I knew I'd forgotten something when writing about the Whistle Post last evening. During the course of our visit, I had to go to the ladies' room. On the wall behind the toilet was a computer-generated sign in large letters which read, "Please hold handle down for AT LEAST three seconds!" Underneath that, someone had written in ball-point pen, "How about fixing the damn toilet???" And underneath that, someone else, presumably a restaurant minion, had written, "Just do as we say." Heh heh heh. Just do as we say. I like a tavern with attitude.

I haven't posted for a while about my weirder-than-grits neighbors. In this photo, you can see that as of April 2nd, they still hadn't bothered to dispose of their Christmas tree, doubtless due to their difficulty in figuring out the intricacies of garbage pickup. They still haven't gotten rid of it, but after a particularly violent rainstorm and several consecutive days of very strong winds, all the needles have blown off and now it serves as a framework for dandelions and weeds to grow upon. Next for your perusal, I submit this photo taken April 29. Guess what the green coily thing is, sitting out in the driveway? Yes, the CHRISTMAS TREE STAND! Apparently, this is its proper place, and where it is to be kept when not in use.

But the real point of taking that picture was to showcase their stolen garbage can, purloined from the City of Atlanta. You can see its provenance clearly in the picture. I haven't tried turning them in because (a) I'm not interested in stirring up trouble; (b) it's no skin off my nose as I've never been a City of Atlanta taxpayer; (c) it's their business if they want to risk the bad karma. The thing is, though, that it's sitting right outside their house with no attempt to hide or camouflage it; they stick it right out at the curb day after day in their hopeless quest to trick a passing sanitation company into emptying it, and yet nothing happens. If that were me, even if I had a perfectly valid, non-bad-karma-producing reason for stealing it - such as, I had received one can but been charged for two, and all my attempts at obtaining a refund or billing credit had been met with the stubborn, steadfast disdain that only the Medusa of true bureaucracy can engender, then, regardless of the number of robberies, murders, carjackings and drug deals going down in the A-T-L, you KNOW an entire posse of policemen, detectives, probably a S.W.A.T. team and a G.B.I. detail would be pounding on my front door waiting to haul me down to DentCent (that's A-T-L insider-speak for the Fulton County Detention Center) and with my luck, it would turn out that the minority firm contracted to provide herbie-curbies to the City had charged them so much that my heist counted as felony theft instead of a misdemeanor. I'd be DOING TIME for this, and instead Mr. Door-Slammer roams free, armed with weapons of mass destruction. Okay, armed with a mop, but still.

I have decided that revenge is required. You can tell from the photos that they have allowed the fence separating my yard from theirs to fall into disrepair. What I propose to do is fix the fence. I know, that doesn't sound vengeful - but wait there's more! What I want to do is, fix the portions that have fallen down, and take down other pieces. Every so often, but not with any predictable pattern, I shall replace two or three fallen posts and remove a few others. Their fence will always look mangy, but the MANGE SHALL MIGRATE. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-HA!!!

I'm not worried about getting caught. I know, via the fusillade of eight to twenty car-door-slams, whenever they are about to depart. Plus, my cat has agreed to serve as lookout. If there's one thing The Finn simply cannot abide, it's a door-slammin' garbage-can thief.

MONTOYA DELENDA EST!