WOMEN WHO SPORT BIG BALLS

WOMEN WITH BALLS BIGGER THAN THOSE OF ANY MEMBERS OF THE DALLAS COWBOYS (HONEST!),

 

I signed off my blog weeks ago when my “angels” arrived. I had succeeded. Ready or not, Japan here I come.A group of single parent Mom’s who were for the most part on welfare, which in these neck of the woods are considered financially solvent, were the answer to my prayers of desperation. My friends in town warned me, in front of the Angels at that, “Stephen, You will be back in three months. Count on it.” I thought that comment was negative thinking on their part.

 

The angels were relatively young, beautiful and incredibly physically strong and hell bent on launching an animal sanctuary of some sort.

 

So I thought.

 

After a mere two weeks of living with a group of four of the seven of them, in my house, with their hanging fly paper, rules to keep intrusive thoughts out by keeping any talk shows on the radio off in my (former) house, and another one hundred or so immediate rules to live by, I found myself facing a do or die situation.

 

The angels presented me with a DEAL FROM THE DEVIL.

 

That’s right. Straight from HELL I tell you. Unthinkable. But right there staring at me in the face. I must do things THEIR way or the highway was the clear cut message.

 

The form of this rather unpleasant situation took a strange twist. The Charles Manson type of iron control  leader of this pack of  obedient wolves was far away in St. Catherine’s but very much here all along. Whatever came out of my mouth was immediately texted to her and, in a manner similar to Oz in the Wizard of Oz, I would get a quick, thundering email to correct my thinking, to keep it in line with The Way of The Group. A cult ? I wondered out loud one day. Big mistake to have even breathed that word as the leader, with whom I was never allowed to know her actual name, threatened to remove baked goods from the menu. Yes, I was expected to eat with everyone, in order to belong in the Inner Circle.It was known as parenting with Integrity, they told me. I saw it as an indoctrination of a cult myself, but smartly kept that thought to myself. (How else would I get baked goods, eh?)

 

After two weeks in the thick of it, things were heating up in terms of the cat situation with an avalanche of work as a deadly viral  and parasite infection hit my cat population. The amount of time and energy to cope was quite frankly difficult for even a full time established animal sanctuary.

 

It was at this point I arrived home to find my animal loving angels in the driveway. They were leaving, telling me they would be back soon, maybe in a week or so, but only  once I had a lawyer’s agreement in place.This, their leader had pronounced, would keep them away from the shackles of SLAVERY and PAIN which hard work could bring if there was nothing in it for them. At least, that’s the way it was explained to me. They were as surprised as me that they were suddenly leaving, as this was certainly not a planned move, especially in light of the workload for the sick cats,  but they were powerless to ride against the ordered missive of their Pied Piper. 

 

What the High Priestess wanted was a contract which created a Board of Directors, of which I would have one of the seven votes, in charge of all my real property and animals. For at least five years. Without any track record of having engaged in such projects. With their only source of income, social assistance handouts as single parents, hanging precariously at that. And with the written stated objective of eventually having the leader’s sweet teenage daughter take over everything completely, once they had showed me of how well they did. WOW! All that in two weeks.

 

In other words, should the Board next week decide that Stephen Overbury was unworthy of being a board member, or even visiting Free Farm, the Board would legally remove him, even ban him from visiting for the five years they had control. 

 

This is where I saw the dangling balls, larger in size than a Centurian Tank. After a mere two weeks of working their butts off, a reprieve from the social assistance life style they were seasoned in, they were taking over. GOODBYE Stephen. Hello Canada, I took a shot at the open unguarded net and SCORED. BIG TIME. With little effort.

 

Wrong.

 

When I first  looked into the eyes of those angels I initially did not see what was in front of me. But thank god for caffeine, I awoke with a cold shiver in my spine and realized my idea to find a caretaker has obviously not been a realistic plan. Damn, it took me long enough and humbled my belief in myself. I was not attracting candidates who thought as I do. It was not bringing in those who wanted to work with animals either, but rather, a crowd of the new age movement of people who wanted control of situations  to pursue a lifestyle of leisure without having to work for it. FREE, as it were.

 

As such, I have now decided to attempt something completely different with my property. After all, you can’t keep hitting your head against the wall repeatedly  and expect different results. Seasons change and so do I. I will elaborate in a future blog.

 

BTW, for those who need a little humour in their lives and want to know the  real skinny about this raunchy cult of angels that were here, stay tuned for my kiss and tell book which will be in print sometime next year.


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