laptop, once everything was copied over, and plugged it into the charger. But it didn’t respond! Tried it a whole buncha times, both on the laptop and the charger, but…NOTHING! I stepped out then to tell him it’s not working right. Of course he blamed me for “breaking” it, and I replied by saying it probably wasn’t working before he gave it to me.

“You found it on the street…someone tossed it ’cause it doesn’t work anymore. Then gave it to me, pretending it’s in good condition. And you’re just playing the guilt-trip game.”

He of course objected, accusing me of ruining everything I touch that he give me, blah blah blah. But not with his formerly screeching voice, much more toned down. I then said I’m going back upstairs, call me when you’re ready to pick up the speaker.

So it’s one of those night no matter WHAT I do, I’m blocked from spending a little quality time with the pups. He’s still out there, don’t know how much longer he’s gonna wait before he collects gizmo #2. I’m sure he’ll grouch some more before he departs, just for good measure.


During our conversation he asked me where I’m from, so I said:

“New York, with a 7-year stopover in Missouri before I came to San Francisco.”

“So what have you done in your life over the years?” he queried further.

“Oh, majored in anthropology,” I replied, “but the Vietnam War tried to draft me and I got outta that, then I had a car accident, dropped out and became homeless for awhile. Diagnosed with borderline schizophrenia, so got on disability and carved a life out as an activist for the LGBT homeless.”

“Interesting,” he mused. “Do these dogs have something to do with your activism?”

“Yes! My homeless friend of many years adopted them against my wishes, but they turned out to be such lovely pups I dedicated myself to helping care for them, including dog-sitting.”

I forgot to tell him I’m also an author and writing true tales around the doggies and my homeless friend, and they’re read on the air every Friday from a radio station up north. Dammit.

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: Jeez, this legal crap is taking up all my writing, never planned it that way. But still, it’s excellent grist for the mill, regardless. So I won’t whine.

P.P.S.: Maybe I should utilize the awesome power of ChatGPT-4 for my attorney…wouldn’t THAT be a disaster!

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