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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 passť? 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.