LANARTA JEAN. Spent cigarette smoke tops MY agenda.



220-226 Brisbane Street: Housing Department endorsed hate and dirty Labor Party trickery. A snapshot of existence in a Housing Commission environment.

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Cover your Grandmothers, Bruse prowls the nearby convalescent facility at will.
I rewrite grabs from recent posts:

There is based in Woodridge a mock tenant’s union with tentacles to outlaying places like Beaudesert. It was established to award tenures to Housing Commission party hacks for a lifetime of shafting work-mates and disrupting the daily life of well-principled tenants. The Queensland Labor Government funds this sham association and its unctuous concern is to actually absorb any snippets of information that slipped the attention of a well oiled fifth column. At its acronymned expense, I gave L.A.N.A.R.T.A. the initialized B.U.L.L.S.H.I.T. You could make your own amusement by fitting appropriate words to my jumped-up wordplay. These leeches at P.O. Box 658, Woodridge 4114, if you think you have embarrassing but useful material you think should complement my file, and refer to this site. If you can’t invent gossip, get in touch with the writer as there must be much more to the old bastard than assumptions.

Wise men follow their own direction.

B.U.L.L.S.H.I.T. held a meeting in Beaudesert on Wednesday, 20 May, 2009. I have nothing but revulsion for this cynical, holier than thou nonsense crap pretending a care for doltish adults whose State-induced nannyism made them that way. I was mildly interested at my exclusion from their mailing list. An outsider alerted me of its imminent happening at which I hoped to get a tenant representative’s opinion on my passive cigarette-related health problems being directly attributed to up-wind cigarette smoke. Biased staff and those on the take, move favored fifth column tenants on a whim, however the advice to me of, “Just get out,” was my worth, and I know a dedicated investigator would tip the bucket on bludgers from Bligh down to Station Road stasi.

Lanarta Jean’s puerile advice reflects her contempt for H.C. tenants; those of immature and undisciplined Housing staff reserve for tenants like me, appalled at the nanny attitude of barely literate nose-picking Station Road Frau Schicklgrubers. Theirs is the mentality that refutes the thinking that impelled past scholars like Benjamin Franklin and Michelangelo, and would have had a torch lit even before the pyre had been prepared for their removal.

Tenant spokesperson Jean (sur-name will be dropped in if found) wasn’t interested in nicotine related questions, stressing the topic was not on her agenda. Does an open forum know such discipline? Her main purpose as a tenant representative, she seriously avowed, was to bring information to people like you, and here I wonder the intent behind the implied put-down; an instantly formed, educated opinion or was there some prompting from Rebecca and the opinionated Shouters?

Jean added that she is present this day to tell me Laze and Gen of Australia, and me only I iterate and not her audience, of what is happening in the world and to offer tips on economical electricity usage, ergo the $4 saved can be redirected into the machines. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the hapless Jean was prompted by up-herself Lady Machiavelia, Hillhouse mentor and rabid misandrist, Frau Schoutens and current title-holder of Rider Haggard’s She throne. Their methods of knavery are well known to observers as to the corrupt practitioners and manipulators of Woodridge’s Queensland Housing Department who use them, and had the community not been denied a decent education, would have been the joke of ten year old children. The collective Station Road girl’s club would be well advised their efforts and threats are illegal and their good luck might eventually wane.

When an Origin opposition electricity salesman did the rounds of H.C. precincts a week or so after Lanarta Jean’s statement looking for new accounts, only a H.C. snitch would buy the ‘pure chance’ excuse. If she encouraged them to do this for a cut of the till, I’d like to see the C.M.C. take a look at the cogs behind the Housing scenery, but it’s unlikely Anna would grant such an indulgence.

Bruse’s third world hygiene habits in part, of snotting at will was the genesis of a tenants ‘meeting’ which resulted in my castigation and the departure of three other affected tenants. Ryan and Bruse swore I tried to run him down; lapped-up and used with glee by HC staff. My stance of staying put has put me in the set-up firing line again, with Bruse in league with out-front Ev colluding to accuse me of verbal abuse. I fear alighting my car near their flats, and am now armed with a voice activated recorder. Purely psychological bullshit. Can’t see it getting me out of the shit against determined agents provocateur.

Ev, the re-badged Bernadette Arnold and the disease spreading false-accuser, Bruse have co-joined flats. This architectural curiosity has been detailed elsewhere and in essence, condemns pairs of flats to share the others noises and odours, an event that could only be performed harmoniously by identical twins. But those like me on the rough end of the stick are sorely tested by the mobile phone posturing of Mother Dale Woodford whose rejected ego won’t believe I am not won over by the trinkets she brought from the new world. The Hidees of H.C. precincts and their unwanted theatre of the absurd. The previous no.6 emitted a choking cooking stench that was assuredly rancid fat burning, yet might have wafted from his stove his mummy’s cooking.

When daylight arrives to disturb his nude veranda fun, Bruse is obliged to cover-up, don clothes, and resume some semblance of normalcy. I expect he ventured a peek or two through summer-open windows while having a shake or two with percy. Later in the day he haunts the nearby convalescent home and gets a food handout for his alleged handy-work, but he would have been amply rewarded in other ways.

Age doesn’t necessarily engender wisdom or stupidity innocence. Moral degenerates get their jollies however they can and the advanced age of the unaware targets, rather then deterring foul deeds and thoughts, encourages their spineless depravity. The imagination can only guess at whom he has peeked in the place that should have been a sacred shelter. Bus travelers and drivers who have witnessed Bruses pestering of women at bus-stops and while en route, also tell of the vulgar behavior of the obnoxious baby-eating reincarnation, Harridan Hidee, mouthing-off of an imaginary Walter Mitty directorship of that very same bus company. That simpleton could get a business degrees only via a YouTube down-load where there must be a template for a top-level strident mobile phone boofhead.

Women have forsaken their femininity for fish-wifery, or was that just an Errol Flynn delusion of the Sherwood Forest movie era? The old dear over the way had lived some time in a dilapidated, but registered bomb as a mobile bag-lady. The shit-box is off the scene and given that it ran like a con-rod had pierced the block, will soon be forgotten. Bev coughed her guts up incessantly for her first forty nights here. She allowed not the slightest consideration to muzzling the noise or harnessing the bacterial blight and therefore stamped her credentials as a desired and worthy H.C. client. After some mending from years of street living and camping in her rooted conveyance, comes the clack of crockery well into the night, like the now obsolete roast-carving oval plates, being constantly rewashed. Many people in her plight are usually thoroughly decent and nice to know if they accept your friendship and you get to sharing confidences. Lots of love, Les.

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