Noble Corporal Agarn

It was the end of an era, a short era, rather mundane but still an era. James, my stalwart landlord informed me that he was coming up to Donald. Pick up his mail and that sort of thing, going to bring Marco, a friend of his who wanted some advice as to how to conduct deep research into the deadly herbicide/poison Paraquat, of which, due to it’s toxicity and the fact that it has been sprayed on our food since 1964 causes Dementia and Parkinson’s Disease, we will all eventually succumb to one or both of these diseases. Paraguay Dementia, I called it, but when James, my erstwhile landlord turned up, no Marco, seems his car broke down on the way to Beaufort, and Rachel had to go and pick him up. Though, when James arrived he was very friendly at the gate but when I let him in after opening the gate and we were at the front door, which I was unlocking, he declared that the lock on the front security screen door was his, which of course I agreed with, even though I had changed both front and rear security door locks, as once installed, any fittings belong to the landlord. This was fine but then he abruptly declared, quite loudly that he could cut the door off he if wanted, he seemed very angry about something, I don’t know what though. Then he told me that while he was in the ADF, Australian Defence Force, while in Iraq or East Timor or both, that he had killed babies, not a single or one baby, but multiple babies, actual number unknown, whether it was dozens or hundreds or a handful, or whether they had their own extermination squad or unit, is unknown to me. I looked at him sternly and my first thoughts were, Noble Warrior, Gallant Soldier, Special Forces Baby Killer, but my admiration increased rapidly, as I gazed at this ex Corporal towering over me, eyes bulging, arms tensed and slightly out as if to say, Yes I am a stern, tough, ruthless soldier of fortune, drugged out of my head but that’s because the war fucked me up so much. He then proceeded to tell me all about the Marijauna growers in Donald, he roared about how every second house was growing dope, Shane grew 50 plants, but the cops had to go around and tell him to tone it down, others throughout the night would howl about tales of Mary the Supermarket owner having 16 Marijauna plants in her hydroponic setup in her shed, I didn’t know and didn’t care. James then told me about how his mate Allan or something shot up heroin and tried to commit suicide, after Allan had shot up the deadly dose, James looked at him and said, “What have you done, you’re going to fuck yourself up, what are you doing man”, not I will call you an ambulance, since you’re dying. Once we were in the lounge room, I was playing some music on YouTube, he told me to turn it down, it wasn’t up very loud, not even louder than conversation. I told him politely that I was listening to this piece of music, to which he responded with another, :Turn it down”, except in a much angrier, loud, harsh, sort of bully boy type of tone. I instantly thought, “Baby Killer, Noble Warrior, Brave Corporal Agarn”, he then said to me, quite angrily once again, “You’re my guest, this is my house”, to which I replied, “We have an agreement that I live here, not as your guest”. Then he started exclaiming that it was so good to be back in Donald and that it was going to be good living in Donald again. After some time I began to feel sick, this was the Saturday, and began throwing up in the bucket in my bedroom, James, nobility personified, stood at my open bedroom door and went into a story about the bloke who committed suicide in my lounge room, or attempted suicide, the one he looked at and said “You are fucked up, man”, and then told me he had a lot on his shoulders, he was getting back pay from the army for six years of service where he was underpaid, he had the Land Rates office on his back, as it was incredibly taxing on him that he had no intention of paying his land tax, and that was a burden, and he had to sell Donald, and he droned on and on. I must add here that while at my front door on the Friday night, he said to me, “Anyone touches my stuff and I will smash their head in, I brought up my bobcat so I could bulldoze someone’s house”, I glanced over at his flat bed truck and indeed saw that he had a bobcat on the back, I wondered at this stage if he was sane, was he really going to bulldoze someone’s house down. So back to Saturday night, I thought I better get out of here, I was throwing up violently, James was , in a round about way threatening my life, I felt like I had been poisoned so I called for an ambulance and was taken to Horsham emergency department, where I slept on the floor for a while, first time in three days that I had slept, kept awake and pestered by the criminal gang known as The Barleycorn, led by the absolute putrid Peter Fiieellder, meth amphetamine addict extraordinaire, and then managed to be given a hospital bed for a few hours.

So today I went about organising temporary accomodation, consulting solicitors as to legal action, forced and illegal eviction, veiled threats, having to pay for emergency services, pay for food, etc, tomorrow I shall be having a nice long talk to the Police and consulting Victorian Legal Aid and finding a property solicitor to handle my lawsuit. It is at this point that I recall an anecdote James told me, he was in the back of a helicopter in Iraq, and he saw a bloke welding and working on his car in the early morning, he said something like,”Is that an gun or a flash down there,” and once the computer gunnery devices picked up the flash, the Rotor cannons went into action and chopped the bloke on the ground to shreds, destroyed the whole street, all the while Corporal Agarn had his head in his hands screaming in terror, he said the noise was deafening. So, bye bye Donald.