This is no Blanch... that's for sure. And more's the pity!

Remember when "poor" meant "I'll take it!"? Or you could leave something outside, even accidentally, and it was gone in five seconds flat? Mmm, me too.

Where are those nimble fingered tea-leaves when you need 'em? You know, the ones who would rob your tires while your car was in motion? What happened to that class of fella? Have things changed so much in the world, that you can't bank on those things that meant the most? The things that you held dear? Where is the justice?!!!

And also, along with the old, good-time crooks letting us down, it would seem the poor of 2008 are a different breed of poor, than the days of yore, poor. Apparently, the needy are not so needy these days. And those who work to help the poor and needy are not in the market for a really nice--free--chair; they'd rather sit on the floor and/or would prefer to waste gas to come in person to view, sniff and then turn their noses up at said chair.

Let's see, it all began when I was hoodwinked by a really good friend (who shall go unnamed), into taking a really nice chair. Let me make this clear, this is no crappy chair; this chair IS nice. I just don't have any space for it. And so, it sat in my living room awaiting an even newer new home. Bearing this in mind, I spent a few days vigilantly swatting my cat and her claws away during the daylight hours, but at night, she would have her wicked way with the chair's arms. Still, I persevered. Still, it remained nice.

After a week, and having cleaned my apartment from top to bottom, I got tired of the chair eating my living room. I moved the chair outside of my apartment, pinning it with a really nice--and wordy-- note. So far, everything about this situation is nice. But, no go. I went online and booked a pickup with a group that --sounds like-- 'Starvation Barmy' (AlvationSay Rmyay, pig latin, for the Americans) and knew my chair troubles would be over within four days, the soonest it could be picked up. I was jubilant. In the meantime, I left a note saying if anyone wanted it, they were welcome to it, thinking I could always cancel the pickup if necessary. I'm that much of a giver, you see.

No go. The chair sat there. Tuesday rolled around and while I was making my coffee, I heard the pickup guys outside. I ran to the loo and a minute later, I head to the door to view the empty chair-shaped space. I thought. Well, the chair was still there, along with a note that said "We don't want your effin' chair." It didn't really say that, but that's how I read it. A preprinted note said it was not acceptable for, tick, tick, a couple of reasons. Reasons I honestly couldn't get my head around. A small stain at the back of the chair - the part of the chair that's usually pushed against a wall-- or with a little elbow grease would be a distant memory-- but nope, apparently the poor would rather sit on the floor. Denied. If I had the space, I'd take this chair in a second. What am I saying, I did take it... (damn you, **** *********!)

I have to say, after this I turned into a maniac. I kept my eye on the window and if tenants of my building, or visitors of tenants, even glanced the way of my apartment/chair, I would be out that door chasing them down, twisting arms and giving my pitch. Still no takers. Furthermore, I had to fend off next door's cat--who's in heat for the first time-- from taking a piddle on it. I'm exhausted. There's now my briefest of notes to date, attached to a sheet over the chair in thick black marker, stating "FREE CHAIR," just like that. I don't know whether I actually meant "This chair is free" or "Free this poor chair!" My imagination is working overtime. I believe this chair has now grown a pair of eyes and is sporting a smirk. And it's smirking in my direction. I find this chair ceases to be as nice as I once thought. I think I might now hate this chair.

So there you have it. My only recourse now involves a hatchet and the dumpster... and let's just say, I'm looking forward to it. Now if only I could find a hatchet. Wonder if the organizations for the poor have any of those? Maybe I'll go look at their collection of hatchets, sniff and turn my nose up at what they've got, 'cause you know, there's a scratch on the handle or something. Yep, that's the ticket. That'll teach 'em.

Screw you, sounds like "Starvation Barmy" and "IllWill."

And friend, who shall remain nameless, never mind, I still love you. However, if you visit me while this chair sits here, I will somehow break off a kitty-scratched arm and I will forcibly beat you with it. Das righ'. XXX