End of Story

There is no reason for me to continue to pretend to be friends with vile putrid Cori and her lowlife slob husband Jody who I never liked anyway. They prove only that a college degree does not necessarily guarantee that you will ever get out of the janitorial pool so to speak which is not what I wanted out of college. All of Stacy's jabbering about cleaning fluids and housekeeping jobs just leaves me cold. Some people have to do that for a living but I was expecting better than that, to tell the truth. I am not available for janitorial duties, thanks anyway.

Another Joke

Yes, how ridiculous to have this foul-mouthed crude and vulgar trashy strip dancer Cori Nipper daring to criticize me for any reason let alone for being a little bit depressed one day. I was just sitting in the bean bag chair listening to some music and feeling depressed and she comes in and starts screaming at me as usual. And why should I not be depressed with a horrible witch of a roommate named Cori ruining my life and conspiring against me all the time? I never want to hear another word from that piece of garbage named Cori. She always was a worthless friend to me. Sometimes we make mistakes in choice of friends and have to throw these hideous Cori bitches in the garbage where they belong. That is the way I see it.

Diary Tidbits

Which reminds me that in our recent reading of great-grandmother's diaries we learned that my Dad's Uncle Eugene and Aunt Mary Olive were at some time in the 1950s living in South Dakota or else North Dakota, one of those Dakota states. I only know of the Hunts as living in Venezuela so I was not aware of any other place that they ever lived previous to Venezuela. Thus it is surprising to see references to the Hunts living in the icy cold hinterlands of the Dakota wilderness where it is presumed that the Hunts were serving as ministers and pastors to the wickedly decadent denizens of the Dakotas. I can only imagine because I never heard them tell of anything about themselves or their ministry except that they were in Venezuela under the auspices of the Christian Missionary Alliance which is a denomination that used to be Pentecostal but later turned sort of Baptist so obviously they would have a different view of doctrinal matters than we would. We are not unaware of these differences of opinion in regards to the signs of the Baptism, etc. etc. etc. We are grateful to the Hunts for staying with Grandma Calkins during her last dying months which is almost the only time I ever saw them. We heard that they went to England later but it is very expensive there. Other than that we do not understand what their problem is other than having no money as retired missionaries but that is not unusual for those who were not independently wealthy in the first place. So?

A Fox Story

Which reminds me that when we were in El Salvador the famous healing evangelist Charles Fox, under whose ministry my Mom was saved in Modesto, decided to hold revival services in a town in the eastern part of El Salvador, Sensuntepeque. My Dad was enlisted to help organize it so he secured the permission to hold open air meetings in the town plaza and got the platform and sound equipment set up did some promotions and advertising of the imminent arrival of the illustrious Charles Fox. As it turned out Mr. Fox took ill in Mexico and never arrived in El Salvador at the agreed upon time. My Dad said in his humorously self-deprecating way that the poor people of Sensuntepeque had to make do with "your truly." In other words, my Dad had to serve as the healing evangelist for the crusade because Mr. Fox was a no-show and there were healings and salvations anyway so all is well that ends well one might say. So?

Stupid People

Never underestimate the cruel stupidity of certain music majors, whether before or after my class, especially persons with names like, for example, shrieky witch Charlotte Rosser and creepy weirdo Rusty Wycoff, so garrulous and petulant. Take for example all these stupid people trying to picture me as Athaliah, the wicked queen who was willing to kill all her grandchildren just to have the throne all to herself. It is obvious they have me confused with Althea Holdcroft, the flutist who taught music history classes at SCC when I was there. Yes, she was a little boring and still single when she was just trying to get enough teaching credits for her master's degree at SCC, but these Athaliah jokes are too ridiculous and not worthy of being dignified and regaled with so much undeserved attention. I only halfway heard this but this pathetically stupid joke did not exist when I was in Althea's class so obviously I missed out on some things that came later. I don't know anything about that, as I was saying. Althea eventually got married so they had to find someone else for the role of Athalia, I suppose would be their excuse. As if all the world were a stage. That's just Shakespeare's cynical take on the vagaries of sinful human nature, not really how things are supposed to be if we all had our heads screwed on straight. Unfortunately, some people's heads at SCC were not.

Clueless Me

I vaguely recall that a lot of people at Editorial Vida got really worked up about Bob Hoskins' goofy accounting practices but I really don't anything about that. I heard people talking via the grapevine about storming the ramparts and then a deal was worked out in which I was murdered in exchange for peace. This makes no sense to me as I was not even there and anyway I did not steal any money or know anything about that. As far as I can see, the only person who should be roasting in hell is THEM. THEY did something that I don't understand and then THEY blamed me for everything for no reason whatever other than to distract from their own goofy accounting practices even though I was not the person who was making a fuss. It is the higher-ups job to dump the Hoskins into their isolation tank, not mine. That is the way I see it. Thus, I have no sympathy whatsoever for the Hoskins family pretending to be the missionaries who worked in India in the Cawnpore district alongside Methodist missionary Harvey Calkins who is not related to me that I know of, at least not closely. My Dad's name is Harold, not Harvey, so obviously my Dad is not the author of the books about money management and stewardship principles. Neither are we Methodists, only AG, so this whole thing just gets more and more ridiculous all the time. I think that if Robbie Hoskins wants to ensure his own good luck he should get himself a rabbit's foot to put under his pillow at night. Those people ought to know that I am just not available to be used for these ridiculous purposes. It logically follows that Hazel Hoskins obviously did not write the book about Clara A. Swain, M.D., the Presbyterian doctor in India or the book about Dr. Mary E. Carleton, the Methodist doctor in China, so it is obvious that Hazel's pretensions of being a bestselling author are kaput. Well, tudalu to you, too!

Picayunes

In the interests of being picayune, let us point out that Robert "Dimon" Hoskins died in 1946 in Bismarck, North Dakota, so there is nothing else to say about him. His oaths of office are expired. Besides, he was only the clerk of the North Dakota State Supreme Court, not really a judge or lawyer. All he does is record what the important people say, those who are duly elected judges, whose opinions are based on what the lawyers said in their presentations. Mr. Hoskins' opinions are not those recorded in the court record of judicial opinions. The lowly clerk's job is to faithfully record what the judge is saying without twisting the facts and thus thwarting justice, a task important enough to have the clerk's name included in the book but still with only the title "clerk," placed below and not equal to the names of the judges, and only if he is not caught devising fictional accounts. Mr. Dimon probably never went to law school anyway so he would not really understand what is to be done in these cases. Thus, we see that while Mr. Dimon apparently was accurate in his accounting of the facts in North Dakota in the early 1900s, Mr. Demon's name does not appear or get any credits in the book.

Yes, I always wondered why we have all these North Dakota whiners milling around here, all these Dollar dogs from North Carolina. They ought to go back to Igloo City, North Dakota, where they belong in my opinion, but things always change. People are always moving around and different generations have different goals and educational aspirations. I think that they would not appreciate me telling them where to go so I think that they ought to practice the Golden Rule as well: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." If it was good enough for the Bible, the Golden Rule ought to be good enough to serve as warning to stop trying to ruin everything with their pathetically horrible North Dakota garbage. I could not be less impressed. Sometimes the Hoskins clerks have to be dropped off the front page and never heard from again in the interests of justice. After all, it's not about them.