Thursday, December 31, 2009

Happy New Year, Yada Yada Yada...


Happy New Year!

Misplaced In The Midwest will return tomorrow, January 1, 2010 and begin the New Year with the next installment of the as-yet untitled graphic novel.

2010...

For those that have been around as long as I have, it's almost surreal to think that we're in the year 2010.

We're living in the future.

Now refresh my memory, but in elementary school, I seem to recall them implying that by the year 2010 we would have flying cars, and established colonies on the Moon and Mars.

I can deal with not having space colonies, but where the fuck is my flying car?

Lying bastards.

Anyway...

Enjoy what may be the most gentle Rottweiler on the planet in a display that is so sweet I watched it once, and I think I have diabetes now.

See you tomorrow.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

A Different Kind Of Lottery


Another story for my readers. Some of you will get a chuckle from this. Nearly all of my male readers can relate to this... The ones who say they don't are probably lying.

UNTITLED - by Jonathan K. Lee

I did everything they told me to.

I worked out: I hit the gym, I pumped iron. I even ate protein supplements. "Gimme the best stuff you got," I said to the young, muscle-bound boy working at the nutrition store. He handed me a large box, packed with some grainy white powder, a material quite reminiscent
of sand. On the box was a large man, enormously built, wearing nothing but a skimpy bikini. His body was apparently freshly waxed, and a light, seemingly angelic glow emanated from it.

Price of protein supplement: $77.24. The price of quality is undeniably woeful.

But it didn't stop there. I learned to play guitar. No, I was not the second coming of Jimi Hendrix. Hell, it was not as though I was a top hat away from being Slash. But I could play songs, popular songs, and sing along. I played well, and I sang even better. Not being a natural
musician, I invested a considerable number of hours to amass the little guitar playing skill I possessed. But I succeeded.

Price of guitar: $384.89. Price of strings: $8.99.

I am not one to settle for mediocrity, an illness that, in my humble opinion, endangers far too much of humanity. So my self-improvement, my value-added attributes, would not end merely with a pluck of six strings and a hoist of circular metal plates. I ventured even further, educating myself in Isshin Ryu karate – a martial arts style hailing from Okinawa, an independent island off the land of the rising sun.

Acquire a skill, I was told. Acquire a skill. So I did. I learned to kick and punch. I learned to twirl weapons, turning combat into a dance. Much to my surprise, I also gained an appreciation for the philosophical aspects of martial arts. My instructor's wisdom became the ideology behind my mindset: "A martial artist is nothing more than a goal setter. Set your goals; track them. By you accomplishing your goals, you improve yourself. Self-improvement is emancipation, the emancipation we've all been looking for."

Obedience is my greatest flaw.

Monthly cost of martial arts lessons: $72.00. Six years worth of martial
arts lessons: $72.00 * 12 = $5,400. I should note that there are still
$44.00 in late fees that have yet to be paid.

So, in sum, I had managed to acquire proficiency in a few extracurricular activities, thus entitling me to present myself as a well-rounded person. Yet still, my goal eluded me. Motivation to continue my pursuit was declining, and bitterness was on the rise.

"Dude, look at the way you dress." And with those magical words uttered by my friend Donnie, a man who had successfully accomplished the very same goal I aspired to, I changed my wardrobe entirely. Out with the Kmart, in with the Banana Republic.

"There's no way I can get a discount?" I said to the clerk at the register. "I mean, I'm buying thousands of dollars worth of clothes."

"I'm sorry."

"You sure there's nothing you can do?"

"Some things are just out of my hands." I smiled. I knew exactly what she meant.

I stood there, wondering exactly how foolish I was for even contemplating such an extravagant purchase. "But this is a goal," I told myself, "and goals are necessary for self-improvement, which is necessary for emancipation. " So, by subjecting myself to the
imprisonment of credit card debt, I reasoned, I was really freeing myself.

I handed her my credit card.

Purchase of completely new wardrobe: $4,672.31. Less proceeds from sale of former wardrobe: $29.87. Total clothing expenditure: $4642.44.

Months passed. My goal was still unaccomplished. I simply could not understand it: I was smart. I was funny. I was a witty conversationalist. I had made myself a well-rounded individual, while also succeeding at academics. What was the problem?

"Man, I don't know, but it really sucks to be you."

Donnie, while he was my consultant on the issue, never skipped an opportunity to exploit the inherent humor in my predicament. "You need to wipe the cobwebs off Mr. Happy and put that son of a bitch to use 'fore he forgets what he's here for."

"Yeah." What was I supposed to say?

"Well, I gots to jet. I got a hot date with some chick I met outside of McDonald's. Fucking hot, man. Fucking hot. Looks like a slut, so I think I'll come home with a smile on my face tomorrow."

"And an STD." I hope he gets Gonorrhea. Or Chlamydia. Motherfucker.

Donnie smiled. He looked down at his crotch. "Are you ready, Mr. Happy?"

He left my apartment, and went on his way.

Just to clarify, I have been laid. It just hasn't happened in the last four years. I even had a girlfriend once; now that I think about it, she was a pretty good catch. Definitely not the hottest or prettiest of girls, but she was skinny and tall, making her somewhat desirable in
the conventional male sense of the word. She also could play piano, another bonus. But that was years ago, when I was young and my heart was an open book. The truth is that I was quite confused at the time; I eventually lost all emotions for her, and I saw college as an
opportunity to be born anew. But at this point, I'm starting to think that not every new beginning is worth ending the beginning from which it was born.

"Dude, man, the McDonald's chick was a good fucking lay," said Donnie immediately before submerging his lips into the clear, red bong. He exhaled a huge hit and passed the bong to me. "Sweet body. 34C man, 34C. That's what I'm talkin' about. I'm supposed to go out
with her again on Saturday."

Great.

"Man, I think you just need to be friendlier," he said, sensing that I was more concerned with my sexual inactivity than his animalistic rendezvous with the McDonald's woman. "You're always walking around with a mean look on your face. Ain't nobody gonna fuck you like that.
Just smile and be friendlier."

"You think I walk around with a mean look on my face?" I'd been told that before.

"Yeah. You also don't get out enough, man. A Playstation 3 in your apartment ain't gonna get you a piece of the action. Get out. Go to bars or something. Socialize. At least try, man."

Perhaps Gonorrhea Boy had a point. Relaxing in solitude, soothing as it may be, was not going to satisfy Mr. Happy in any way.

"Like you should really just try for some bitch, you know. Set a goal. Like, 'I will get this girl in my pants by next week.' You gotta approach this whole thing with some tenacity. This whole picnic in the park approach ain't gonna do shit for you, man."

"I been tryin' in some ways, though," I said, trying to redeem myself."I mean, I think I'm a pretty good catch. I'm smart, funny, I got some skills I can show off with, I dress well...I spent a lot of money on just improving myself so I can get laid."

Total dollar spent trying to get laid up to this point: $10,224.32.

And that doesn't include the $44.00 late fee.

Donnie sat there pensively, as cigarette ashes fell onto his dirty, hole-ridden shirt. Suddenly, a light bulb flashed in his head: "You ever smoke around bitches?"

"What?"

"Weed. Or even drink around them. Or pills, man. Something to fuck with their heads."

I was getting the picture. A smile came across my face, as I envisioned Donnie's future: exiting a courtroom, trying to hide his face from the cameras, after just being convicted for date rape.

"Uh, I'm not exactly into committing any crimes, Donnie, if that's what you had in mind."

"Man, shut the fuck up. I ain't talkin' 'bout rapin' a bitch, you fuckin' moron. I'm talkin' about makin' the atmosphere inviting. I'm telling you, man, you can't just waltz on in without doing some prep work. Where the fuck you been, dude?"

In prison, I thought. I pondered his words, his ideas. They made sense.

"Look. You got a fuckin' goal. Now go get it." And with that he opened the door, sending me on my way.

The next day I made some phone calls and placed an order for some drugs: an eighth of marijuana, a case of beer, a couple of ecstasy pills, capped of with just a tad of psychedelic mushrooms.

Total expenditure on drugs: $85.00. I would have bought more, but drug dealers don't accept Visa.

And then I saw her.

Her: the woman that could change everything. She could make things right, make things better.

She was wearing an all black, skintight outfit when I saw her that day. Her smile, effervescent and omnipresent, provided just the radiance I needed on this cold, winder day. All of her actions seemed elegant and beautiful; it was as if she did everything the way it was supposed to be done. She stood in the dining hall, placidly yet perfectly, waiting for her turn to scoop some delicious portions onto her plate. The eating utensils were already in position, as was the beverage (it was bottled water this time). A priceless picture.

"Here's your chance." Donnie was in a supportive mood, and I appreciated that. He hinted that I should make her my goal: "Be nice to tap that, wouldn't it?" Donnie's objectification of this divine creature was spoiling my vision of her. She was too good, I thought. Too good.

"No she ain't, dude. Gotta shoot for the sky, man. You want to be settlin' for second best?" Actually, at this point, I'd settle for anything. Perhaps I should approach this matter with some realism, not idealism. Perhaps I should target the ugly, imperfect, dismal women of this fine institution. They'd be excited some guy even talked to them.

"It's your call, man. Do whatever the fuck you want. I still think it's a bad idea, though. Gotta go for the gold. Who knows, maybe it's your lucky day." Or maybe not. The feeling that comes after failing – the one of being crushed, if not obliterated – was not something I desired
at this point. I needed to do some homework, some investigative work on this girl. What if she had a boyfriend? No sense wasting my time on her then, right? I also needed to find out what kind of guy she liked, so as to present myself in such a fashion when making my sexual advance.

"Whatever, dude. Sometimes you just gotta fuck all that shit and do it." Haste makes waste, Donnie. Haste makes waste.

So for the next few weeks, I kept a close watch on her. Unfortunately, she sensed my inquisitive behavior; she caught my stares and noticed my unshakable presence lurking in the shadows of her environs. The stalking went without confrontation, though, so all was good.

Overheard conversations informed me that she was single. They also informed me of her desires: she wanted a man who was smart, funny, and mature, but also sensitive, loyal, and well-rounded. Maybe my investments were wise after all. Maybe.

A sneaky peek in her room yielded other positive and valuable information: she was born with the Sun in Virgo, much like myself. An abundance of marijuana-related paraphernalia also enabled me to intuitively reason that she was fond of engaging in one of collegiate America's favorite illicit activities: getting stoned. It came as no surprise, then, that the friends of my desire referred to her room as"The Green Factory." How cute.

"You did some research? Is that what you did?" Donnie puffed on his cigarette, laughing smoke rings between inhalations. "Fuckin' dork. So what'd you find?"

I informed him of my findings. "Well then, what's the hold up? Why ain't you in her face right now asking her out?" Good question, Donnie, good question. Courage was my shortcoming. I was always too cautious. What if she says no? What if she doesn't like me? What if she gets offended?

Donnie shook his head as though he were dealing with a helpless child, incapable of learning the simplest task. "You see this?" He pulled out a lottery ticket . "I buy one everyday. Yep, a dollar a day down the drain. Been buyin' 'em for the past three years."

Donnie's expenditures on lottery tickets: $365 * 3 = $1,095.

"You'd a thought by now I'd of given up. But I know you can't win less you try. Same shit holds true for you." Donnie's words, as blunt and direct as they were, somehow managed to strike a chord within me: I was inspired by his directness, his ability to seize the moment and quickly
take action. I decided it was time. Time for me to test myself, to see who I really was. I would ask her tonight.

Preparation was my forte, and naturally I employed this tactic for my big proposition. I visited Mario at the local barber shop. "Tonight's a big night. Give me something special." Always willing to satisfy a loyal customer, Mario took his time to trim my hair perfectly.

Haircut: $15. Tip: $5. Quality service should always be rewarded well.

I stopped by the local convenience store on the way back to my dorm room. My purchases: a new razor, shaving gel, and aftershave. The razor was nice – one of those fancy schmancy triple blade gadgets – and the aftershave, although purchased from a convenience store, was more than adequate.

Razor: $9.87. Shaving gel: $5.43. Aftershave: $7.34.

I was contemplating purchasing her a gift. Would flowers be appropriate? Donnie ruminated on my question before answering: "Yeah. But don't get a bouquet or anything like that. Just a nice flower. A single flower. Maybe a rose if you can find one."

So I scoured the city high and low for a flower in the midst of December. Finally, after an hour of searching, I found it: a single rose, delicate and beautiful. Just like her.

Rose: $8.00.

"Okay, you set now, man. No more fuckin' around. It's time to roll the dice and play this lottery ." Donnie was right. So I quietly sat in my room, eating dinner in solitude. Vivaldi played in the background. Upon the conclusion of my meal, I dressed myself in a carefully selected outfit: a collared gray shirt, tailored perfectly to my slender body, atop dark blue jeans. My sleeves were rolled up – about a quarter inch before my elbow – and all but the top button were buttoned. As for accessories, I sported my stylishly conservative wristwatch and all black dress socks. And in regards to shoes, my previous girlfriend fortunately had not ended our relationship prior to giving me one valuable tidbit of information, something that came especially handy today: "Shoes can make or break an outfit. Guys just don't realize that." Not this guy, sweetheart. I pulled out my new shoes, fresh from the autumn catalogue of Kenneth Cole.

And with that, I exited my dorm room and began the trek to hers, conveniently located just three flights down. Drum roll, please.

The elevator left me off right outside her door. Deep breath. Knock.

Nervous look from side to side. Sweaty palms. Knock knock.

"Coming. Just a sec." Footsteps.

Heart beat faster.

The door opened, and there she stood: beautiful, dressed in a silk bathrobe, Oriental in style, with her straight, lively hair resting gently on her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled betwixt the flutter of her magical eyelashes. "Yes?"

Quickly. This must be done quickly. "Look, I think you're beautiful, really beautiful, and well, I think you also look nice, and I'm a really nice guy, and –

And now for the $10,359.96 lottery ticket :

"I'm just wondering if maybe we could go out some time, you know, like maybe to a movie or to get something to eat or even to the grocery store or whatever or if you want to stay in we could like smoke or something 'cause I have some and I heard you like to hit it up, you
know?"

To the grocery store?

I called Visa the next day.

"Hi, I was wondering if I could get my credit limit increased? Yeah, I just need to buy another lottery ticket ."

$10,359.96 down the drain.

And I ain't paying that late fee.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
See you tomorrow.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Just Another Story



As a cool-down post after the fury of yesterday and subsequent discussion, for today, it's just going to be another one from last winter's writing binge.

WHEN WE WERE YOUNG - by Jonathan K. Lee

The smoke from the last cigarette of the summer spread out across the slightly damp cement of the ceiling. John took a drag and offered it to Nancy who was slightly dozing and laid curled into him. She wrinkled her nose a little at the smell of the burning tobacco.

“No thanks. I’m good,” she said, bringing her right arm up across his stomach and taking hold of his left shoulder. Under the weight of her head, John could feel the slight dampness of her hair against his chest. He wrapped his right arm around her back as she shifted on him a little.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Let’s just stay like this for a bit.”

“I want a beer. Do you want one?”

She sounded more awake now. “I’ll share yours.”

“Okay. One sec.” John shifted off the worn out sofa with the broken spring and padded across to the fridge in the corner. Nancy, still naked, curved her knees into her chest. John opened the fridge and took out one of the cold Labatt’s. He turned and leaned against the closed fridge. The top edge of the door felt cold against the back of his thighs.

“What are you doing?”

“Just looking at you,” he said, popping the can with a metallic snap. “I was just thinking of how beautiful you are.”

“Come back here.”

John went over and lay down next to Nancy again on the broken sofa, placing the cold can on the floor. His feet felt dusty, yet Nancy curled straight back into him. “I love you,” he said.

“Thank you. I love you too.”

“I think you’re wonderful.”

“Same here.”

Nancy shifted and moved off his chest a little, coming up so they were face-to-face. “I liked it here, you know,” she said, “For the first time.”

“Sorry I couldn’t take you anywhere special.”

“No, I liked it, that we did it here. It was good.”

“Are you okay?”

“I think so. It hurts a little but I’ll be fine.”

“I love you. You know that?”

“I know it,” she said with a smile, and paused before clapping her hand on his chest. “What do you want to do?”

“Now?”

“No, I mean next year or 1989 or in ten years.”

“I don’t know. What about you?”

“I think I’d like to work with animals in Africa.”

“Africa?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. That’s what I want to do. I want to work with lions. Be like a vet or something.”

“In Africa?”

“Yeah.”

“What about me?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to do? You must want to do something. What are you going to be in ten years?”

“Astronaut or something.”

“Be serious, I want to know.”

“I am. I want to be an astronaut.”

She took her hand off his chest. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, before reading the look in her eyes. “Okay, remember that movie we watched a few weeks ago?”

“Weird Science?”

“No, the other one. The one about the college students that just graduated from Georgetown.”

“Yeah.”
“I want to make films like that. Proper films.” Nancy reached over to pick up the can, resting it on John’s chest. “Hey, that’s cold, you know,” he said, shivering a little.

“You want to make films? That’s so cool. I can see you as a film director.”

“Thanks.”

“Seriously – that is cool.” She drank from the can. “Can I be in one of your films?”

“Are you an actress now?”

“I can be.”

“What about Africa? I thought you were going to work with lions.”

“I don’t know.” She drank from the can again. “I could do both, I guess. I think I just want to stick with you though.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah, I can be your muse.”

“I like that.”

“I like it too. Muses are cool. Can I have cards that say ‘muse’?”

“Sure.”

Nancy lay down again, and started to drift. As she went under, John pulled an old blanket across them to keep warm. He squeezed her shoulder a little. It was getting late and cool, and goose-bumps were starting to form over both of them.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
See you tomorrow.

Monday, December 28, 2009

The Tao Of The Lazy Hippie


Welcome back!

I had hoped to make the first post-Christmas entry something light-hearted and fun, but alas, the Grand Architect of the Universe had other plans for Misplaced today.

Unfortunately, someone back in Buffalo needs a spanking, and it's on me to do it.

I didn't want to, but sometimes inappropriate behavior cannot be ignored... especially when it hits close to home, more so when it involves someone who falls under Misplaced's cloak of protection.

Pull up a chair folks. This is some fucked up shit. We'll get to the lazy hippie after a little background.

Christmas Night, I received a telephone call from my dear friend ****** back in Buffalo. (Some names redacted to protect the privacy of the individual, others are getting called the fuck out.) After making small talk with me for a few moments, ****** informed me that she had spent part of Christmas Day in the hospital after taking a fall down her basement steps, hitting her head on the concrete, and knocking herself unconscious, resulting in seventeen stitches, and one hell of a shiner.

After my expected freakout on receiving this news, ****** informed me that she was indeed okay, was going to have a drink, then it was off to bed for some much-needed rest.

But not before she asked me the following question:

"Do you want to hear something that's going to make you very angry?"

Knowing the hospital that she had been treated at was capable of moments of unprofessional behavior, leading to complete ineptitude, I was expecting her to tell me a story of Emergency Room incompetence.

Nope.

It was a story of unprofessional behavior by a hospital staff member, but one completely uninvolved with ******'s case.

Unprofessional behavior that sadly, was directly tied to Misplaced.

Immediately following her fall, ****** was rushed to Millard Fillmore Gates Hospital by her son, and son-in-law. There she was seen and treated in the emergency room, stitched up by a doctor who is a colleague of a surgeon who is a friend of her son, and sent upstairs for a CT scan, just to make sure everything inside the skull was as it was supposed to be.

While the three of them were in the elevator on the way up to have the CT scan done another person boarded the elevator. This would be Kathy, the live-in girlfriend of Don, my former landlord, and lazy hippie I promised we would discuss.

Kathy recognized ****** and said: "Mrs. *****?"

****** looked at her and said something to the effect of "I'm sorry, I don't remember who you are..."

Kathy responded: "I'm Kathy, Don's girlfriend".

****** said: "Oh yes, I remember you."

Kathy then turned to ******'s son and said: "Do you know Jonathan?"

******'s son replied: "Yes, I know Jonathan." (Why wouldn't he? I was around their family on a regular basis going back to 2004!)

What happened next was easily the most absurd thing I have heard in many years...

Kathy then said: "Yeah, Jonathan left us with a lot of bills when he moved out..."

Now hold on just a second here...

Many of you know the circumstances in which I moved out of the house on Pennsylvania Street in Buffalo. Many of you had the opportunity to visit me there, and those of you who did know the condition it was in when I moved in, the improvements I made while I was living there, and the things I accepted as a condition of having a landlord who is a lazy hippie. I'm talking about:

1. The hole in the roof that led to black mold growing in the ceiling and walls of the third-floor bathroom, rendering it not only unusable, but also a serious threat to the health of anyone who entered it.

2. The hole in the siding just below the roof line that allowed squirrels to infiltrate the ceilings on BOTH the second and third floors... Anyone who visited will remember the scampering of little clawed feet over the kitchen and living room on the second floor, and over the Master Bedroom on the third floor.

3. The list of other minor flaws and imperfections that were NEVER addressed by the lazy hippie landlord... some as minor as a broken front door lock, and lack of a doorknob. Some as major a a baseboard heat system that needed to be bled, but never was, and the lack of an adequate fire escape.

All of that is irrelevant in light of the fact that Kathy was running her mouth about a two-year old landlord-tenant dispute that had nothing to do with the parties she was discussing it with.

More so considering that she was running her mouth to ******'s son and son-in-law who were obviously more concerned with the fact that ****** had just sustained a rather severe head injury, and really don't give a rat's ass about my dealing in my personal life.

After my head exploded, I talked with ****** for a few more moments and hung up the phone.
I sat there, furious. Not because Kathy was airing my dirty laundry to people I am very close to, but because the inappropriateness of her behavior was increased tenfold by the fact that she chose to slander me to friends of mine who quite obviously had much bigger concerns at the moment.

I calmed myself down a bit, then logged onto Facebook and sent Don The Lazy Hippie the following missive:

Jonathan K. Lee December 26 at 10:36am
I just had a most interesting conversation with ******.

First, I'm going to say that she thinks that considering the situation, what your girlfriend did yesterday at the hospital was most inappropriate.

Second, I'm going to point out that attempting to assassinate my character with friends who entrusted me with their families safety and well-being was a foolish move on her part.

Did she think that it wouldn't get back to me?

Since we're obviously going to play that game now, I am putting you on notice that you shouldn't get into a pissing contest with someone who has the ear of, and is looked upon favorably by some of those in Buffalo's old money community.

In light of my recent messages to you, I would think that you would be smarter than that.

You ... should inform Kathy that slanderous statements are frowned upon not only in the old money community, but the legal one as well.

Welcome to MY world.


















He responded:

Don ***** December 26 at 5:06pm Report
My, my, what indignance!

First of all I was not there so I only have hearsay...as do you.

Second, since when is telling the truth character assasination? I'm sure she couldn't care less if it got to you or not. I know I certainly do not. I have no reason to. I'm not a liar.

I don't understand what your messages have to do with anything. You made another of your "Hey, let's be friends and I'll straighten all of this out". We both know it bullshit Jonathan. Smarter just means I don't swallow it this time.

Oh "the offer" is off again....what a surprise, you mean I don't get my $200 with a promise of more to come? Gee.

Should be easy to prove slander. Get your crack legal team on it. I'm not the one who ran out on a debt...that was you.

I have nothing to do with "your world" nor would I want to if your attitude to friends is what you have demonstrated in your actions with me.

Have your lawyer write me a nice letter. Prick

















Of course, I wasn't going to just let that slide:

Jonathan K. Lee December 26 at 6:59pm
Indignance has nothing to do with it.

I see that you're still a condescending soul.

Of course I would expect no less from you.

The fact remains that **** was injured, in the hospital, and for some reason, your girlfriend decided that moment was an appropriate time to start running her mouth about something that had absolutely nothing to do with ******'s son, or son-in-law, who were in the elevator with her.

What the FUCK does your issue with me have to do with *****'s family?

Nothing.

But that's how you roll I guess.

It's good to see that the women in your life still think that they need to control things.

Bite me you fucking prick. Like I have anything to worry about from your weak ass anyway... Your reputation as a lazy, do-nothing is already well-known inside your circle as well as outside.

I'll buy and sell you if that's what I wish.

It may do you well to remember that, because if I decide to drop the hammer on you, you'll never see it coming. You seem to have forgotten that people with money and power care about and respect me.

No lawyers necessary.























To which he responded:

Don December 26 at 7:40pm
Really, let's make this public shall we, smartass! Let's see you are going to use your connections through ****** ***** to use "old money" to "drop the hammer on me". OK Buddy, just let me forward this to a few people...

BRB




Nineteen minutes passed, during which he forwarded my messages to him to anyone he thought would listen, then I received this:

Don ***** December 26 at 7:59pm Report
And in case you hadn't noticed, dumbass. I have not contacted you. I have no real idea of what was said and I have only given my opinion. Now, if you have a gripe with someone I suggest you deal with them.

I may have trouble with women but, aren't you a bit presumptuous to tell ME how to handle women? I mean under the circumstances.

And lazy? Gee, here I thought it was you who beat ME out of $2300 and yes, this is going public. I can't have you threatening me and keeping it secret. I have no pact with the likes of you.

And what is it exactly you are buying? Me? Good one, let me know how that works out fer ya' Chachi! Gettin' a hit doggie from the SPCA with your old money connections?
Now, let's see, if anything happens around here whom shall I say was threatening?













For some reason, he seemed to think that "going public" was going to bother me.

In fact, his "going public" has simply opened the door for me to discuss the situation here, and share it with a much larger audience than the fifteen or twenty Facebook friends he forwarded my earlier messages to.

He tried to take me to court over that situation last year, and the Judge threw out his case.

Hmm... the court threw out his case, and I won... What does that say?

I must have really struck a nerve with him, because I hadn't seen or responded to his above tirade when he sent this along nearly an hour later:

Don ***** December 26 at 8:54pm
"I'll buy and sell you if that's what I wish." How fucking high brow =:>


Misplaced can sure push some buttons, can't I?

The following morning (after all, I don't feel the need to sit on Facebook for hours like some people...) after reading his "high brow" spluttering I sent him this:

Jonathan K. Lee December 27 at 8:44am
Spread and forward whatever you wish hippie. I'm way ahead of you there.

People in your circle shouldn't be fucking with people in my circle... especially when they're in the hospital.

"Hit doggie"? That's absurd.

I do however, have a blog that gets 1500-2000 hits per week... mostly people in Buffalo. The power of the written word is all I need to deal with the likes of you and yours.

P.S. I'm glad you'll be getting your social security soon... finally you'll have a steady income that doesn't require putting down your bong and getting off your ass and WORKING.











Yeah... those of you who know him and have access to his page have seen that he is quite proud of, and announced the fact that he's only a few months away from sucking the Social Security tit... thank GOD for entitlements I guess...

To that he responded:

Don ***** December 27 at 9:17am
You pompous buffoon! "your circle"? Where was your fucking circle when it was time to pay me back you cocksucker! While I was taking care of my mother and trying to keep the gas and electric on while paying your fucking bills!!! You have no integrity at all, Jonathan. Shut the fuck up no one believes your irrational bloviating. I wonder what Ms ***** will think of you threatening me with your "connections."





"Irrational bloviating"?

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines "bloviate" as follows:

blo·vi·ate
Pronunciation: \ˈblō-vē-ˌāt\
Function: intransitive verb
Inflected Form(s): blo·vi·at·ed; blo·vi·at·ing

Etymology: perhaps irregular from blow
Date: circa 1879

: to speak or write verbosely and windily


Hmmm...

Misplaced may be a LOT of different things, not all of them good, but I'm guessing that most of you are chuckling at the use of the word "bloviating" to describe me.

Anyway...

I responded to his accusations of "bloviating" behavior as follows:

Jonathan K. Lee December 27 at 5:12pm
Go ahead and call her.

I see that you've forgotten about the incidents in which I gave you money for utilities right before I left for Minnesota on a trip, then you called me a few days later and told me "you didn't know if my lights were going to on when I got back"... or perhaps the fact that when I gave you money for utilities, it never seemed to get used for that purpose... or that you were all freaked out about not being able to pay your property taxes (the fact that I was behind on my rent at the time is not relevant, you and I both know you wouldn't have had the money for your taxes anyway... I'm guessing that Kathy isn't aware of that... but ***** IS. After all, when I borrowed that $1500 from her I told her exactly WHAT and WHO it was for... Feel free to tell anyone ANYTHING you want. I have nothing to hide.)

Perhaps you've also forgotten that you waited for me to put money in your hand, and then the very next day (after you had spent it, of course) you decided to tell me that you were going to have Gabe & Arizona move in, effectively ending the "gentlemen's agreement" we had at the time. You never gave me a lease, but I guess you're aware of that.

Get real you LAZY piece of shit. Everyone around you knows that you're averse to getting a job and you're looking for an angle where you can sit on your ass and collect money for doing nothing. I offered you concert work EVERY summer, and you didn't want to do it.

When you HAVE had good ideas, you haven't done anything with them, and NO ONE is more aware of that than me... NeoWorld was a great idea, you didn't do anything with it, and Linden Labs is making money hand over fist with Second Life...

If you were motivated to do more than sit around and wait for someone to tell you how great your ideas are and subsequently back a dump truck full of money up to your door, you'd be a fucking MILLIONAIRE by now, and we'd ALL be working for YOU in some capacity.

Don't blame your financial shortcomings on me.

Blame them on your lack of motivation.





























Of course, this enraged him, and the following arrived in my inbox thirty-seven minutes later:

Don ***** December 27 at 5:49pm
Are you done? Or are you going to just keep bothering me, jerkoff? You have an interesting view of reality but what does any on this have to do with me? I regard you as I do Rick Gross if that puts it in perspective for you.



Wow.

Talk about petulant. That's the most aggressive backpedaling I've ever seen... I'm amused by his descent into name-calling... Speaks volumes as to who is holding the moral high ground.

By the way, who the hell is Rick Gross? Do any of my readers know? If so, please share. I'd hate to let a perfectly good insult go to waste... I feel like I'm missing something here.

Further proving that the lazy hippie just can't get me off his mind, three minutes later the following arrived in my inbox:

Don ***** December 27 at 5:52pm
You may throw in another pointless rant if you want the last word then let's call it quits.


Well... I would have thrown in another "pointless rant", but the lazy hippie flexed his Facebook muscles, and blocked me from replying to his messages, or clicking on his link so I can send him any more messages.

I guess he took his ball and went home.

Misplaced wins.

At the end of the day, if he or his girlfriend have an issue, they should be bringing it up to me... NOT injured acquaintances and their family members in the hospital. Especially when the situation has nothing to do with them.

Word to the wise:

If you have an issue with Misplaced, you take it up with Misplaced.

When you read this hippie, (and we BOTH know you will) under stand that you don't ever fuck with the people I care about. That's a sure way to find yourself on the receiving end on my wrath. To underline that point, I'll leave you with this quote from Samuel L. Jackson's Jules Winnifield character from Pulp Fiction:

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee."

Food for thought you stupid, lazy hippie.

As for the rest of you? The cool ones? The ones who have nothing but love for Misplaced?

I'll see YOU tomorrow.