Posted by farid from customer-148-233-71-99.uninet.net.mx (148.233.71.99) on Friday, August 22, 2003 at 1:34PM :
Guz means fart in Persian...how did they know. Fartman is the guy I half bought half this house from and decided I didn't want the other half. One of the many fine points of Mexican Law is that they don't encourage homelessness. Usually people pay cash on the head for real estate because the Law protects the sucker buying the land and not the bastard selling it, at least in this case. If you come up with only half the amount and the owner is desperate enough to sell anyway...if someting goes wrong and you can't come up with the other half...you don't lose everything. The owner, if he wants his property back, has to return your money to you, plus interest for the time he had the use of it. In return you have to pay him a "reasonable" rent for the time you occupied the place, if you did.
Not surprisingly Fartman had us sign what was basically an illegal or unenforceable contract when we paid half...saying that we'd lose it all if we didn't follow through. Fartman does construction and handyman type stuff. I first got wind of his character when I sked what a bedromm measuring fifteen feet by twelve would cost us...no plumbing, nothing fancy, just bricks and cement. His "quote" came back, $20,000 USD. I doubt this entire house cost that much. But he says he's an honest man. I'm so releived we couldn't make the other payment...what a bunch of neighbors we'd have had. What pissed them all off so much was that they fancied they had the makings of a real friendly community out here...that it would grow and they'd be the "Daughters of The Revolution" in it...the "first" families. Didn't take but a week to let them all know I didn't want to be a part of it and they never got over that. It's been downhill since then, but at least I can get out and then they'll all come back and pick up where they left off. They have to get rid of me because they turned me into an Evil Empire all by lonesome and now no one wants to buy their houses or lots because they did such a good job making a rapist, pedophile, terrorist, horse theif, axe and gun toting psycho out of me...hehehehe. Talk about your property values going to hell. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving bunch.
Now that their 13 denunciations went into the trash, where they belonged and the only one remaining is waiting for Reynolds, Celina and Leslie to come out of hiding so we can get on with it...I just have to share a bit about one of the charges Fartman and his wife, Kit Carson (another name slimed for all time) brought against me in their wild and wooley attempts to get this Lump off the Hill.
The day after Leslie held the gate open for Lew to run me down and cheered him on as he whipped my face, in front of my daughter...on her birthday ride with her father...I went down to his house...he'd run away by then, when I saw Leslie's red Toyoto truck parked there. I wanted to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing helping Lew do such a thing when none of us had ever done a thing to her or her husband, except try to warn them about Lew. I had no way of knowing that it was Kit driving the truck that day, they switched off constantly, and she was the one in the house alone.
Not twenty or thirty meters from where I parked, Fartman was still digging the big hole to bury Hurican in, who was bloating and needing a bigger hole each day he lay there in the hot sun. He was driving the red Ford pick-up truck belonging to an American woman here, Mauri Fogoni, or something like that. That was the truck Lew was supposedly buying on the "installment plan"...wich to him means he takes you "in" and "stalls" you as long as possible until you take it back, which she had just recently done. She'd given it to Fartman to clean up so she could sell it...it needed it after they got through with it...but, he wasn't supposed to be using it, just fixing it up.
So, I gets out of my trusty Bourbon and start for the gate to yell for Leslie to come out and talk...if she will. Before I get two feet past the Bourbon, Fartman has jumped into his truck and is driving straight at me as fast as he can accelerate. I had time, but I jumped anyway and got so my truck was between us...he comes crashing into the front fender of the Boubon and sends it bouncing...then he races off, his bent bumper clanging on the ground. I watch him drive away and wonder what the hell got into him and go home.
Two days later we show up at the Ministerio to answer some other charge they levelled at us the week before and there's Fartman and Kit sitting on the benches in the reception area. I go up to him and say, "What the hell did you think you were doing...why'd you smash my truck"? He gets up, moves over between his wife and where I'm standing with his back to her...spreads out his arms for all to see...and stands there like he's tied to a cross or something. He then says..."I was protecting my wife from you and your axe". My WHAT?
There Fartman was digging a hole to bury the horse...the horse he had the least to do with getting killed...but why should the white people clean their own arses...let good old Fartman do it some more. His darlin wife Kit is in Lew's house doing something or other. Fartman sees me drive up...sees me get out of my car with an axe in my hand...and love and honor impels him to throw down his tools, jump in his truck and save her. He didn't tell them about ramming my truck, when he missed me and trying to kill me before I killed his wife. He didn't tell them that, being very solicitous of her well-being...he then drive off and left her there alone...with an angry man, much angrier man, weilding an axe! I kid you not.
Not only am I the world's most incompetant horse theif...moving them only twenty feet away from where I took them and feeding and watering them till the police said I had to give them back...but I'm the weirdest psycho that ever lived too. Imagine if you will a crazy man, for so they've painted me to each other and half the town, carrying an axe, hell bent on killing a fat little woman...in broad daylinght, with her husband not thirty feet away and who knows who else might be standing around. Determined to save his wife from this mad man, Fartman drives his truck into the mad man's truck and then runs away...leaving his tender wife to the tender mercies of a nut who now has plenty more reasons to kill you, your wife, your dogs and your truck.
Only he didn't mention that part in his police report...instead he claims he merely drove up to the gate...stopping me in my tracks, axe poised, with just a baleful glance from his crossed eyes, while his wife walked out, sat in the truck and they drove away, turning himself from a weasel into some kind of steely-eyed hero...another one. Some wild man...some psycho. He also doesn't explain what happened to the bumper of his truck, which he took off and threw away...or the grille, or how I came to have red Ford paint all over my car and bumper from where he hit it...or where the truck went to...you used to see it parked around town but now its in hiding too!
And these guys "wonder" why no one takes their charges seriously...why I'm not deported or jailed...based on this kind of idiotic "evidence" and "testimony" from these kinds of witless "witnesses".
-- farid
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