Horses

Jogging the straightaway along 111th, I was about to be overtaken by the RJH Girls' Cross-Country Team, when I realized, it wasn't the girls' cross-country team, it was four, chatty women on four horses. 

If a horse wants to pass me on the trail, that's fine.  

I feel it's fitting; 

they're pretty fucking fast.

However, horse ladies can fuck off.  

Especially, The Four Horsewomen of the Aspergers Spectrum.

Gandhi would be open to sharing the trail.  Jesus would be open to sharing the trail.

I am open to sharing the trail.

When I'm sharing the trail with a cyclist, the cyclist might ring a bell or say, "On your left."

It takes less than three seconds to pass and they never leave the lingering odor of shit.

Apparently, privileged, horse-riding royalty speak a different language.   

"Weep weep!  Weep weep!" chirped the lead horse's mistress.  

Too tired to demand more than Mouth Horn, I moved right and grazed along the foliage at the shoulder of the narrow trail.  

My refusal to trample through a patch of mud, in my lane, had me halt and the second and third horses passed.

I jogged around the mud and the fourth approached.  

"Can I pass you?" asked the 4th rider.

"Of course, just don't make me run in the mud."

I then ran through fucking mud.

"He thinks you're a monster," she told me.

WHAT THE FUCK?????

I'd like to presume that if this were one of those talking horses, and as he passed, he looked over to say, "I think... you're a fucking monster!"  - I'd LIKE to presume - his rider would say, "Speckles! That's rude!!!!!"

However, when a horse is speaking THROUGH privileged, horse-riding royalty, apparently, it's no holds barred.

You can't blame a horse for being a fucking idiot, but you are allowed to keep it secret. 

Horses, as creatures, are magestic, yo. 

Horses, as tokens of affluence, leave me puzzled and disappointed.  

Mouth Horns and Insults from high atop a horse?

That shit is idiomatic! 

Granted, I don't think a horse would have a better home if under the provisions of a member from the burdened class, but I'd root for the underdog, for sure.  

Yesterday, when I was jogging down to Farrel Mcwhirter Park, I had my friend take a picture of this poster.  

The atrocity!!!!

Oh My!!!  A Bandito!!!!!

"Hispanic type?" 

Fucking Really?

This poster is a bit ambiguous in describing the incident, but it reads to me as if the kid involved cut his teeth on a ranch in Hispanic Land.  

Ranchers might come off a little brash when they encounter large animals.  

Chalk him up as a monster.

-Neighbor out.

First Dog Shit Run of 2012

This is a bag, upon which I wrote the word "GRUMP" down the sides.

Within the bag is trash, mainly Dog Shit and Cigarette Butts, which I collected.

I'm a smoker, but I'm a self governing smoker.  Plus... Marb Lights are for trashy people and their kids, and this assertion I stand behind, especially considering that 99.9% of the butts I collected were of that variety.

I'd also like to add that I'm not a dog owner.  

Why would someone set aside a Saturday afternoon to pick up Dog Shit?

I can answer this question.

It's so I can yell, to a man bicycling with his daughter "This next mile of trail is Shit Free!" with complete impunity.  

More importantly, it's so I've got skin in the game, it's so I can bitch, it's so I can call this stretch of trail "My Trail."

We'd like to think there's some municipal functionary overlooking the trail, but there's not.  

You think Code Enforcement officer Carl Mcarthy is going to pick up after your dog?

You think he's gonna ticket you for being an asshole with an off-leash, auxiliary asshole running boundless through the trail doing, literally, what assholes do?

Fuck No!

I can't get that guy to do much, except check things out.

This is Bear Shit.

If you see it, it means a bear has come through.

This is Horse Shit.

If you see it, it means a rich person has come through.

I want to talk to you about dog shit!

Puget Sound Comedian, Brett Hamil, has the best idea, ever, for dealing with people who leave dog shit laying about the commons.  I highly suggest you get in front of him to hear it.  Something he'll also jeer about is how - after all the work you put into getting dog shit off your shoe - it never feels clean.

That's funny because IT'S FUCKING TRUE!!!!

Dog Shit is fucking foul.  

Unlike horse shit and bear shit, rain can't turn dog shit into berry pits and grass.

What you feed your dog is foul to begin with.  

Slaughterhouses discard meat unfit for humans.  That meat gets treated by nasty chemicals, so the FDA need never worry that someone is going to sneak that meat into your fast food.  

That awful, chemical laced meat, that's in your dogs' food, is so foul that dogs actually reject it, so it's coated in fat to trick your dog into eating it.  

You put that into your dog, and what drops out is literally the worst fucking thing you can find outside.

At Redmond Jr. High, in the 1990's, Dave Gillman (RIP) got ground-&-pounded by Lance Byson who screamed "I WRESTLE ON THESE MATS, I WRESTLE ON THESE MATS!!!"

Our gym teacher just stood over them, with a clip board, and watched.

That's how foul dog shit is.  

Now I totally understand that a responsible dog owner, walking a 12 minute mile, on my trail, has the potential to spend up to 3.04 days a year, holding a baggy of shit.  

I get it.

But, if your dog has taken 35 unattended shit's, on my trail, then you more than deserve today's 7 lb bag of shit, dumped in your yard.  

Check this shit out!!!!

I know what you're thinking.

Did I take pictures of each shit pile that I cleaned up today?

FUCK NO!  

I was done clearing the trail of shit when I came across that turd.  

If you'd like to smell it, you can find it at the 104th st. crossing, right next to the shit-bag dispenser, which is right next to the trash can.  

Now I'm going to call out a couple of our shitty neighbors.  

This is some sort of rottweiler mix. 

 

It looks a lot like the two owned by our thin, orange neighbor, who lets them run free in my trail.

A dog has to fuck up to be declared vicious, so I'm not going to call a rott mix vicious, but those who own these types of dogs usually lie on their insurance applications to avoid paying double in premium.  

There's hard data suggesting that this lady is predisposing your kids to being bitten in the face.  

If you're still not convinced, then behold the pinch collar.

Both her dogs wear these (off leash) and I'm pretty sure they wear these 24/7.

I have a Certificate of Merit in Novice Obedience and in the 1990's it was embarrassing to be seen with a dog wearing one of these.  

They are the next generation of choke collars and they are designed to hurt dogs.  

Some people use pain to control their animals.  

Why would she let these dogs, which she needs to control with pain, run off leash on my trail?

Because when she's not hurting animals, she's a hip lady who lets her battle dogs run free in the wild grass.

Why would this thin, orange lady want to own battle dogs which she can't control?

Well I'm sure in her litany of reasons, like how sweet the breed is, she'll probably mention that these battle dogs lend to her sense of security... Just like the guns you have for protecting your home and sometimes let rattle around in the bed of your pick up truck when you cruise the suburbs!

"Hey!  Your dog is taking a shit," I yelled to her through the rain.

"Oh!  I'll get a baggy and clean that up!" she yelled back.

I wish I had stuck around to see her do it.  Now I'm not 100% confident that she deserves to be called a shitty, awful bitch.

Turns out she didn't pick it up.

This corgi is of the black headed tris variety.

This corgi looks very similar to the one that belongs to the icy bitch who broke my heart today.

You can probably see these two running along Abbey road and down 104th passed the Jr. High.

When you ascend up to Emerald Heights, there's no shit at the top of the hill.

Do lazy dog owners just not try to take on the hill?

The icy bitch will.

"Do you need a baggy for your dog poop [to some how compensate for the fact that you're jogging with an off leash dog?]"

"No, I've got one, thank you," she replied with a smile.  

"Oh can I take that for you?  Is there shit in there?"

"No, it's empty."

"Oh okay." I gave her a thumbs up through my shit covered, rubber glove.

100 feet later I was in a spot I'd already cleaned, picking up warm, golden, corgi size turds.

What a shitty person.

This is not an open letter to her, but to her kid.

Dear kid, 

I hope your mom fucks her boss and his wife finds out.

And if it just so happens that your dad is your mom's boss, then consider this a demonstration of my awesome powers.  

-Neighbor out.  

Trying to Cope

I can't say for sure, but according to my hip, I jogged about 5 miles of sidewalk looking for my roses this morning.

While I jogged, I pictured heart breaking scenarios in the context of "where could they be right now?"

Maybe the fucker who took them was toting them around on a crime spree, to -like- impress them.

Maybe the dirty bastard was using them to freshen up.

Or maybe they'd already been sold into sex slavery.

Having burned through most of the morning, I jumped in the car to cruise the rich neighborhoods.

30 houses in, I got stopped by the Redmond Police.

It's block watch weekend (or some shit) and I heard at a block watch... thing... that Redmond averages 2 burglaries a week.

I wasn't speeding or anything -I was casing houses- but I "had a break light out" (not really) and the officer wanted to pull my card.

I'm cool with that.

Speaking of RPD, is Officer Hovenden ever going to fucking age?

This guy's been on the force for EASILY 15 years and he still looks like he could nail every barista in town.

The officer who pulled me over asked where I was going.

I told him what was up. "Someone uprooted my roses so I'm rolling through the neighborhoods looking for them."

I was anticipating him telling me that I'm not at liberty to reclaim my roses if they're planted in someone else's yard... yet he didn't.

But we both sorta know, now that I've been logged as hungry for street justice, I'll kinda need permission from the thief to liberate my roses or I'll be running the risk of getting pinched for an actual crime (as opposed to stealing my roses from the trail, which was not really a crime).

Even though Redmond Police are really cool across the board, they'd still have to find, arrest, and help prosecute me if they got the call.

So... huff.

I posted fucking signs.

I posted one to get your attention.

And the other one is the pity party.

The Sign reads:

A world absent fences is

A world absent those

who would uproot

blooming roses,

planted for all to love.

(And then there's an arrow pointing everyone to the hole left behind by the shit-tard miscreant who stole the roses.)

Seriously Guys????????

Yesterday, I was so stoked to see that my roses on the trail had taken on this EPIC pink color. They are just amazing.

These past few days, the highlight of my jog has been to stop by and smell them until I get a head rush.

They smell SO fucking good!

This evening, as the sun was setting, I rolled up to love them, just as I've been doing on every jog since mid march. I honestly believed that these roses would never bloom. I don't know if you're aware but the trails are a really hostile environment to plant something that you plan to love.

And... So it goes... Mother Fucker, What the Fuck!!!!!!!

I've known for fucking months that I could've been setting myself up for heartache. I figured that a deer might punish it, or that aphids would infest it, or perhaps some fat little kid would pick the blossoms and yuck my yum.



But... Fucking Shovel Marks??????

When I came upon the scene I had an instant Warp Spasm and went sniffing out the sick fuck who dug up these dope roses.

In the twisted logic of the criminal mind, it is a victim-less crime to steal blooming roses, planted for all to enjoy.

And, I deduce they used a bucket to transport the loot because there were no fallen rose petals to be found in the surrounding area.

I hit the streets, casing every front yard between 166th and Meadow Park.

It felt like this.

I didn't find my roses (yet), but I happened to note that there are roses planted in every other yard.
They're everywhere.
Here's some from my yard.

I understand that roses are not some precious commodity in major demand, but Time, Work, Love, Selflessness and apparently RISK, went into nourishing these roses and I'm just so fucking disappointing in you.

You, the thieving renter, who stole my roses and will probably plant them in the shade... Fuck you, and clean up your dog shit!

You, the out of town guest who is going to grind my roses into some Slavic Jam/Preserves... I hope your family gets fucking botulism.

You, the selfish piece of trash, who plans to brag at your next bbq about how you salvaged wild roses from the buffer... I hope you pricked your finger on my thorns and an infection festers to the point where you have to retrain your hand in order to resume touching yourself.

You, the sweet old lady, who assumed those roses would get more love in your back yard... you are so fucking wrong.

What the fuck you guys. Seriously! What the fuck.

-Neighbor out.

Well...

I guess the proposed plan for this utility pole is to have it just lay beside the trail and stink.

In Bloom

Look whose roses finally bloomed!!!!!

I counted down the days to the last frost and planted these in march.

I planted them under one of the utility fences so that the grounds crew wouldn't mow over them.

It worked.

But, some hostile force decimated the leaves and buds in the last week of May.

To which they replied "fuck that."

I don't know if the spider that lives here had anything to do with their revival, but she can stay.

Boom!

Off the Trail; TC4

Tent City 4 concluded their 3rd stay at St. Jude's.

Taking these snap shots felt like a huge invasion of privacy. I gave a pal a tour of education hill, and asked him to bring his camera to take some pictures for a project. I sorta just threw him into taking these. He had no idea what I was planning when I walked him to this areal view point.

"Are we going inside the church or something?"

"No, we're just..." I muttered off.

I got quiet and put my head on a swivel.

"Aww, dude!" he whispered. "Are you trying to make me take pics of tent city?"

"It's cool." I said in the most assuring voice. Then I waved him on. It was a dick move but you're looking at them too.

I like having tent city on the block. The bus stop gets pretty busy, and I don't know if anyone else noticed, but there was a guy who could juggle a foot bag like no other. Even from my rear view mirror this guy was impressive.

I'd like to think that there will be less cigarette butts on the trail now... but I'm betting the prick, marb-light smoker is still on the hill.