To the Bitter End

You're in the back seat of a taxi as it motors into the Sack.

It's early in the morning so the cul-de-sac is quiet. Small trees line the sides of the street, one for each of the modest dwellings.  You observe that most homes are decently kept and seem in good repair. Discarded bicycles and a smattering of errant toys make it easy to deduce where Sack kids reside.

On the left side of the street, before the taxi enters the Sack's centre circle, your attention is abruptly taken by Burning Manor's front yard.  It's dotted with a haphazard collection of lawn ornaments and other doohickeys.  You wonder, and rightly so, about the madness that lies beneath this bold display of creative landscaping.

Burning Manor, however, fades from view as the taxi moves in a counter-clockwise direction through the circle.  The homes are a bit larger now and most have garages.  You notice the immaculate lawn and gardens at Big Doug's house.  You wonder now about the madness beneath such a bold display of landscaping precision.

As the taxi maneuvers further into the circle, your attention is drawn sharply to a house with a parched yellowish lawn.  The attached driveway is covered by a sand-like substance that continues onto the pavement in front of the house.  The porch stairs are littered with toys and discarded tools.

Before you have time to wonder about the madness that must lie beyond the facade of this suburban home, the taxi comes to a stop.  You have arrived, it seems, at your destination.

Welcome to the Sack home of the illustrious Bitterman clan.

***

Today's entry reflects your agent's understanding of how the exterior of the Bitterman home became a shambles. 

Over the last seven years, chaos has descended on the Bitterman home in a slow, progressive fashion. Sack residents are in unanimous agreement that it began when Maxwell, Britney Bitterman's beau, crossed its threshold for the first time.

Maxwell, of course, should be no stranger to past readers of your agent's scribblings.  He has been oft-described here as a dentally challenged rounder and a wheeler and dealer in items of questionable value.  On a more positive note, he has also been acknowledged as the best candle pin bowler on the Atlantic seaboard and the most outstanding interior painter east of Montreal.

Of course, the latter observations are based entirely on Maxwell's self-proclamations.

***

Mr. Bitterman's patience.

Sack intelligence reports that Mr. Bitterman had recently blown a gasket about his de facto son-in-law's paltry contributions to the family home.  Maxwell and Mr. Bitterman's fragrant daughter, Britney now have three mouths to feed after the birth of a daughter last year.  Unfortunately, Maxwell has remained only vicariously employed throughout his entire tenure on the Bitterman scene.  Britney has been too busy with their young offspring to work outside the home.

It doesn't take an economist to figure out that Mr. Bitterman, still smarting from the departure of Mrs. Bitterman from the family home (another story indeed), has become a permanent benefactor to Britney and her man, Maxwell.

My pal, Oscar continues to enjoy a driveway relationship with Mr. Bitterman.  This means that the two men only interact with each other when both are entering or exiting their vehicles at the same time.  Mr. Bitterman uses these conversations as a personal confessional about the trials and tribulations behind his front door.  Mostly, this involves lengthy tirades about Maxwell.

According to Oscar, Mr. Bitterman commanded that Maxwell would be solely responsible for yard work, garbage removal and the elimination of the debris field of strewn toys often stretching well beyond the boundaries of the Bitterman property.  The toys belong to Hekyl and Jekyl, the two eldest lads born from Maxwell's union with Britney. 

Hanging out at the Bitterman home

Hekyl and Jekyl were unleashed recently from the chains of infancy.  At the crack of dawn, they're instructed to "go outside and play," something the feral young lads do with gusto.  They also do it with armfuls of toys, balls and various motorized devices.  Rarely do these items found their way back into the Bitterman home.

Mr. Bitterman's demand was based on the idea that if Maxwell wasn't going to be gainfully employed elsewhere, he should at least have his arse in gear around the house.

***

Maxwell's new responsibilities also included the quick removal of his battered 1983 Cutlass Supreme from the Bitterman driveway.  Inoperable, it had been parked there for several years, waiting for a replacement thingamajig that never quite materialized.

The Cutlass Supreme, of course, has been a fixture in the Sack for some time.  Big Doug says its presence has been responsible, more so than the economy, for a recent decline in Sack property values.  I remain doubtful about this.

Not the real car, but close.

The decrepit vehicle is the namesake of Maxwell’s ill-fated business, Cutlass Supreme Painting.  Despite assets consisting of the vehicle, an extension ladder of dubious ownership and a box of snazzy business cards, Maxwell found it difficult to find his entrepreneurial footing in the competitive world of commercial and residential painting.  The chances for prosperity were further weakened when the car ceased to operate.    Undeterred, Maxwell retained the vehicle as a beacon to the possibility of his company's resurgence.

***

While Maxwell can be fairly assessed as a ne'er-do-well, one couldn't say that he is not a man of his word.  With Mr. Bitterman’s frustrated demands ringing in his ears, he leaped into action.  He began by addressing the conundrum of the 1983 Cutlass Supreme.

Maxwell, of course, could not bear to simply tow the vehicle away.  According to my other pal, Weed (the Sack's main correspondent on what's going on between Maxwell's ears), he intended to fix the vehicle.  From there, he would either keep it for his own use, or peddle it for one of multiple, high-priced offers he claimed to have for its services.

Repairing the vehicle necessitated the acquisition of the illusive thingamajig, as well as some assistance from Maxwell's notorious cousin, Doug "Dougie" Duggan.  Through Dougie's contacts in the underground world of bartered car parts, a somewhat new thingamajig was obtained.  All that remained was the installation of it.

This is where things went downhill quickly.

***

Despite the combined, self-lauded mechanical skills of both Maxwell and his cousin, Dougie, the new thingamajig failed to enliven the 1983 Cutlass Supreme.  Sack residents enjoyed an entire Saturday with the tantalizing sound of an engine that coughed and sputtered before returning to its slumber.  Since Dougie's services were required elsewhere, Maxwell continued the task on his own as dusk descended on the Sack.

The guy Maxwell should've hired.

At some point in Maxwell's tinkering, a fatal error occurred.  As Oscar describes it, the 1983 Cutlass Supreme "bled out" onto the sloped driveway of the Bitterman home.  The result was a massive leak of engine oil and transmission fluid onto the driveway and the street in front of the house.  Unfortunately, it was also dark when this occurred.  Sack residents were then entertained by the sight of Maxwell and an irate Mr. Bitterman, as they frantically spread an industrial supply of kitty litter on the driveway and road, in an attempt to absorb the spilled fluids.

This accounts for the sand-like substance you observed when your taxi meandered into the Sack.

 ***

The tortured grass at the Bitterman home was the consequence of an attempt to fertilize the lawn.  In short, on the weekend following the aborted vehicle repair, Maxwell burned the living crap out of it.

For some Sack residents, fertilizing one's lawn involves the use of a material approved under the old town’s strict, yet loosely-enforced environmental bylaw.  Others, confused by the law, elect to let nature simply take its course. A few people couldn’t be bothered either way.

Maxwell, however, came up with his own unique approach to this complex issue of lawn maintenance.

Through his network of nefarious "cousins", Maxwell obtained a fertilizer that some believe originated in Chernobyl.  Following the policy that "more is always better", he spread copious amounts of the stuff across the otherwise healthy front lawn of the Bitterman home.

By the following day, the front lawn of the Bitterman home resembled a drought-stricken prairie scene.

***

Persistence is a good quality in the measure of any man.  No one can say that Maxwell is lacking in this area.  He continued in his role as the caretaker of the Bitterman property.

Since Mr. Bitterman had decried the mess of Hekyl and Jekyl's toys, Maxwell took it upon himself to address the issue on a daily basis.  Unfortunately, this did not involve instructing his boys to pick up after themselves.  Instead, Sack residents have been amused by a new evening ritual.  Around dusk, Maxwell roams the Bitterman yard and surrounding lawns, as well as the Sack's centre circle.  He collects his son's playthings and, drawing upon his ample skill as a champion candle pin bowler, tosses them onto the porch stairs.  When his nightly task is complete, the porch stairs appear ready for a hastily arranged rummage sale, rather than an entry into the Bitterman homestead.

In the morning, Hekyl and Jekyl simply play their way out of the house.

Of course, the children's toys are not the only items on the porch stairs of the Bitterman home.  As a result of Maxwell's unique, "use and drop" approach when using tools and other hardware, Hekyl and Jekyl quickly claimed the implements as toys.  Oscar reports that 6 year-old Jekyl was found in the Sack's centre circle, trying to use a cordless drill on a defenseless tree.  Weed tells me that he was forced to disarm the younger Hekyl from a ball peen hammer.  Apparently, the boy was in the midst of sculpting one of the ornamental rocks in the circle. 

***

Sack trees before the winds arrived.

It is now autumn in the Sack.  The leaves changed colour late this year.  One could barely admire them before a series of blustery storms cast them from the trees.

Maxwell has since made a small dent in the collection of toys and tools on the front steps.  Hekyl and Jekyl refuse to venture outside when there's a chill in the air.  This likely accounts for more toys going in, rather than out of the house.

Many of the tools have disappeared.  Apparently, Big Doug told Maxwell he'd kick his arse if he saw any power tools lying around, especially if Hekyl and Jekyl decided to use them next door on his property.

Mr. Bitterman blew another gasket after Maxwell's lawn fertilizing escapade.  Sack observers privately wonder about how many gaskets the man has left.  He ordered Maxwell to repair the mess.  This involved the complete removal of the damaged sod, a truckload of top soil and a load of replacement sod.  To avert the chance that Maxwell might arrange for the needed materials from a wayward cousin, Mr. Bitterman was forced to purchase these items himself.

Maxwell got off to a slow start in providing the labour for this task.  It took him several weeks to remove the burnt lawn.  A further week passed with a small mountain of top soil in the yard.  Hekyl and Jekyl delighted in this.  They spent the entire week digging and spreading the soil everywhere except where it was required.  After a rainstorm turned the soil into a mud pile, Maxwell was finally forced to remove the pickle from his posterior.

By the first of October, the new lawn was finally installed.  Apparently, Mr. Bitterman forcefully reminded Maxwell that it doesn't need to be fertilized this year.

***

The massive oil slick on the Bitterman driveway was another matter.

The kitty litter used to absorb the goop was shoveled into garbage bags and then taken away by the old town's waste management brigade.  The remaining mess was sprayed with a garden hose.  Presumably, it eventually found its way into the sewer.  Maxwell completed these tasks under the watchful eye of Mr. Bitterman.

Sack environmentalists remain appalled.

A large, circular dark stain remains on the Bitterman driveway.  It's easy to see now that Maxwell's 1983 Cutlass Supreme is gone.  He arranged for it to be towed away after the repair fiasco.  Apparently, on the day after the oil spill, Mr. Bitterman had implied that either Maxwell or the vehicle would need to leave his property before darkness fell.

Maxwell tells Weed that the wrecking yard (where, naturally, one of his cousins is employed) is simply holding the vehicle for him until better times descend upon him.  He has no doubt that his treasured car will grace the old town's streets once again.

***

Hope springs eternal.

Oscar says the remaining oil stain on the driveway is a symbol of Maxwell's influence on the Bitterman household.  He could be right about this. 

Nevertheless, when the sun shines in just the right direction, it's possible to observe a rainbow sheen on the surface the Bitterman driveway. Perhaps this is also a symbol of hope and a reminder about the inevitability of positive change.

***

Good God, Gordon

The news spread through the Sack last January at the speed of a light switch. At least, that's how my neighbour, Weed described it.  In truth, it probably took a full day to travel around the cul-de-sac.

That's still pretty fast, though.

The news concerned Gordon, veteran Sack dweller and grand poohbah of the now-dormant Sack Residents Society. Apparently, he had decided to sell his house.  A prominent 'For Sale' sign would soon be posted on his beloved front yard.  Even more surprising was the news that Gordon and his lovely partner, Gordette had already purchased a new home.

Gordon was leaving the Sack.

***

Most Sack residents eventually arrive at a common word to describe Gordon.  They’ll start off by saying he's mostly a decent sort who means well.  Then they’ll say he’s also a bit of a tit.

A Great Tit

This will be said with varying degrees of affection.

Gordon, of course, has his own particular ideas about how people should care for their homes and manage their lives.  His position on these points could be described as follows:  Everything should be manicured and in its place. Clutter and unnecessary noise should be avoided.   Children shouldn't be seen or heard.

Any violation of these standards inevitably caused Gordon to sputter and whinge. This is why most Sack residents regard him as a bit of a tit.

***

Tit, by the way, is the Sack's word of the month for May.  The word of the month for April was douche bag.

It should also be known that your agent has very little influence over word of the month decisions.

***

Gordon discussed the decision to leave the Sack with your agent a few weeks later.  By then, the 'For Sale' sign was in place.  He said a lot of things went into the decision.  A good part of it, he admitted, came from his frustration with shenanigans that occur in the Sack.  He said he was tired of the antics of Britney Bitterman and her beau, Maxwell.  The storied affairs at Burning Manor, home of the delightful Dirk and Dora, didn’t help either.  And Sack kids, as far as he was concerned, could easily be described as feral these days.  As such, he could only imagine worse things to come. 

Gordon also said that his lovely partner, Gordette, had a strong voice in the decision.  Apparently, she isn’t fond of certain residents, either.  She could do without noisy Sack kids, too.  She agreed that it was time to find a better quality cul-de-sac among the old town’s suburbs.

None of this, of course, is surprising.

***

About four years ago, Gordon’s marriage came to a sudden and unexpected end.  His wife had a career opportunity out west.  Gordon didn’t want to leave the old town.  The ending of the relationship broke the impasse.  Sack observers, of course, felt there was more to the breakdown than this.  Many thought his wife may have left for another reason:  She got tired of living with someone who was a bit of a tit.

When his marriage ended, Gordon assumed sole ownership of his home.  After a period of mourning and singlehood, he met the current love of his life, Gordette. While Sack residents were happy for Gordon, it was clear that the couple shared many similar qualities.  This, of course, was how she earned the moniker, Gordette.

Almost two years ago, Gordette moved in with Gordon.  She sold her own home to do so.  It didn’t take long before she was sputtering and whinging about Sack matters, in the same shrill manner as Gordon. 

It took even less time for Sack residents to realize that Gordon and Gordette had become a pair of tits.

***

Residents met the news of Gordon’s exit from the Sack with mixture of regret and good humour.  In truth, there was probably more of the latter.   

Big Doug was quick to say that Gordon was a good, responsible homeowner.  He said the Sack would be very fortunate to get a new resident to match the man’s attention to home maintenance and repair.   At the same time, he said we’d also be lucky if we got someone who wouldn’t be a pain the arse, like Gordon could be sometimes.

Little Doug, still recovering from his recent dalliance with the Rock Church, called Gordon’s departure a mixed blessing.   He said Gordon was a nice enough fellow when he gave himself a chance to relax.  Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to happen very often.  He thinks it’s probably best for Gordon and Gordette to have a new start together somewhere else.  He says they’ll probably be happier.  He could be right about this.

Weed says Little Doug’s use of the phrase “mixed blessing,” is evidence that Little Doug still has "a little bit of the Jesus" in him.

Little Doug says Weed is more than a bit of a tit.

***

Elizabeth, to no one's surprise, was taken by the impending loss of Gordon and Gordette.  Along with her husband, Prince Philip, she’s one of the few residents who saw Gordon as a noble arbiter of decent and moral behaviour in the Sack.  She said she has also given thought to leaving the Sack on a number of occasions.  If the summer brings any more shenanigans to the street, she says she just might do it, too.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth’s husband, Prince Philip is unemployed right now.  It’s unlikely that they’ll sell until that matter is resolved. 

Getting ready for the move to the Sack.

After only a few minutes of lamenting Gordon’s departure, Elizabeth speculated about the horrors ahead for the Sack. She has full expectations that a group of hillbillies will decide to purchase Gordon's home. 

Apparently, this is the kind of luck she has come to expect.

***

One can only imagine that Sack kids breathed a sigh of relief when they heard about Gordon’s departure.  They were very aware of his tendency toward sputtering and whinging.  More than a few of them had been subjected to it. 

It’s quite possible that they also viewed him as a bit of a tit.

***

It is May now.  Gordon and Gordette moved out at the beginning of the month.  So far, the Sack seems to be surviving their absence.

The new owners of Gordon’s place have yet to move in.  Big Doug says they take possession of it at the end of this month.  No one has any idea about their identity.  This, however, hasn’t stopped speculation about them.

Oscar says it’s unlikely we’ll get a pair of tits quite like Gordon and Gordette again.  He says this is the law of probability at work.  Instead, he said we should be worried about knobs.  Apparently, there are a lot more of those out there than tits.

I suppose we’ll soon find out.

***

Holy Smokes

BLOGGUS INTERRUPTUS:  Your agent has been busy moving mountains and then carefully putting them back where they belong.  I haven't been able to get anywhere near the blogging machine.

Meanwhile, Sack news has piled up at an alarming rate. Great bales of the stuff fill the cul de sac blues head office.  Today's yarn was spun from a half-standing position more likely to be seen in a yoga class.

 I think I'm going to be sore tomorrow.

***

Little Doug found God last July.  Sadly, he lost him again before November passed.

His brief bout with piety began when he met a woman named Charleen.  They found each other through an online dating site.  Charleen was a buxom, fifty-something blonde with a face Oscar likes to describe as experienced. 

Buxom?

Charlene made it clear from the start that she was a born-again Christian.  This characteristic did not deter Little Doug in the least.  When asked about it, he pointed to her pleasant demeanor and shared interest in camping and fishing as the source of his attraction.  Her spiritual rebirth, as far as he was concerned, was just a secondary characteristic, like a fondness for shopping or collecting spoons from abroad.

Weed, Little Doug's de facto son-in-law, thought otherwise when it came to this matter of attraction.  He found it hard to imagine that the buxom blonde thing did not fall into the equation somewhere, likely at the beginning of it.

Buxom, by the way, was the Sack's word of the month last August.

***

Rockin' the Rock Church

It did not take long, however, for Little Doug to embrace Charleen's evangelical zeal.  Within weeks of their first date, he was in regular attendance at the local Rock Church.  This is where Charleen found and maintained her redemption.

Sack observers were only mildly amused by Little Doug's sudden plunge into evangelical waters.  Big Doug said he didn't give a monkey's arse about peoples spiritual activities as long as they kept it to themselves and maintained a decent front lawn.

Computer Doug was even more nonchalant about the matter.

"Whatever floats his boat," he said, "is fine with me."

***

Weed and Daisy, Little Doug's daughter, had a very different view of the situation.  After a month at the Rock Church, Little Doug quickly became a frequent source of frustration on the home front.

It began with his insistence at saying grace before every meal.  At first, Daisy and Weed were happy to accommodate the ritual, out of respect for Little Doug's exuberance for his burgeoning relationship with Charleen.

"Don't get me wrong," said Weed, during a chinwag with Oscar and your agent at the local coffee cathedral, "I'm okay with a quick 'Thanks for the grub, Bub,' but it's starting to get ridiculous."

To demonstrate, Weed bowed his head in front of his maple sugar donut and launched into a lengthy monologue of appreciation directed at God, the Holy Spirit and St. Timmy, the patron saint of dead hockey players and sweet pastries.

According to Weed, Little Doug was also adopting a preacher-like position on most topics of discussion.  By this time, he was seeing Charleen four or five times a week, attending bible study classes, group discussions and, of course, the twice-weekly sermons lead by Pastor Rick, the public face of the Rock Church.

The gist of Little Doug's message was that Jesus Christ had taken it on the chin for all of us. The least we could do is straighten up and fly right.  He said a lot more than this, of course, but Weed said this was the best he could make of it.

***

For her part, Daisy was equally baffled by her father's transformation.

"Before, the only God-talk in our house was when someone sneezed or when Dad fell off a ladder," she said. "Now, it's all he talks about."

Until Charleen came along, Daisy said her father only stuck his head inside a church for weddings and funerals.

"Now," she added, "you can't get him out of one."

***

You would be correct if you're thinking that Daisy and Weed held a dim view of Charleen and her influence on Little Doug's life.  In fact, the feeling appeared to be a mutual one.

One day, Little Doug suddenly raised the matter of Daisy's marital status with Weed. The couple is unmarried and their boy, Baby Doug is now an active toddler.  Daisy, of course, reacted with something more than mild indignation.  Backpedaling, Little Doug admitted that Charleen had noted her disapproval about their status and her reluctance to be in their presence as a result.  Apparently, there was a risk of "guilt by association" in the eyes of the Lord.

Also, after listening to Pastor Rick, Little Doug added that he was simply getting worried that an unmarried couple with a child would not be looked upon fondly when final accounts are due to be settled.

Daisy, according to Weed, told her father that both Charleen and Pastor Rick should mind their own beeswax. 

***

Pastor Rick (or Pastor Dick, as Weed refers to him) is quite a prolific figure around the old town.  His frantic calls for redemption appear regularly in paid advertisements on the pages of the Chronically Horrid's Sunday edition.  

Pastor Rick's writings often rage about the apocalyptic events already happening in front of our eyes.  Weed says this includes, among other things, the existence of Lady Gaga and the Double Down sandwich.  In Pastor Rick's view, the world is going to hell in a hand basket and we need to wake up and smell the coffee.

I have no idea about any of this.

***

The bloom fell off the rose, however, in mid-October.  Little Doug suddenly stopped seeing Charleen with the same frequency.  His attendance at the Rock Church also declined.

Near the end of November, Little Doug announced that his relationship with Charleen had ended.  He said it was a mutual decision, but admitted that the "born-again" thing was starting to wear him down.  Apparently, he was having trouble making heads or tails from what the Bible was talking about.  Pastor Rick's "fire and brimstone" approach wasn't helping matters either.

Nevertheless, it was also clear that Little Doug was bummed out by the loss of the relationship with Charleen.  Weed said he seemed to be spending a lot more time in front of the TV and barely broke a smile when he watched his favourite old television show, Hogan's Heroes.

"On the positive side," Weed added, "he's back to being what he was before, a bored-again Christian."

Bored-again Christian, by the way, was the Sack's word of the month in December.

***

A few weeks ago, your agent encountered Little Doug at the local coffee cathedral.  We enjoyed a brief sit-down at a corner table.

Little Doug told me that he had now been smoke free for six months. He said he quit smoking at Charleen's encouragement, shortly after they met.  Besides the obvious health benefits, she said quitting smoking was one of several things that would boost his profile when the time of reckoning arrived.

Little Doug said he had been thinking a lot about his dalliance with the Rock Church and his short-lived relationship with Charleen.  He was at the point now where he could look for the positives in the experience.

"I've been trying to quit smoking for years," he said, "so meeting her and going to church must have been part of the plan for me."

Your agent nodded in agreement.  "So, no matter what," I replied, "your chances of going to heaven have gone up."

"That's right," said Little Doug, "and if I end up in Hell, at least I won't have to bum smokes off the Devil."

***