(begun Friday 2nd November at 4.30am..)
*Turns out that after Balliram himself had killed my car battery on Monday night, the Coward handed the reins to the unfortunate Accountant at No. 12, before scarpering in true yellow fashion.. *
It had been the sheer number of frantic whoops! from der Bunker, crowned by Balliram's house alarm going off, that finally gave the game away last night.. *eyeroll..
I'd blogged yonks back of seeing prospective Hacker students filing through those gates at No. 12, and once godschild had agreed to erect the zinc-roofed toolshed as a booster station, our Fred was good to go...
I'm fairly flattered that my stupidity warrants two of them quite frankly, but as Balliram outranks the Book-keeper by a mile, I'll continue to refer to him as my Controller, whether the actual unpleasantness emanates from one door up or is bounced off der Bunker...
When the Sadist snorts and snuffles with glee at my accusations and asks how he could possibly have been involved, you only have to picture him hunched sniggering over his smart-phone, directing the Accountant's every move, to get the less-than-pretty picture.. An astonishingly peurile scenario created in order to further muddy the waters...
I was already tired after yesterday's outing when I sat down to update my blog just after 6pm, and the first set of triple-whoops! rang out from der Bunker in haste... An alarm, designed to have the Accountant drop whatever he's doing and barrel on into ours? Whatever. It's an unfortunately loud give-away to what you'd assume should be a covert operation..
Was it just last week that I'd blogged of how the hadedas between us and No. 12 had been way more unsettled than usual, and that as fast as they'd settled down on my Good Neighbour's roof and trees, they'd been jerked back up off their perches squalling in outrage? That little exercise had gone on for the better part of the day, as Balliram tightened up the connection to ours to the extent that the ChickenKing could leave town, knowing his second-in-command had the situation under control... (Gotta love it!).
Last night's fiasco would've worked, and several of you will have seen that I initially gave up the farce of having to replace each missing u with a v, and had packed it in... I guess it was my irritation at my Vice Chair's mail, suggesting that it was the keyboard to blame, and not any outside influence, that had me switching browsers and signing in to the GameWrecker's gmail account. Changing browsers hadn't helped when it had been the Cracker himself orchestrating that particular bit of mischief, and he'd been ahead of me to disable the u key function on all three browsers... *vomits... Our Fred, on the other hand, saw my early capitulation, and once I'd signed out of blogger.com he'd gone back to his supper, patting himself on the back...
Even the Book-keeper is aware that I'm far from being the sharpest pencil in the box, and he's got me dead to rights there.
Once I'd given up and signed out of blogger I'd gone over and caught up on mybroadband for a bit, by which time Balliram's proxy would've been lulled into complacency.. Had I planned it that way? Am I in fact a sly old fox after all? Oh please.. You all know me better than that, FFS... Occasionally I get a lucky break is all, and I leave the strategising to the Intellectuals like Jannie van Zyl and His Cookedness, Balliram... I'd already said aloud to my SO that it looked as though I'd have to purchase a new keyboard, and to prove my point that the u key was faulty, I'd gone into his gmail account anticipating the same nonsense...
Unlike CrackerJack, who makes sure he covers ALL the bases, our Fred had made a Fatal Error, and the minute I saw the gap I took it and wrote that note to the Noseweek Subs Department.. The u key had worked just fine, though the ensuing panic I caused as Freddie scrambled to block that mail from going out, had Balliram's house-alarm shrieking raucously..*falls over laughing...
Ja, ja, I know I should be highly offended, and not find these bullying goonda tactics in anyway amusing, but geez guys, we're talking two middle-aged farts here, and at least one of them should know better... *eyeroll...
It's freakin astonishing what the possession of a fake NIA-clearance certificate will do to a bloke's head.. Oh come on now, admit it.. Once you'd been assured you were a legit Intelligence Operative and the Law couldn't touch you, you became a pompous bullying, judgemental ass who now condones actions that as little as five years back would've grossed you out.. *blinks..
Again, played for Suckers springs to mind, but coming from a confirmed Simpleton, that news will only serve to further affront your zealous righteousness...
I'm not kidding when I say that ALL my calls are intercepted, but there's the question of whether they're actually recorded and filed for posterity, or merely overheard and repeated back to various sources...
I of course, would hope that the former was the case, and that my untampered-with conversations may be played back to all interested parties, though that's probably unlikely... Would my call to the Admin head of the Law School at UKZN made yesterday afternoon, be available on request? You want to find out? Their offices are not that far from Petruccione's Wireless Base station, buried hmm.. where? In the Physics Department? The Memorial Tower Block itself? She'd said that of all things her eyes are giving her an enormous amount of bother, and that she had no idea there was such technology within spitting distance of her office... Connect the two I most certainly do, and I'd suggest that were a survey carried out, it would be discovered that many more full-time employees at UKZN are bearing the brunt of the wireless technology fall-out...
Did she not mention during my call that she'd just such a form in front of her, asking for all manner of personal details? Why would one of those questions include where she lives? A bid to ascertain the amount of fallout she endures after-hours, never mind the battering those office workers take during the day? Stats that you can guarantee will never be made public, but quite possibly will end up on Francesco Petruccione's desk for his cold-hearted and callous curiosity, and nothing else...
I'd persuaded the GW to pull up outside No. 78 Harris Crescent on the way home, and I'd managed to get a nice clear shot of the Mast from the car window.. See how that little block/panel that faces up to the Gate House on Garbutt, literally glows a brilliant white in the gloomy overcast weather? Like I've said before, I suspect that innocent-appearing panel functions as well as the satellite dish the other side of the mast, if not better...
I also found a picture I'd taken of the second satellite dish that had been placed there to face down Sparks Road and across to hmm, Shifa? That one hadn't lasted long before it was removed, and I guess it had achieved a fair amount of physical damage among the community before it was decided to take it off again..
Small stuff? I can do that for you. I'd also gotten my old man to stop the Polo long enough to get close-up shots of No 16's streetlight pole HERE and HERE.. Pretty good hey? Would Allen Spence care to give us/we laymen a rundown describing the purpose of each and every addition made to that pole? I'm not talking about the embellishments at the top either, just all the decorations added lower down, where that bright pinpoint of light keeps it's vigil on the properties lower down the Crescent.. *winks.. Nothing to say, Al old boy? Still working happily among this Den of Data Thieves? You betcha...
Was our Freddie at all rattled a couple of hours later, when I'd gone out front to fill the bird feeder, and he'd hastily kicked that monitor into life, startling the hadedas into racous shouts of alarm, and I'd said something along the lines of Take it easy, Fred? He'd missed that gem?
I'd spoken aloud to him a couple of times a bit later, as I'd trundled about indoors, though I've no doubt his PuppetMaster reassured him hastily that it wasn't a problem..
The big question is of course whether my Devout and Excellent Neighbour knew beforehand that on the occasions the BookKeeper was to control our home, the signal levels would go through the roof and cause me more physical discomfort than ever before... He hadn't thought that far ahead, and if he had, would he care?
Clean up my act and he might be persuaded to feel some compassion at least? The thing is this, godschild - I'm in the business of telling the truth, as unfamiliar as that concept has become.. It would be painting a false picture entirely, were I to omit the use of foul language from my speech, and I guess I'm fairly shocked to find that you base your judgements so firmly on something quite so trivial... *sad...
We're talking about people being physically tortured and sometimes killed by this technology you support so avidly, and not my inability to find sweet words at any given time...
Did I ever try to convince you that I was anything other than a foul-mouthed Fool? I did not. BTW, you may have noted that the attractive-to-lasers galvanised metal bucket weighted with a load of gravel has proven irresistible to a passer-by and has been nicked, leaving the pile of stones on our verge.. I'll try and get round to bagging them up for you later.. *waves...
And Fred? When I asked for the umpteenth time at 5pm that you turn those horrendous levels of BackFire down, and you declined, you might want to check out the tennis-ball sized sphere hanging against the wall behind the computer HERE.
Balliram has you making a real prick of yourself dude, if you hadn't noticed, and all you are is another can of whitewash being used to hide his murderous intent.. A pity, but there it is.. *shrugs..
LATER at 7.57pm
It would appear that my Controller isn't partial to the black fabric I've fixed to the garage windows, in an attempt to deny access to the laser showers. Whether coincidence or not, my little banger that ran so beautifully yesterday is now, according to the GW, over-heating and leaking water underneath... Magic, I tell you...
---oOo---
Friday 2nd November 2012 at 8.01pm.
