my jaundiced eye

we’ve got the whole world in our hands

Wow, who knew we could simply buy all or part of another country in this day and age? I thought that went the way of the dodo bird. The united states spends tremendous sums of money and sacrifices thousands upon thousands of american lives and millions of soldiers and civilians on the other side to try to maintain our influence in countries around the world that don’t even want us there. We seem perfectly happy to acquire territory through military means, but frankly that’s a whole lotta muss and fuss, why not just cut a smooth real estate deal? Bitchin. Why didn’t we do that in vietnam, afganistan or iraq? It would have been so much cleaner and cheaper to just write all the war lords, tribal chieftans, dictators and commies checks and get a deed of title. Imagine the lives saved, the cultures and artifacts spared, the cities, temples, churches, mosques, schools and hospitals left intact. And the people in these countries wouldn’t hate that americans had occupied their land, they’d be thrilled. Before you can say shake shack they’d be living the good life with costcos, whole foods, nail salons, dry cleaners, happy hours and drive through daiquiri joints, (well maybe not so much in muslim countries) but we’d have starbucks, java juice and virgin marys for them, not to mention electricity and potable running water. Instead of living in hovels surrounded by dirt and rubble they’d have triple wides and manufactured homes, furniture to rent or buy, tv’s and microwaves, sous vide, hair dryers and musak. The possibilities are limitless. If you can dream it you can make it so.

But it took the conald to show us the way, they don’t call him the chosen one for nothing. A latter day moses, or jesus or both….not sure, my old testament (and new) is a bit fuzzy. It’s been several hundred years since we last pulled off a really good real estate acquisition. But you want to talk sweet deals, jefferson got the entire louisiana purchase for pennies on the dollar. Andrew johnson bagged alaska right out from under the russkies’ noses. Mckinley got hold of guam and puerto rico from spain after the spanish american war, some say to quash the rumor that he was a fairy. Whatever. What’s done is done. Hawaii was basically a gift from the pineapple king, mr dole although how he came to decide its destiny, other than owning pineapple plantations covering the entire place is debatable. Its purchase was also tied to the spanish american war but it seems, literally, a stretch. But what do I know. It’s ours now.

Think of the number of countries that would have a for sale sign on the border if they could. Let’s start with greece, why not? Its economy is in the crapper and germany is sick and tired of paying its bills which is why they planted that for sale sign. Those crazy irresponsible greeks just lying around soaking up the mediterranean susnshine without a care in the world. You gotta hand it to them, permanent holiday is a very attractive lifestyle. However, gone are the golden days when they made important contributions to philosophy, mathematics, astronomy, and medicine, not to mention, literature and theatre, sophisticated sculpture and architecture. Now they’re known for ouzo and baklava. How the mighty have fallen.

Next on the docket would be say spain (see:greece). Those southern europeans sure know how to live but they don’t know doodly squat about paying their bills. That’s why they have germany. Once a world power whose colonies almost covered the globe, where is spain now? Broke, riven by cultural and political factions, and peta’s on its case about bull fights. What’s left, paella and tapas. Not bad but hardly the stuff of world domination.

I could go on but think I’ve made my case. Better to buy outright than lease for decades.

mama said there’d be days like this

We are just back from depositing jesus, our daughter albatross’ “miracle child” at the airport for his flight back to cali. On the drive to ATL we stopped at a chicken centric drive through for some food. The OB&C had never been through one and had some difficulty with the concept. There were several cars ahead of us and when they stopped the OB&C thought we were supposed to order. He asked how the hell were we supposed to know what they had if there wasn’t even a sign or anything, but rolled down his window anyway and started talking into some nearby shrubbery. I explained that we needed to order at the kiosk and when we finally got to the menu and a chirpy voice asked what we’d like he to order he acted like he was having an hallucination. He stared dumbly at the brightly lit wall of heart attacks in sacks until the ethereal voice repeated her question, this time with a decidedly sharper tone. He snapped out of his bewildered stupor and launched into a few ice breakers. He introduced himself and gave a brief rundown of where we were going and why. By now the chirpy voice had been replaced by a fairly stern tone demanding to know what we wanted to order.

Phase two involved his requiring a verbal description of what every posted item was and what exactly was the difference between chicken strips and chicken nuggets. And what was the deal about having waffle looking things instead of real french fries. Was the spicy chicken really spicy or just kinda spicy because he grew up in new orleans and likes things really spicy. And what about the grilled chicken salad, it looked pretty good, but what did she think, would it be too hard to eat while he was driving.

In the end he became so flustered he ordered both chicken strips and nuggets, plus some of those waffly things, a spicy chicken sandwich, a lemonade for jesus and a double bourbon for himself, ten packets of texas pete and lots of extra napkins because texas pete is really hard to wash out of clothes, right? By then there was nothing but the sound of a dial tone coming from the speaker, miss chirpy voice had retreated to the back and was spitting into our order.

The rest of the drive to ATL was uneventful except for the fact that the clock was ticking and we were deathly afraid jesus would miss his flight. The OB&C dropped us off in the middle of the construction site that passes as the departure area and we hauled out jesus’ massive suitcase and hotfooted to the southwest check-in, and did I mention I have both a bad knee and a bad hip. Surprise, surprise, surprise, it was the last counter at the other end of the terminal. There was a pretty long line to check in so I got into the short line labeled full service. I got up to the counter and a woman with a very bad attitude asked if I was on their a list, I said no but I do need full service (and pointed to the sign that said full service) because I have this pathetic little child who is an unaccompanied minor and will likely miss his flight if she didn’t help us. Unmoved she pointed to the end of what was now an even longer line.

We managed to get through that line only to be faced with a disney world line at security. Anyone who has had the misfortune to take offspring to that place knows of what I speak. Instead of “it’s a small world after all” their theme song should be “it’s a long line after all” …when bandoliera saturnalia was six I took her, and despite my extensive research on how to avoid the lines (planning the landing at omaha beach was less complicated) it was hopeless, until I spotted some poor disabled child’s empty wheelchair, threw bs right in there and poof went the lines, magical… sorry kid.

But I digress, with every switch back of the line I would flail about to grab the attention of a tsa agent to give us a boost but they were all in deep conversation with their cohorts or examining their nails, and got no love there. Those people must go through some sort of insensitivity training, I swear I could knock someone in line in front of me unconscious and they wouldn’t bat an eye, but just let me forget that 4 oz bottle of very expensive eye crème in my carry on and they’d on me like beans on rice.

Jesus’ airline flies out of the terminal that is closer to cincinnati than downtown atlanta so we had to descend into the bowels of the airport to catch the tram to its very last stop before crossing the river styx into hades. We bolted out of that thing like ballistic missiles only to discover that his gate was, wait for it, the absolute last one in the place. Sweating bullets (Please god don’t do this to me. Just as there are no atheists in a fox hole there aren’t any at the airport when your grandchild is late for a flight back home.) We arrived as they were loading the last passengers, I knew jesus needed to go to the bathroom but figured he’d just have to man up like us old folk and hold it. I handed him off to the person behind the counter, kissed him goodbye and collapsed. I’ve been offloading kids onto airplanes for decades and I always followed the rule that when the plane leaves the gate my job is done. Oh no…said the gal in red polyester, not so fast granny, you have to stay until the plane takes off. That just seemed like piling on.

I had arranged for the OB&C to meet me at the hotel. I was so ready to check in and forget the previous 12 hours that I blew right past him at the front door, I obviously have the makings of a damned good tsa agent. I went to the reception desk and gave my name, no reservation. Turns out I’d booked a different hotel. Seriously could this day possibly get any worse?

So the OB&C was sitting next to the lobby door alternately sulking and fuming. I approached him like I was headed to the gallows, and tried to put the best light on the situation, which was actually made a bit worse by the fact that he’d already parked the car to the tune of $32. I did manage to get the desk clerk to reverse the parking charges after I explained that I’d most probably be dead in the next hour or so and it would be a nice parting gift.

Good news is that our real hotel was across the street from the one I didn’t book, because if we’d had to go through 5pm atlanta traffic to get there I surely would have been a goner. Needless to say, it was a chilly ride twixt hotels. The minute we got to our room I sent the OB&C straight to the lobby bar to drown his fury and crumpled onto the bed, hoping to live to see a better day.

catastrophic

Back in the hinterlands of unincorporated jackson county north carolina off a barren stretch of highway, lies the museum of the american house cat. I have always wanted to visit it but was always in too much of a hurry to get away from it. And now I have lost my chance, sadly the museum of the american house cat is closing and is having a going out of business sale. I guess there just aren’t enough cat lovers to keep a place like that afloat. I myself have always been a cat hater. Not my fault, my mother was one big time and in fact would make my gentle hearted father set traps in the back yard to catch them. If we heard the trap spring shut during dinner we would all rush into the back yard to see what we got. I guess it didn’t occur to us that the thing might belong to someone and would be missed. A dunk in the old muddy was most likely its watery end. I know that sounds gruesome but you should hear about the rest of my childhood.

But it turns out there are a number of notable cat haters: johannes brahms, dwight eisenhower, noah webster, ghengis khan as well as mussolini and hitler, (there are a few rotten apples in every barrel). Too bad the last two didn’t stick to cats…

But it did get me thinking about what exactly a cat museum’s going out of business sale might have on offer…huge glossy coffee table books filled with cat pictures, or books of cat jokes, or youtube cat videos, or maybe tricked out cat towers, litter boxes or scratching boards, bling collars, costumes, name tags, recipes for organic home made cat food? I have a sneaking suspicion that cat lovers are saps for anything they think their felines might like, knowing full well that even if they bought the whole lot, those cats would never say thanks or even acknowledge the gift. Self centered little bastards.

What is the point of having a pet in the first place? Duh, it’s their unconditional love. Shut it in the house for hours on end, unable to stretch their legs and having to hold in all bodily functions and what do you get when you finally return…resentment, recrimination? Not if you have a dog, you get a a tail wagging lovey who is so excited to see you that he pees and shits on the floor right then and there. I’m not sure about guinea pigs, fish or parakeets, but a dog’s a pretty sure bet. And boy howdy, if you have children, who are basically human cats with more expensive taste, expecting everything with little inclination to show gratitude or appreciation, then I strongly advise that you get a dog and pitch the kids.

Trust me, you won’t regret it.

knees and assorted nuts

The OB&C and I have recently returned from a lovely trip to the olde countries of england and ireland…unfortunately I wrenched my left knee two days before we left and gimped my way through two countries with granny crankles overflowing my shoes. Sure regret those cropped travel pants. Then on the last day of the trip I managed to do a free fall onto my right knee. Falling has become one of MJE’s signature moves due to lousy balance, lousy eyesight and lousy reaction time…but not to worry, my knight in shining armor heaved me off the asphalt and into the car nearly dislocating my shoulder cursing my stupidity. Not to put too fine a point on it but it really wasn’t a matter of stupidity, more like clumsidity and I was in a good bit of pain and thought I might have actually fractured my patella, so thanks for asking. We finally managed to board the homeward bound flight, we were in “business class” which is steerage with pillows and free booze. One of the perks of paying what our first house cost is having a good stiff drink and a little bowl of hot nuts. However, this time, “someone” on the flight had a severe allergy to peanuts hence hot nuts were not on offer. Cheezits anyone? I am sorry, but why does one person’s affliction require that the entire population around him or her be deprived? How about, “YO, DON’T EAT PEANUTS” if you’re allergic. Furthermore I think in fairness to the rest of the passengers, said person should have to stand up and be identified as the cause of our collective deprivation and pelted with cheezits. I know that seems a bit harsh but hey I didn’t invent public humiliation, read our president’s tweets. And what is it with peanuts, how did they manage to become the alpha allergen, what about other allergies such as shellfish. When someone with a severe shellfish allergy walks into a restaurant the waiters don’t race around yanking lobster thermador and clam chowder off your table.

I did not intend to get on the whole peanut, or gluten or whatever other nonsense people think they cannot tolerate, but frankly that is their problem not mine so leave me out of it. I loathe avocados but do I forbid anyone else from enjoying their disgusting slimy, tasteless brownish goodness, no, and you know why not, because MJE respects the food choices other people make no matter how revolting they may be. And BTW peanuts are not a nut at all they are a legume like lentils or red beans so why is it that peanut allergic people can scarf down a whole mess of refried beans without distress, other than that caused by the post prandial flatulence, but if they get within a football field’s length of a peanut they start gawping like a landed trout and lurch for their epipens. Sorry for that digression, but so far it’s been the most entertaining part of this post.

I would like to interject that having just returned from the country that we went to war to get away from, that would be england for those who are history illiterate, which of course none of MJE’s readers is, americans and brits once again face common existential threats, sure hitler’s gone but now we have trump and they’ve got boris johnson and brexit.. They are as bewildered by our plight as we are about theirs. Yet it’s all really the same thing distilled in different ways, the brits want to be what they once were, a predominately anglo saxon empire that allowed select brown people from former colonies to come onto their island, and trump’s america envisions a return to our country’s “glory days” when we were a white country with just enough brown people around to hang sheet rock, clean the gutters and reroof the garage.

Aesop said, ”A man is judged by the company he keeps” and if you are of a biblical bent solomon basically said the same thing. Not saying that all trump supporters are racists, but if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck then the odds are pretty high that it’s a fucking duck.

Make america quack again.

rx: skinny STAT

Howdy kids! Long time no communicate, mea culpa.

MJE has been laser focused on a rigorous path to self-improvement. Better diet, more exercise, no booze… Hell no, why would I go to all that effort and deprivation when the answer is so much simpler… google angie’s list of people who best wield a scalpel near you and get on the fast track to retooling your image. Hey don’t get all judgy here… In the immortal words of pete buggaditch, or buglevitch or bluedesitch or whatever his name is, in his slap down of our self-righteous witewalker vp for his retrograde attitude about homosexuality, “You got a problem with me? Your quarrel, sir, is with my creator.” Ain’t nothing better than seeing someone who’s always shoving god in your face to watch him get shoved back.

While we are on the subject of the creator’s (or for those with a rational fact-based mentality, that would be called natural selection) creations, there must be a reason plastic surgeons are here or they wouldn’t be. And who would dump on one of the creator’s best ideas ever? Not MJE for sure. I am as open minded as it gets when it comes to medicine. Except for quack shit like gulping down turmeric until you’re the color of an oompa loompa as a remedy for a bad hip or sipping an arsenic/cocaine cocktail to cure the clap, or having some machine keep you alive when you are 95% dead and 100% old. I believe there should be space in everyone’s medicine cabinet for at least one bottle of snake oil , well not mine because it is jammed full of overpriced cosmetics and other shit that amazon enticed me to buy.

So the crux of my “problem” was a fact pointed out to me by my overly conscientious doc after my physical. Despite being the right weight for my age and height I needed to lose 10 lbs of fat and gain 12 lbs of muscle. I have no idea how that would or could be physically possible and neither did my erstwhile trainer. He told me it would most likely never happen even with hours on the treadmill and bench pressing twice my body weight and btw it would take months if not years. Fuck that, I figured I could accomplish a large part of my goal dead asleep on a gurney in 2 hours, three max. No muss, no fuss. Good bye bluto, hello olive oyl.

However, just like that first innocent toke inevitably plants you on the top of the infamous slippery slope, your first brush with the man with the magic wand is never enough. Ya gotta have more. And before you know it you have the chest of dolly parton and the face of joan rivers.

mardi grawwwww and beyond

MJE is still recovering from mardi gras in the big sleazy, whoof.! It gets harder to bounce back from debauchery every year. However, it’s required. Curious how seriously christians take a festival that originated in pre-christian rome as saturnalia. There are undeniable similarities between the two…

A mock king is chosen and honored during the festival.
Moral and societal norms are temporarily suspended.
It’s observed during the transitory period between winter and spring.

Props to the christians for being the world’s first recyclers!

Uh, oh then ya gotta pay the piper for all dem sins. Hence lent. Jews are usually credited with the invention of guilt but christians also realized how useful it can be. And just as they appropriated pagan customs (why mess with success!) they gave their own bitchin spin to sin: absolution! Quelle concept! You can transgress all you want but if you say “my bad” afterwards your slate is wiped clean. Is it any wonder jesus was a rock star, instead of getting smote hard time by a scary vengeful god for your peccadillos you got group hugs and a “we love you man” from team jesus…

So come ash wednesday, christian sinners flock to their high priests for their hall passes, which they proudly advertise with ash crosses on their foreheads. Holier than thou is literally written all over their faces.

In the big sleazy lent and penance can be short-lived which must be part of the plan. After all, god knows all, including the fact that no algorithm is perfect and there are always ghosts in the machine, see: nike basketball sneaker blowout. But never forget, god doesn’t make mistakes. He made you, so if you lay an egg that must be an integral part of being a human. So embrace your failures! If you are perfect, which you are not, or even pretend to be, you’re just not holding up your side of the bargain.

Ergo, keep on keeping on fucking up and get with the program brother!

Can I get an amen?

dripping, slipping and itching oh my

MJE has made her annual pilgrimage to the big sleazy, gotta keep those home fires burning baby…make sure the OB&C remains fat and happy. He is, as per usual, plagued by a litany of ailments, several typical of people in his demographic. i.e. aging men. Most of his distressing conditions are generally located in an area between his belly button and the upper thigh, if you get my drift. Not one to take things lying down or in his case standing up (in front of the commode) or frantically racing to get there, the OB&C was advised to do kegels. These are exercises meant to strengthen wee wee retention muscles, and are considered by some to be of benefit.

routine:

make sure your bladder is empty, then sit or lie down

tighten your pelvic floor muscles. hold tight and count to 8.

relax the muscles and count to 10.

repeat 10 times, 3 times a day (morning, afternoon, and night)

Well for chrissake, that’s as much time as he spends dashing to, and then wishing and hoping in the bathroom. I mean what’s the upside there? And despite men’s state of perpetual urinary martyrdom, older men are not the only the victims of this crippling affliction. Female hominids (as well as many other animals) are also susceptible. However, distaff members, many of whom have pushed large living, unwieldy, writhing and sometimes screeching creatures out of what is essentially a pretty small space don’t tend to complain about the little things. We’re stoics

Oh, then there is the vertigo. Well who the hell doesn’t get a bit unsteady after 5pm, or 4pm in my case? But the OB&C’s infirmity demanded an immediate appointment with an eye, ear, nose and throat specialist…however, rather than actually correcting the problem she prescribed the neck up version of the aforementioned kegels. Exercises that involve lying to one side, head at a 45 degree angle for 10 (or was it 30?) seconds, then repeat on the other side five times, ten times a day. Well who has time for that when you’re rushing to the john every 10 minutes?

But that’s not all! there’s the rash. Is there no end to this poor man’s maladies? What next??? Zika, ebola, a detached retina? I am sure it has nothing to do with his his sometimes spotty hygiene habits and aversion to changing shirts, but what do I know? I do use stinkless detergent so maybe he’s got an acute perfume deficiency. It probably doesn’t help that he takes to his skin with a bamboo back scratcher with the same fierce intensity of a starving irishman unearthing a potato during the great famine. But thanks to modern medicine he now he has acquired some insanely expensive ointment (not covered by insurance, natch) that needs to be slathered on frequently throughout the day to be effective. Probability of that: see above.

MJE is now supremely bored relating the OB&C’s numerous conditions and syndromes and I haven’t even scratched the surface, no pun intended. So onward.

Now, as we say here in the sleazy, is a bit of lagniappe. Look it up.

A story came across the local news wires the other day about a guy who tried to rob a popeye’s chicken joint. The workers couldn’t open the safe so instead of shooting every one of the hapless saps he stole a bunch of fried chicken instead. Well what the hell else was he gonna do, leave hungry, empty handed and pissed off that he hadn’t killed anyone? The major debate among the locals is whether he chose regular or spicy, and what sides did he swipe? Obviously he had to make some snap decisions and pack light since he was a man on the go… did he opt for the kick ass dirty rice, yummy red beans, creamy mashed potatoes and gravy or those insanely delicious fries? How about those delectable livers and gizzards…man, really tough choices to have to make under pressure. Sure hope he doesn’t regret them because they might be the last meal options he could have for a while. Parish prison, despite its primo downtown location, is not known for its cuisine.

the queen is dead, long live the queen

One of my dearest friends died this morning. God damn him.

What the hell am I to do with the rest of my life’s sunday afternoons?

He created a world that was every bit as magical as anything disney conjured up.

He collected people like most people accumulate tchotchkes. The essential attributes of a desirable collectible were to be smart, interesting or entertaining, preferably all three. Being young and nice looking was a plus.

His circle of friends was immense and as diverse as it was wide. He was the lynchpin of a special universe that only he could pull off.

His feats of what seemed like effortless entertaining were legend. Lunch parties for thirty in his extraordinary garden, child’s play. Parties for fifty to celebrate the blooming of joe pye weed, why not?

He was smart as a whip and had a memory that was astonishing. History, literature, music and of course politics.

He was a proud leftie who relished crushing conservative orthodoxy with withering precision.

He loved a good discussion, or better yet, argument and I never saw him concede his point to anyone.

When I met him, I literally felt like dorothy in the wizard of oz when she opens the door and her gray world is suddenly transformed into technicolor.

He lived his best life. And died, I am sure, with few, if any regrets.

I am so grateful to have known him.

And wherever he is now I hope he saves a place for me.

I deeply apologize to my long-suffering followers who have been stranded in the desert without MJE to offer sage advice on how to survive the current political shit show. You’re not going to like it but here’s my down low: we are all of us thoroughly screwed and we’re going to remain screwed for the foreseeable future. I am sorry if you thought that perhaps there was some sort of upside to the pathetic display of cowardice and dissembling on the part of the majority members of congress, the cabinet and last but not the least by any means, our dear leader. Well there isn’t. The bulb in the exit sign blew out last november and it’s gonna take a while to find a replacement. My advice: find a flashlight and use it to illuminate your path to the voting booth on november 6.

MJE has also suffered several personal tragedies in the past few weeks that have blocked my ability to hold forth. First, my computer printer broke down. Obviously that means no scans of my insanely clever doodles would be forthcoming. It sort of feels like I have a limb missing, well not a real important one because the printer was a typically crappy HP thing which was more unreliable than our notorious daughter albatross. That said, I’m sure you understand how irritating it is when even lousy technology leaves you in the lurch. It’s like having a boyfriend you’re sort of sick of and dammit he beats you to the punch and dumps you when you meant to dump him last week. It just really, really pisses you off.

Then I lost my fab fashion forward suede ankle boots, which I was going to wear to an important event and which are crucial to pulling the whole outfit together. As we all know, accessories are key. So now I am on the horns of a dilemma: buy another pair (I just saw some online and frankly like them better) knowing that I am guaranteed to find the old ones in my closet the minute the new boots are worn and therefore non-returnable. Or resign myself to a less than knock out look for want of the perfect footwear. Talk about a hobson’s choice.

Then the third and by far the worst thing is that our wonderful 14 year old black lab belly button died. Admittedly she was 337 years old in human years and a bit past her prime. We took her to the vet where she lay down with her head on our laps and painlessly drifted off into eternal sleep in under sixty seconds. ALERT! I’d like it on the record that when my time comes I want to be laid out on the vet’s linoleum floor with a bourbon and soda in one hand and a bunch of cheese doodles in the other and drift off to the great beyond with the lingering taste of maker’s mark and corn meal, ferrous sulfate, thiamin mononitrate, monosodium glutamate, artificial cheese seasoning and yellow dye #6 on my tongue.

Belly button’s now back home with us in a tasteful (to the crematorium personnel at least) box and we’ll find a piece of natural stone and have it inscribed to mark her grave. We’ll bury her in a clearing in the woods above the house next to her predecessor sweet molly. Oh, and some of the OB&C’s mother is strewn up there too but we didn’t bother with a marker because for all we know it could be a scrap of thymus, a nostril and the odd bit of urethra. Seriously, I just don’t think that’s worth memorializing.

R.I.P.

Three bitches on the hill.

plumber my ass

The OB&C recently received a very stern letter from the state plumbing board of the great state of louisiana citing him for soliciting plumbing without being licensed by the aforementioned governing body, specifically that he is “in violation of the laws of the state of louisiana, more specifically, l.a.r.s 37:1361 et seq.” It goes on to state “You will note that section 1367 thereof prohibits work as a journeyman and master plumber without a license. You will note that section 1372 provides for an injunction to enjoin any person from engaging in plumbing without a license. Furthermore section 1373 provides for a fine and imprisonment for violation. (yikes, hope it’s just a misdemeanor !) It is the obligation of the state plumbing board to insure (I think they meant ensure, like the old people food supplement but who am I to correct the word usage of such an august body) compliance with the state law and IT IS THEIR INTENTION TO DO SO.” Their caps, and referring to themselves as a third party! They mean business.

But there’s MORE, “Consequently you are hereby requested to immediately cease soliciting plumbing without a proper license until you comply with the state law. Further you are hereby requested to show cause, in writing IMMEDIATELY why you should not be subject to injunctive proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.”

FAILURE TO RESPOND IN WRITING AS DEMANDED HEREIN, SHALL BE VIEWED AS EVIDENCE OF NON-COMPLIANCE ON YOUR PART WITH THE LAW AND WILL RESULT IN LEGAL ACTION BEING PURSUED BY THE BOARD.

“You are required to pay a $500.00 ENFORCEMENT FEE. As per Chapter 3, section 305(h). A check or money order for this fine should (please note that when our prez uses the word ‘should’ it indicates a suggestion or opinion and is not be interpreted as an order) be forwarded to this office no later than 8/12/18.”

sincerely,

ashleigh w. cambre

enforcement division

Attached is a handwritten inspection report citing the name and address of our company and a copy of an “advertisement” (attachment #1b) that we allegedly ran on some website labeled http://www.chamberofcommerce.com which states that our services include sewer systems, maintenance, and water systems and lists our specialties as driveways (it never occurred to me to call a plumber to install a driveway but then again we are not just any old plumbing company apparently), residential flooding, insurance claims, air conditioning systems, icemakers, ‘no hot water’ and walls.” Sadly our rating is 0.0000 stars based on 0 reviews. Ouch!

Well, I have called the OB&C a lot of things over the years but an unlicensed plumber isn’t one of them. Who knew he was living a secret life installing toilets and fixing faucets. I realize now that all those times he said he was going fishing or hunting he was really going plumbing. The bum.

But these folks are serious and I for one am very grateful that in these perilous times the good people of louisiana are being protected from sketchy unlicensed plumbers. I salute the diligent civil servants of the state plumbing board who are spending their valuable time (and our tax dollars) time trolling the internet in search of dastardly pipe fitting frauds.

Their mission statement eloquently sums up just how important they are to our very existence.

“from hospital to home, your health depends on proper plumbing.”

No shite sherlock.