The Fat Ogre Has Sung

It might be Canada Day to many of you, but from here on July 1 will forever be Ogre-Freeday to me. I am open to anthems and slogans and cards that celebrate this momentous occasion. Bottles of champagne and schnapps and bourbon are also welcome.

The Ogres, of course, did their best to drag out the process of leaving, and at 1am last night they were still drinking bad beer, littering the sidewalk with cigarette butts, and hauling ugly furniture out of their lair and into the rat-hole apartment next door where their Skanky Daughter had skanked with her mouth-breather boyfriend.

In truth, this was half the fault of Skanky Daughter, who only arrived with her moving van at 11pm. I guess once a midnight mover, always a midnight mover. (My Snitch tells me, by the way, that Mr.Ogre calls his own daughter The Skank--charmed, I'm sure.)

This morning, once the coast was clear, I entered their former lair (heretofore known as MY HOUSE) and was shocked at how reasonably unfilthy it is, but there were a few surprises. How could this story really come to an end without a few surprises?

First, I couldn't get in because Mr.Ogre stuck a pvc pipe into a hole in the basement ceiling that acted as a barrier to my opening the door. What for, you ask?

Spite, I answer. After a few tries, I managed to get into the front door and I pulled out this pvc pipe, a good 3 feet long. One might assume that this pipe was there for some practical reason, but really, all it did was stop the door, and it had never been there before.

Once inside the previously verboten basement, I noticed the Ogres had taken every stitch of their junk, but managed to leave behind their cats. The black one called "Blacky" was huddled between my lawn chairs (yes folks, I will now have my lawn chairs back, and my bicycle, and my sanity which was also trapped in the basement), and when he finally saw fit to skidaddle out the back door a second black one and a striped one followed his lead. Thus ends the Reign of Terror of the Ogre Clan and their Familiars.

Finally, when I was back in the apartment, plugging in a sadly inadequate air-freshener, hanging a Buddhist lampshade, and looking around trying to decide what the hell I'm going to do with MY HOUSE, Mrs. Ogre ascended the stairs looking for Blacky. I told her he'd hit the road with his two buddies to score some blow, and then we had an exchange that was not altogether evil.

I had dreamt of Mrs.Ogre several times in the past months, dreams in which we'd patched things up and all of this misery was erased. This part I did not tell her. Truth is, I'd always liked Mrs.Ogre a bit, and she and I would have been able to compromise--she wanted to. But Mr.Ogre stood in our way. I guess she knows somewhere in her swampy heart that although she has to live with that beast, I don't (and the specimen to your right is handsome compared to the Ogre formerly known as my Crappy Tenant).

I did tell her I was sorry things turned out the way they did, but it was simply not possible for all of us to live under the roof of MY HOUSE. I didn't mention that her Skanky Daughter still owed me money for the fridge she bought/stole from me. I was unfamiliar with the ways of Ogres back then, and I now accept it as a lesson: No dealings with Ogres, ever, never, ever. I also told her I'd always liked her and didn't want to be enemies. She didn't respond much, which is to be expected from her species. But it was good to get it out there so hopefully everyone can move on. Then I reimbursed her final 3 months of rent, she gave me keys that will be useless as of tomorrow when the locksmith changes the locks anyway, and we hopefully can become neighbours who mind their own business.

Tomorrow the 8 foot fence goes up, MY HOUSE gets cleaned, and I start figuring out how to fill all this extra space. A pretty houseboy is the first thing on my list.

In the meanwhile:

Hail Hail Ogre-Freeday!!!

Come on people, sing with me!!!