OK, this is the scoop - the next time I hear that freeloader banging in like that in the daytime where I can see what I’m doing, that’s it. He’s going to the hospital cuz I’m sick of his shit, I’ve taken his shit for two years, and I’m not gonna take it for another year. I should’ve beaten the shit out of him two years ago. A part of this is my fault, too, cuz if I’d just put him in his place years ago, then I’d have spared myself all this bullshit, cuz he’d have been too terrified to step out of line after I got done with him. If beating this sick freeloader fuck into submission and traumatizing him into doing what’s right is what it’s gonna take, then fine. So, come tomorrow, he’s dead. Totally totally mincemeat. It won’t be till June before he’s recovered enough to even drive in the first place. I knew it was just a matter of time too, and there was no door slamming. I knew it was the freeloader by the security light and by hearing him shuffle around the carport as he was getting out of the Jeep and going into the house (I ran around to the side of the house). That fucking, fucking mother-fucking freeloader! Who the fuck does he think he is? King of the world? Well, you make my day tomorrow, you fucking filthy freeloader, and you blast off and see what happens! I’m gonna set you straight so fucking fast you won’t even know what hit you, you fucking freeloader! And this isn’t it, either. Once he starts, he doesn’t stop. He’s not gonna blast off on occasion. Just when I started to think that maybe, just maybe, the city did bitch about him, but yeah right! In my dreams. Like I always said, the way to solve a problem with someone is by confronting them head-on. You go directly to the source. You don’t get to people by way of going through others. So tomorrow he’s mine and I’ll never have to worry about him again like I shouldn’t have let myself do in the first place.

We’ve decided to go to California when we originally planned to from Thursday to Saturday cuz we remembered that Sunday’s Easter. Nothing would be open. 

They’re still up over there and I just gave them their fourth banging spree, but it’s not enough. I want to bang on them! Well, I might. In just a handful of hours. Not her, though, cuz she’s just a big-mouthed bitch. She’s not the one banging in and out and she’s too little. I don’t usually go after someone smaller than me, but if she came to my door right now, that’d be different. Then I’d deck her like I’d deck anyone else.

Even if the city did mention the letters to them, that obviously didn’t do any good as far as getting his ass out of here. And they know this, too, so why not go back to blasting the music? All she has to do is claim it isn’t coming from her place. Every other car that goes by blasts music, so maybe it’s them, but it ain’t where she lives! So this is how I know I have to take matters into my own hands. It’s the only way to solve this problem once and for all. Even if he doesn’t wake me up, I have to go to bed fearing he will (along with the rest of this sick city) and I’m not gonna live like that. I’ve had it with rude, sick, fucking asshole neighbors who only care about themselves. I can’t take on the whole city, but I can and will take care of the problem just outside these walls here. So, till daylight, you fucking black cock!

Just when I settled back into not eating when I first got up, and not eating much throughout the rest of the day, I’m back to that constant hunger deal. I woke up so damn hungry. Tom ran out to get a double cheeseburger and some fries, which I ate all of, then was still hungry. I just had a hot dog and it seemed like it might curb my hunger there for a second, but nope. I’m right back to being so hungry.

Later…

Now I’m even more pissed cuz I can’t continue on with making my racket now that it’s raining out (just as the pool gets all done filling up) and have to play Leak & Bucket instead. Thank you, God, for caring about me and my feelings and emotions. Thank you so very very much, God! You’re such a fair, kind, loving God. With my shit luck, you’ve made them deaf to my racket anyway.

Later…

The rain let up so out I went to bang on the metal pole of the clothesline. Oh, how I wish I knew they heard me! But I really do have my doubts as to whether or not they hear me when I make my late-night ruckus and that’s cuz I don’t get woken up. God got me back for all those people I woke up in Springfield, so if I were waking these freeloaders up, wouldn’t he wake me up, too? Maybe he will in the future. I didn’t pay for what I did back east right away.

Later…

And there goes another possibly useless banging spree. Oh, how I want to get my hands on that asshole instead!

On the other hand, maybe they do hear me. They heard me yelling at them about the dog freaking out at 2 AM, cuz I heard someone come out of the house. I just didn’t know right away it was to move the dog even closer to me by taking it out of the yard and into the carport. Some loving neighbors they are.

Again my question is, when is the city gonna order them to move on? How many more years can they mooch off the city and have the city pick up the bulk of the tab for their living expenses? And these are not disabled people. They’re just a bunch of sick assholes on welfare that are too lazy to work harder than they do. We know the bitch can work cuz we know she leaves every day, but can’t she work a little harder to pay her own way? Maybe she’s just too damn stupid to get a better job than whatever it is she’s got. Whatever it is she does have, can’t be any better than working at McDonald’s. Maybe the employers of the better jobs also don’t want to hire a selfish bitch of a freeloader, and if that’s discrimination, then I’m all for it.

Later…

I forgot to say that Tom feels it could be the Lactaid that made me nauseous the last two times I had shakes. Whatever. All I know is that God will do anything to stop me from any diet plan working, so fine. I won’t do anything about losing weight and I won’t lose weight. I’ll stay heavy, and heavy I am. My waist is 32”, my hips are close to 40”. Even my tits have grown. I’m around 36” in that department. My 23” thighs are what my waist should be. But again, that’s not gonna happen, though, so I can forget living on skinny dreams.

Later…

I knew it. I just knew it. I not only knew that he wouldn’t cum at this time, but I knew he’d tickle me after sex, too. Why must he do that “I feel guilty for deliberately not cumming, but let me butter you up with tickles so I don’t have to deal with how you feel about it” game? It’s OK. I don’t want a kid anymore, so he doesn’t have to cum. It only makes a mess, anyhow.

Also, Tom said he saw a big Jeep and a little Jeep next door at the freeloader’s yesterday, but heard no music.