Maggie's
Slapstick Panic Routine
by George
Sparling
Del and three
friends were attacked with a chain saw when they
went outside and then a guy threatened them with
a .12 gauge. Ten others arrived on Stan’s
property also. They destroyed Del’s car,
tossed kerosene all over it, and then torched it.
Then these same schmucks called the cops on Del,
attacking him and friends. They held guns at
their backs, those pukes. Del spent six days in
the county jail.
I spent an
hour with the DA and sheriff, but, as of now,
charges are intact and the trial scheduled. The
charges are trespassing, even though I had given
them a note stating Del and friends could be
there, leaving the scene of an accident and
battery even though the chain saw dude faked
injury and he whisked away by ambulance. Sympathy
pain beats truth, delusion always on the
law’s side. Law, what law? said Del.
I’m not worried about the outcome---I’m
certain they will drop all charges. But,
meanwhile, no one has been charged with
destruction of the vehicles. I’m raring to
go and sue the damn county.
You should see
the letter I sent to the sheriff. Del is pissed
off at you, Craig, because you told him you own a
resort in Sri Lanka. Is that true? I can’t
imagine you have money for such an investment.
Del wants to go there, says the women are fine,
fine, fine.
Jack wants to
stay at the house but I won’t let him
because I’m afraid those scumbags will come
back. Jack is too crazy to live with Del and me,
Jack’s had bad experiences. I’m never
going to let that happen again. For a couple
years, I haven’t allowed him to stay but he
keeps hitching to this place. I’ll lose my
mind, possibly meeting him in a halfway house
where the patients are shot full of Haldol. Or
has that anti-psychotic med become passé?
Jack’s homeless, off his meds, lost to
congenital madness ( prettier word hat psychotic
), his backpack, sleeping bag and mobile phone I
bought for him were stolen. I’m riding a
shit-storm and can’t handle him now.
Those thugs
ransacked my photos and stuff from both
grandmothers I kept from childhood, ripped them
up, they even destroyed my roses, carpet, and
Jack’s paintings when he was cooled out ( he
sold one for $150 to a tourist who lost his way
). I want to send him somewhere he can camp,
maybe near or in a stand of redwoods. He’s
smart and imaginative, sweet, too---I can’t
deal with him now. Oh, Greg lives here now, but
scared of getting inside my shit-storm.
Where are you?
Del left a week ago but I don’t ever want to
have contact with him
anymore. I hired a high-priced attorney because
the punk goons are still here demolishing my
things. I have a restraining order on them but
not the kick-out order.
Ever think
you’re slipping into quicksand.
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