I have modified this post about the ‘face off’ between Karen Anijar-Appleton and I within certain parameters; removing the fathead, but keeping the meat. I’m sorry, I am constitutionally incapable of writing this post without joking. At the end of it is my final letter to Ms. Anijar-Appleton’s attorney.It was an interesting and informative journey, and in it lies a lesson for the rest of us.
I was doing further research on the interesting subject of the First Amendment to the Constitution, when I came upon another piece of information that I found disturbing. On a link I found on KeyWiki was the discovery that Karen Anijar-Appleton signed a statement in support of Bill Ayers. The name sounded familiar, so I researched further. Seems this gent was one of the leaders of the Weather Underground, a terrorist organization, an offshoot of the SDS, formed in 1969.
People have been very trying in Las Vegas, this week. Tommy, who was so broke he couldn’t pay attention, decided to do something about it. When Tommy makes a buck, it’s usually because someone hasn’t nailed their own down.
He had been hanging around an apartment complex a few days before the ‘big heist’. He noticed a nice, juicy vending machine just sitting there, minding it’s own business. ‘You’re mine!’ he warbled to himself, and patted it enthusiastically on the rump, before going home, and waiting for dark to fall.
When it did, as it invariably does, he went back to his lady-love at the complex, who really is built like a brick outhouse, taking a friend and his pickup truck. They loaded the soda machine on their moving dolly and loaded it into the back of the truck. They drove slowly away, with the soda machine wobbling precariously out the back of pickup.
They were almost home free, where ever that is, when the soda machine decided it had had enough, and tried to make a break for it. It fell right out the back of the truck and landed in the median strip of the major street they were traversing. Unfortunately for them, a parked and watchful cop was across the street in a strip mall waiting for something to happen. We will see Tommy in about three to eight months.
People have been very trying in Las Vegas, this week. Bill’s fortieth high school reunion is planned for next month, and Bill doesn’t feel ready. He’s gained a few pounds and lost a few hairs in the ensuing years between high school and now. He came up with what he considered an excellent idea.
He put an ad in the paper, requesting a man in his thirties, fitting a specific description, to come to an informal audition. He got a few calls from some likely candidates, and eventually found the one he thought would do the job.
This guy looked remarkably like Bill did forty years ago. Bill gave him all the information he needed to know to pass as himself at the reunion, and when the time came, he sent him on his way. The young ‘Bill’ did just fine at the gathering, greeting everyone by name, and recalling a few facts about each pertinent acquaintance of the original Bill. No one could believe how good he looked. The stares, the murmurs, the questions kept coming all night. What had he done, to look so good at his age?
Finally, Sally, an old flame of Bill’s, said she was going to find out once and for all what the deal was with Bill’s phenomenal looks and physique. She sauntered up to him, grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him along until they got to the girl’s restroom. Once inside, she started kissing and rubbing him. Getting leverage on his portfolio so to speak, a gleam came into her eyes. ‘You’re not Bill Smith’ she said with a satisfied smile, and sauntered off again.
People have been very trying in Las Vegas, this week. Trey, who lives in one of the apartment complexes near the downtown area, was two weeks late with his rent again. Vinny ‘the Collector’ Mihini went to see him.
‘Rent’s due’, he said with an even, unblinking stare in Trey’s direction. ‘You got ’til Saturday to pay, or git’.
“I’m tired of paying this every month!’ Trey roared. “I’ll pay the rent when I’m good and ready’.
A deep, red flush started traveling slowly up Vinny’s neck and spread over his cheeks. Putting his hands around the top of the doorjamb, he ripped the door off it’s hinges with ear-splitting crack! and threw it down the hallway of the apartment complex. Then he took hold of Trey and threw him down the hallway after the door.
Trey lay there stunned as Vinny stomped into his apartment and started throwing all of his belongings into the hallway on top of him. Here came his lamps, his television, his stereo, his dishes and pots, his rugs, and his clothes. Trey rolled to the side as his sofa came flying through the doorway. Finally, even his refrigerator was ejected! Vinny had some muscle.
‘Now’, said Vinny, standing over Trey and panting like a Rottweiler. ‘You got ’til this afternoon at three to pay the rent.’ Trey gulped and nodded, and Vinny walked out.