Thursday, May 12, 2011


The sun is shining its a beautiful day and my fountain is working. People are shocked. They keep touching with their grungy hands and staring like the fountain is a polar bear in Brazil. They seem to be in a daze. Two of our citizens are dead. Remus and Agnes Monagahn. We don't know how they died. Its's strange. I'll report back with more news about it later today. This is strange. I must find out if it affects any of my properties.

It's fixed.

The driver just go back from the fountain, he says its a hell of a storm out there and he will turn it on in the morning. Maybe I should call him the driver. I learned his name today. It's Marvin. Marvin is the driver. What a useful fellow, if all the citizens of Watershed Heights were like him. I would have the perfect city. Who else would go do his civic duty, (that I'm paying him for) at 3 in the morning, during the storm of the year. The weather really is terrible. The windows of my penthouse class are shivering in the window. This cheap building. I knew the builders were crackheads. Just knew it. I should have docked their pay. The windows can be replaced though. I'll put a request out tomorrow for builders who aren't crackheads.

Something will happen to the fountain.

The fountain is so disgusting. I simply must do something about it. Tonight, I will have the driver sneak over and clear the pump. No one needs to know. Its just necessary to do it. I can't pass it anymore. All the sludge and trash people throw in as they walk by. How careless they are. The fools. It looks like it will storm tonight. Its so dreary and gross. The storm might help clear away some of the smog and the trash in the streets. We could desperately use that. The damn city hasn't ever even heard of street cleaners. Or recycling. Anyways, tonight the fountain will be cleaned. Secretly.

My life is ruined.

My life is ruined. I am no longer a Gappon, I have betrayed my father, and the Gappon family, I ate a piece of pie. Poor persons pie. I went to the diner and, and, and... The pie. It attacked me, an unsuspecting victim. I should never have done it. But I did. I ate a piece of pie. Its evil. How could I have done that to my body? Putting a lowly piece of pie in a temple of greatness. Its my fault. I should't have gone looking for the source of the evil smell. The driver and I traced the source to the diner. We went in and it was overwhelming, sickly sweet smelling. The smell felt like a warm hug taking me in to its arms and kissing me on the head. Like a mother cradling a lost child. I could almost hear mothers voice, coaxing and pleading with me to take a bite. I wanted some, I had to have it. I walked to the counter and demanded to see the cause of the polluting smell across the neighborhood. The grungy woman at the counter raised a thin eyebrow, and walked to the deli fridge lifting out a single piece of pie, seran wrapped on a white porcelain plate. I knew it. I KNEW that smell was pie. She slammed it down in front of me and took off the wrapping. That's when the smell hit. Wrapping itself around me, pulling me in. Then, I balcked out and when I came to, my eyes focused on the waitress standing in front of me. Her eye wide with shock, what the hell was wrong with her? Who gave her right to stare at me so? "What?" I demanded. "Do you want more?" she asked "more what?" I said. "Pie" She replied. "What are you.." and then I saw myself in the mirror wall behind the counter. I had crumbs all over my shirt, in my beard and hair, the sticky sweet filling covered my face. The evil pie had attacked me. The smell forced me to eat it, against my will. I am shamed. The evil sweetness of pie had come back. I wanted more, more of the bad thing.

It simply must go.

The haunting smell of the pie factory is ruining my concentration. I simply cannot get any work done as this smell floats through my penthouse window. My driver and I will find the source and shut it down. Polluting smells simply can not be tolerated. Who could be to blame for this. The factory is gone. I blame the diner. Time to go raise hell on bakers.

The smell is haunting me.

I seem to be haunted by pie. This smell, it won't leave. It wafted through my window the other morning. I hate pie. Pie has ruined deserts for the rest of my life. The smell of sweet things, candies, baked goods, prostitutes perfumes. They remind me of my mother, a cheap and lowly baker. She came from a family of bakers living here in Watershed Heights. They were the poorest of the poor. With no sense of business. If she hadn't married my father who knows what would have happened. He brought her family to fortune by creating a large bakery, factory on the outskirts of town as he built his own real-estate empire. Mother's entire family worked in it, baking pies and sweets. On the unfortunate occasional day, I was forced to go to work with her, among her poor factory relatives and forced to do manuel labor along side them. Those fools didn't they see how worthless the blue collar job of a factory was? How my father hadn't helped them but rather made them slaves to themselves and the supply and demand of the economy. My working cousins would stuff me into the flour and sugar bins forcing me to choke as I tried to take in a breath laughing as I sputter when they pulled my head out of the flour and I coughed out white clouds of dust. How I hated that factory of sweets. As mother got old, and after father had died, I changed her will so that they received nothing from this family. Now, I refuse to eat pies and cakes or any sweet that passes my way.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Mr. John Gappon's memo

Mr. John Gappon is in pain, he cannot function today. He has a headache, and cannot deal with the circus freaks in town. He will hold office hours for the weekend, Saturday: 2pm - 3pm, Sunday: 2pm to 2:30pm. Kitty Crimson Smith is overdue on rent. It is to be paid in full by Saturday at 2pm.

Mrs. John Gappon