Fixing the Place

0945h

This is the kind of bullshit that TI's get to deal with. For the record, I don't do mass mailings or spammings, given the grief I am put through for even turning a page in a book or turning a light switch on. So why did this erupt immediately after I sent a message to a recruiter (after extensive fuckery and obstruction), and then stop an email following it that I wanted to sent to a TI?. And what is the sense of it when they control what I remember and do, setting me up for this;

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More stupid shit from the assholes, including stripping out all the edit commands in Blogspot, just like they do in my Yahoo Mail.

2100h
A visitation to the First Feral Family home today, ostensibly for cleaning as my perp-abetting mother indicated in advance, though not how it turned out. I helped her haul out the stove and fridge so she could clean behind and underneath them, but I was put on fixing duty. The front door sweep (to seal drafts in), had fallen off and my mother wanted me to fix it. And as it "happened", the screw holes were rotted out, so I had to use the drill to clean them out to a 3/4" depth, then set on a shopping trip to get glue, dowel rod to plug the holes, and new screws as the old ones were reacting with the wood. So... off to gangstalk hell, Home Depot, though it wasn't too bad, save being misinformed by a staff member as to where the hose clamps were. The latter being another project at the FFF house, fixing the cheap-assed bamboo lawn rake with a hose clamp to secure the fan of tines to the shaft. The lawn rake repair had been started two days ago, using a pulling tool to bring a wire through the end of the tines so they were joined by the wire running through the hole I bored with the drill. 

All very arranged this, "finding" a drill at the FFF house that was said to be elsewhere, and having me supply my drill bits to the cause. That the bits are in a red index case is also a big deal, as my mother suddenly erupted outside when I was running the drill in the holes to clean them out. I had put on a band of masking tape on the drill to mark the depth location, and given the perps' fanatic attention to adhesives and especially roll tape, I should not of been too surprised. All to have her come by and talk to me while running the drill and for her to put some window washing materiel (blue solution and 8' aluminum telescoping pole with cleaning end) nearby. 

The perps also had me internally debating if I was going to fix the rotted screw holes properly at the same time, as there was so little wood, and mostly blackish powder I was getting out of the screw hole. But as the 1/4" dowel was already purchased, it was going ahead. And lo, if she didn't have any of the disposable gloves she had before, thereby causing me to come into direct contact with the glue, a new-to-me kind of Elmers that is weatherproof, needed for the outside of the door. And as part of the setup, the glue that had been around had disappeared, as I was sure I would find some. It seems that the perps like me to have some time limited direct contact with new solutions and glues, and so it came to pass that I got the glue on my fingers, and it was a freaking mess, as it got on the hammer face when driving the dowels in. The first hole went fine, cleanly slipping the glued dowel in the hole to full depth by hand, but for the remaining five holes  the dowel got stuck and had to be hammered. And lo, if there wasn't any mineral spirits to clean up, as there usually is, forcing me to look in at least three places for something comparable, the paint thinner in the garage.

And what is the deal with 1/4" dowel rod that isn't up to spec? A 1/4" drill bit was visibly too big, and I went 1/64" smaller, and still the dowel rod fitted in cleanly. Then it was said to be hardwood, but it was some kind of soft crap that mashed when being tapped by the hammer. All too bizarre that the perps won't let me do a glue plug job without fucking the size of the purchased material as well as the splaying dowel material. I suppose they want me to take a chisel to it to clean it off the front of the door when I return to this fix-it job in two days' time. Maybe I hadn't used the 15/64" drill bit before, and it was all about the initial use of a rotational cutting tool (see below).


Then the 1638h bus back to downtown, the assholes arranging the green coated dudes around me this time, in the transverse seats on the rear elevated deck, with another pair of dudes constantly nattering across the aisle. They switched places after a few minutes of boarding the bus for some mysterious reason, maybe to keep the yellow shoe laced fucker's feet out of my view, as he was stretching his legs across the aisle to get my attention as an invasive threat. The fuckers did this identical move with a negro girl's hands last week, pretending for her to absent mindedly run them across the back of the intervening seat for no reason and then check on me when they were within personal space threat distance. Then she did it again, not unlike today's near-footsie threat from the other side of the aisle.


Back to the drill and router bit nonsense again. Two days ago when at the FFF house, the across-the-street neighbor, a long standing noisemaker, started up his woodworking router when I awoke and got out of bed that morning, and then again in the afternoon when I just started weed digging and removal in the front yard, 30' closer to his place. And today, a half block away and at the corner I turn to go to the bus stop, why, another woodworking router job started up to noise cover me for 150' in each direction. Routers typically rotate at 20,000 rpm or more, so I can only assume that it serves not only for its noise (very distinctive) but the rotating bit and motor components are also of prime interest, not to mention the elevated EMF of the router motor. 


And I got browned on the outbound city bus this morning. My mother put on a song and dance that she needed coffee beans for Christmas, and that she couldn't find any quality coffee beans at her regular stores. So, she asked me to get coffee beans at my local supermarket, and I did two nights ago in an major gangstalked visitation. The coffee beans were in my fridge for a day, and I took them out this morning and took them with me on the bus. And the seating occupancy was arranged such that the only vacant area was on the center rearmost bench seat. I put the coffee beans down beside me, and checked out the seat neighbors, and lo, if they weren't brown skinned. An E. Indian on each side one seat in between, and on the tranverse seat about the same radial distance away, why, a negro woman. Worse yet, she had the fugly corn rows, and I cannot stand these just as much as dreadlocks. Good one that; hound me with the Coffee Corps for 8.5 years (coffee bearing Fuckwit gangstalkers), mind-fuck me into transporting coffee beans on the city bus (a mobile gangstalk platform), and then put the brown skinned ones around me. All part of the "browning around" games, and in keeping with the perp games, having an adjacent brown color reference next to me.


Then in aiding my perp-abetting mother, she wanted me to drive to the specialty grocery store where the parking stupidity rages supreme, with clusterfucks of vehicles on the road backed up from the putzing parking going on. And the first thing she wants to look at is the freaking bread, to purchase two loaves; one goes in the basket I was carrying, and another is put back, and this troupe of Fuckwits was all over me from 12' outside the store with a rude sidewalk constriction, and then selecting the carry basket got me at least one who was immediately ahead of me, and then at least five converged on this small grocery store's bread selection. And it stayed that way, with this total cluster fuck around me, with the asshole gangstalking jerks rotating in and out of service at each location we stopped at. And the placement of items in the carry basket, to then remove them was also done for the ham, being plastic wrapped, always a big deal for the sick assholes. Then a major bozo stunt of my mother when it came time to pay the cashier; looking at her checkbook to find cash, not finding it, putting it away, then looking in it again, getting out her wallet which is where she keeps the cash, and then putzing around putting it away, and having me go major impatient, though not outwardly so. The goings on of the FFF at this grocery store, visited 2 to 4x/year have always been bizarre, and I have yet to make one more trip to get the Christmas turkey with her. A major cluster fuck last year, and all the times before of this annual ritual. And lo, if they didn't have coffee beans there thay my mother could of purchased instead of sending me on this "brown-around" with my brown skinned seatmates on the bus earlier.


As part of this shopping gambit, my mother needed to clean behind the fridge before we set off shopping, having me pull it four feet from the wall after significant push-back as it "somehow" got stuck on some blackish tar-like compound under its front whee. Translated, that was the excuse to play gravity fucking games, and have me pull and push to no avail, as in futile effort, a long standing theme of their jerkarounds. But, they did let me finally pull the fridge from the wall and my mother cleaned in behind it, leaving it out to dry while we went shopping. Translated, that means that someone wanted the fridge moved before a number of new items such as the just purchased ham was put in the fridge, once I replaced it back into its usual location. The fridge games are endless it seems; moving items around, moving the fridge, moving an item from my fridge to my mother's or vice versa, and freezer to cooler movement of items, mostly accomplished by the scripted events, though the odd teleported item moving "by itself" when unobserved.


And for some relief, here is a link the sickos wanted me to see, the article about pallets and how the current day plastic pallets leach PBDE (polybrominated diphenyl ether  flame retardants) compounds, and that these compounds somehow end up in the contents of the pallet load itself. The perps seem to like me to learn about these ubiquitous pollutants, and that they often tell me that they represent big problems for them to remotely assess their TI victim's, as they introduce energetic interactions that they cannot yet model because of hormone mimicry in this case, but also poorly understood quantum level perturbances. And who are the assholes sponsoring widespread use and worldwide pollution of these  compounds? Why, it is the same ones, fouling their own nest as it were. And running me in a 8.5 year long imposed state of duress all because they want to remotely figure their problem out. Like WTF; why cannot they seek a cooperative arrangement instead of this insane litany of extra conventional abuse? Some TI's seem to be cooperating to me, so why am I being pilloried over the fuckups of some insane organization with limitless resources who won't come out of the closet. Not my problem, so why am I being relentlessly fucked with?

2405h
A late addition, post-posting. A fearless woman who has an anomalous genetic defect that doesn't allow processing of fear, seated in the amygdala part of brain that processes emotional content. I suppose she might be of intense perp interest, as part of her amygdala isn't functioning, hence not interfering with whatever else the perps are looking for, say, psychic energies. Just my take on it, though it is most odd how often the amygdala brain region factors in so many of the perp games.