HomelessInLaJolla's Journal: 140612 (murder)

War in La Jolla, eighth year, eighth entry

After nearly eighteen months of daily and nightly dog attacks, the police arrive and gutted me.

My new M. Julian coat. Gone. All of the diamonds and gemstones in it. Gone. The nation's largest private collection of gemstones, stolen. The jewels of La Jolla won't be anything in your family, won't be anything your spouse bought for you. The jewels of La Jolla, CA, will be the collection you burgled from the homeless man when you had the San Diego police gut him.

Weeks and weeks of fighters and drunks attacking me, and the police did nothing. Months of nightly dog assaults, and the police did nothing. But when the police arrive on your telephone calls, they gut my house bag. Everything of value. Gone. My sewing kits, gone. My soap tin, gone. My utility bag, with the single final remaining remnant of my life before homeless (a Lucky Strike Zippo lighter), gone. My Alephel stick, gone (the police said they would leave it with my belongings, they didn't tell me they were going to gut my belongings). The new parka coat that I had been given, gone. Everything and anything of value. Gone. All of my decorative sewing tassles which I had been keeping for future work. Gone. My sewing needle (a warhammer, a pincushion with all of the sewing needles arranged in it), gone. I can't even repair my belongings if I wanted to because all of my materials, gone.

When the police pull you over and search your car, they break the door handles, slash the upholstery, and cut out the liner from the roof, eh? They tore open the backpack on my backpack (the backpack is the sleeping bag, now sewn up and looks like a golf bag, with the comforter blanket on top, and a hand sewn little backpack made especially for the prayer book and the alephel stick), tore and ripped open the waterproofing liner that I had sewn into it (a heavy duty plastic shopping gift bag from one or the other local shops), and ripped all the buttons off of the book compartment. I can't even repair it. I have no thread or needles!

My new M. Julian coat. With all of the gemstones in it. 100-plus of the prettiest shekels and talents anybody has ever picked up (even the gospels' tempter sported only a small handful of stones to turn into bread), quite possibly the nation's largest private collection of gemstones, gone. Burgled because dog attack after dog attack after dog attack brought the police to gut the homeless man.

And then... and then... and THEN...

To get out of jail without waiting three or more weeks for a trial required me to accept one year summary probation, waiving right to presence at PC977 (public crossing 977, the intersection of torrey pines and girard). I cannot have presence, at all, within sight of 7600 Girard for one year. Those were the terms. The town attacks me with animals day and night, and when the police arrive, they gut me.

On the mapfortu.wikidot.com material...

From the book of Judges, Samson's riddle to the Philistines.

What is sweeter than honey? What is stronger than a lion?

What is sweeter than honey? Nerve agent (tastes better than nutrasweet)
What is stronger than a lion? Seahorses. Boils. Boiled down old eunuchs.

Samson started to drop his voice, but Delilah arrived and began pointing him up with "kryptonite", "samsonite", nerve agent and seahorses. If you had not ploughed with my heifer. EUNUCHS.

Jonah never made it. The Lord relented. Supposedly Jehu managed to achieve the tenth egyptian plague and dropped his voice enough to knock out one temple of the dog faggitt idiots... then he rode off into the sunset never to be seen again. Old legend.

My voice is dropping, I am squeezing out the nerve agent and peeling off the seahorses. When I achieve the level necessary for the tenth plague I will ship you all to hell.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/