Chaos Redux

After shaking my hand and bidding farewell to me on Thursday afternoon at Slob Manor (read: rental housing) yet again, the questionable drunkard, Tom, was sitting upstairs in front of the tube with his load of laundry in the clothes dryer when I returned at 8pm from my evening outing on Friday. The farewell note to all of the other tenants that was laying on the table near the front entrance was nowhere in sight. This has got to be the longest farewell in the legacy of humanity.

Typical Rehabilitated Hottie

Let's face the facts. Tom does not want to be admitted into the rehabilitation facility. First, he just loves to guzzle cheap booze day and night. That's his occupation. Second, he has nowhere to go once the 30-day program is completed. In other words, he would be homeless on the streets. So, he has taken to covertly "squatting" at Slob Manor.

Typical "Laying Low" Hottie

When I returned from town this afternoon, I observed Tom's vehicle parked in its usual spot. A few minutes later, Tom quietly departed. He will most likely make himself scarce until late in the evening. He's just "laying low" in case the landlord happens to drop by. Eventually, of course, Tom will be allowed to reside at the dump again sans rehabilitation. I expect him to be moved into my squalid room once I vacate it. Yeah, same ol' shit.

Sadly, Alan has finally caught on that the landlord wants him to move out. The suspicious "remodeling" and rent increase story was just too obvious. I had been telling Alan for several months that the conniving "chef" has been working diligently to persuade the landlord to evict him. Apparently, he just didn't want to believe what I told him.

Ol' Lavahead Mini-Update®
I ran out of the heart medication today as expected. No refill necessary. Well, I will observe what happens tomorrow. Let's hope that there aren't any complications.