Particularly hurtful

God Damn the small town. That said, I hear from my esteemed Father that my uncle Bob (Yup- I have an "And Bob's your uncle) was talking to the man responsible for me having to move those huuuugggeee show cases from my Mother's former store last month. Not only did I have to deal with the emotional stress caused by dismantling one of my childhood haunts and a (redacted) landmark, but I also had to deal with the sheer magnitude of the job. It wasn't fun. Period.

So dipshit, aka Mr. Bigshot (who has a very nice wife and son, btw) decides to flap his gums at my uncle, claiming that I was offered a "nice" amount of money to not move the cases, as moving them left a mess, and the store would've been worth more had they remained in situ. No shit! Really? Seeing as how during the only conversation that I had with him (with my Father in the room) he rejected buying them outright, I guess I must've lost my mind. Hmmm. The bastard is trying to make me the villian here, and I don't approve. And with my own family. That takes class. I would've done practically anything short of giving the damned things away to avoid having to move them. And the little cockknocker has the nerve to claim otherwise...fuck him. I feel a nasty letter coming on... or an irate visit... Yeah- time to plan the vengence tour 2005. Roadtrip with a purpose...

At least I am in fighting form again, and will ponder my next move. And the cases are out. And they are for sale. And he has one hell of a mess to deal with in the old store. Not my problem, sir. Not my problem at all.