• Tuesday, December 7:36 a.m. A Mossberg .500 handgun is now in the grimy paws of someone willing to thieve such a thing from a Heather Lane home.
When thunderous noon hour drums
Made peaceable F Streeters glum
To stave off a crackup
They called cops for backup
But then the percussers went mum
• Wednesday, December 2 11:52 a.m. The last thing a woman walking her dog near the transit center needed to see was some drunken slob in an orange shirt’s seething, likely underutilized junk. Police arrested him.
3:04 p.m. Dubious door-to-door utility reps with a keen interest in residents’ personal information were behind a flurry of concerned calls to police. One caring professional asked someone on Sunset Avenue to enter their info onto a tablet and got all aggro when turned down.
• Thursday, December 3 6:15 a.m. A drunken juvenile, possibly a runaway, showed up at an Anderson Lane front door at 3:30 a.m. reeking of alcohol. The resident took his phone and laptop computer away from the tipsy teen, who then locked himself in the bathroom.
1:42 p.m. Somewhere, a factory is cranking out maskholes fond of brandishing their potentially infectious faces in public places, but spewing statistically probable spores at responsible citizens who have to share the space. Take for example the stupid-spreader positioned outside the Post Office, whose potentially spike protein-festooned emissions were borne to the four winds and your lungs on gusts of sour cigarette smoke exhaust.
1:52 p.m. The smoker-spreader got argy-bargy with people who were only trying to be responsible at Eighth and G streets.
3:53 p.m. An urban traveler with a speaker dangling from his backpack argued with Plaza passersby using the moral force of a “piece of metal” in his hands.
4:02-4:03 p.m. Now the surly urbtrav was out in the G Street roadway, swinging a machete at a newfound foe, alarming even battle-hardened townsfolk.
• Friday, December 12:28 p.m. A woman who had locked herself out of her Valley West motel room, so she said, chose not to get a replacement from the front desk. No, her problem-solving apparatus instead charted a course back into the room through a window. Clambering in, she tossed her backpack onto the bed. But just to vault the wacky misadventure into new realms of plot twistery, she’d busted into the wrong room, and the guy staying in it wasn’t amused by her antics. So by way of dickly maneuvering and to torment her as a surrogate for everything else wrong with his semi-private hell of a life, he snabbed her knapsack up off the bed and wouldn’t give it back, that being the meanest available option.
2:23 p.m. A bank reported concerns about a man who was bringing his mom in to make cash withdrawals for him out of her account.
• Saturday, December 5 9:20 p.m. Another unseemly Valley West motel-broglio surfaced, its cast including a woman lodging there, a “sketchy” (her term) new boyfriend from Florida and a friend who’d been instructed to call police if she didn’t hear from her after a while. She didn’t, and called police, but then apparently heard from the motel guest, ensconced there with Florida Man, and everyone lived happily ever after, for the time being.
5:24 p.m. Duuuude... pull your pants up, FFS. And stop pressing your unveiled torso into that G Street business’s window without that crucial garment properly configured.
• Monday, December 7 9:17 a.m. Nocturnal Forces of Grinch raided the studio of Arcata’s prinicipal all-weather magical-whirling fairy princess, stealing the computers required for proper enchantment allocation. The fairy lair has since been fortified with beefy locks.
10:39 a.m. A man walking up to a G Street ATM was approached by two sketchlings, one a behoodied and enbeanied fashion tragedy with a fanciful lion, or a drunken approximation of one, inked into his face. They asked him for his sunglasses, but he notified them that the shades were prescription and unlikely to offer them quality viewing (subtext: get off me). Then at the ATM, one of them asked for his wallet. With matters trending poorly, the harassee went into the bank and the two needy urchins took their act elsewhere.
3:10 p.m. Someone at 16th and G streets noticed a bearded male approaching a boy and asking, “Are you the guy I’m supposed to meet?” This creeped out the kid, who zoomed away on a bicycle as fast as he could. Meanwhile, the beardling waited around on the corner in apparent hopes of fulfilling the unwholesome assignation, only to be gone when police arrived.
9:34 – 10:53 p.m. Carrying a sleeping bag, a bottle o’ booze and a crazy dream, a man argued with himself as he pounded on the door and rang the doorbell of a G Street home. His presence deemed less than dreamy or desirable, police were called, came, and arrested him.
• Tuesday, December 8 10:41 p.m. Just when you thought you’d heard everything, a man stands in the Union Street roadway holding a bouquet of bags and flashing a strobe light at passing cars. One driver had to swerve to avoid striking the twinkling dingbat.
• Wednesday, December 9 8:26 a.m. A mini-mountain of puke was piled in the little inter-neighborhood trail at Alliance Road and 17th Street, the sculptor nowhere to be found.
8:54 – 10:33 a.m. An agglomeration of no-account slumpabouts populated Veterans Park, one of them disrespectfully erecting his tent over the memorial rock.
11:05 a.m. Still another misguided maskhole chose the Post Office to parade his naked, disease-exuding face around, frothing up a 2020-flavored combo-argument/droplet-discharge jamboree with another patron.