To clarify, Mom and I don’t support Trump. We simply like him and his speeches of mostly theatrics, err, rhetorics. We feel that he really means what he says, and will act accordingly. Otherwise, we’re doomed to Communism. I wonder why that was planned for America.
Next, Das Squirrel said last night that no matter how y’all look at it, abortion is simply murder. The one committing the act of death is the service provider – legal and illegal. Trump is correct about the mothers being the victim.
Last night whereupon Das Squirrel left, he called home and inquired of us about his missing garage door opener. I looked issued. Dad looked outdoors, with the convenience of the city code violation of blue lighting – shining TOO brightly across our property and across the two Asian houses across from us.
I saw dark-colored boat pause too long at the Rue. I motioned a crazy temple gesture and pointed in the general direction of the crazy bitch living next door to us. Then the “boat” crossed cautiously across MY long stretch of road, rolled slowly to an almost pause at the streetlight to our two mailboxes, and proceeded eastbound on MY drive.
After coming home from picking up Dad’s repaired MB E430 from the dealership, the crazy bitch living next door to us opened her garage door and pretended to check her empty mailbox, which is a way for her to snoop inside our opened garage. As Dad took a freaking long time to park inside the right side of the garage, I was standing near the switch to close the garage when she saw me. That was Tuesday evening around six o’clock during a political meeting, I think.
So as long as she lives in that intra-family transferred, single residence and with her mental order that’s permanent until she dies, she’ll continue to scream. Is that what y’all want? If she’s renting, I can follow through with legal actions, of course. Stupid American laws.
Next, 0807. M spider sense indicated to open front window wooden blinds. Sure enough, I saw big dark blue SUV parked in front of streetlight between our two mailboxes. Upon struggling slowly to move aside the sheer curtains and while trying to use the binoculars to view the license plate number ending in what appears to be eights, the SUV took off eastbound on MY drive! That’s a sync.
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