"Not bothering you is no problem at all, because an update twice a month is much too often, because all I really need, is an update once a month is fine by little ol' me. So we have an ironclad agreement because your stipulation is fine by cute little me."
Is the satisfactory reply that I receive from Judy, so we again shake hands on this ironclad agreement and Judy is so excited that she even adds the comment of, "I will never become a burden or hinder the successful conclusion of each deal and even if I'm roasted over a hot fire like a wicked witch, I will never nag like a nagging nag!"
On that lovely note, we shake hands a fourth time and I depart from her office. And as I promised, two weeks later I update Judy on the progress made on each deal and then, a week later on a Friday morning and like Dr. Jekyll changing into Mr. Hyde, Judy transforms into a wicked, evil and devilish creature who becomes known and feared throughout the swamplands of Florida as, As, AS — The Tasmanian Devil!
With many telephone calls backed up as well as having new customers waiting for me in the lobby to be shown the model homes and as I'm paged at least twenty-five times throughout the morning that Judy from Towne N Country is angrily waiting on three of the phone lines, I finally am able to grab her call out of sequence to hear Judy screaming at the top of her lungs with gibberish talk that remains an unknown language to this very day. With a silent pause that occurs five minutes later, I ask, "What is your problem? There's not a word that you've said in the last five minutes that is understandable. What is the problem and why are you pestering me Judy?"
After Judy screams the screams of a lunatic which is largely incoherent noise, I ask:
"Did you not receive a detailed update on the late afternoon of last Friday? And nothing has changed in the last seven days so why are you calling here? Stop with the silent treatment, can you please answer me? Look, stop giving me the silent treatment because I do not have the time to play your childish baby games, I have new customers waiting for me, so act your damn age and knock off this baby crap! I'm not here to hold your hand like a small child, if you do not have the decency to speak, in five seconds I'll hang up? You have only five seconds to speak with English words or its good-bye to you!"
As I listen in and without speaking a single word, Judy Corriveau slams the phone down to then walk some distance away and The Tasmanian Devil goes absolutely ape with animalistic screams while many unknown objects are violently thrown to shatter in a big noisy crash against the wall and all I can hear is crash, bang, boom, smack, snap and crack until I end the telephone call by hanging the phone up. But within mere seconds of hanging up, I'm paged that Judy from Towne N Country is on Line Two. But I ignore her next ten phone calls to meet with my new customers to sell another mobile home that I never get paid for. With my return to my office from showing the model homes with my new customers trailing behind to complete the necessary paperwork for the purchase of their mobile home and while ignoring the paging of twelve telephone calls in a mere twelve minutes from the wild berserk Tasmanian Devil and as Lauren pages again that "evil Judy from Towne N Country who is being rude and abusive to me is waiting for you to pick up line number two, three or four because its urgent! urgent! urgent! she yelled!" And with a concerned look and sympathetic tone, the husband insists, "Out of concern I do insist, that its okay for you to answer that phone call because we don't mind, because it must be a serious emergency, so go ahead and answer it before that woman kills herself." And I'm forced to once again, candidly explain that this insanity is the norm in Florida:
"Its not an emergency, its an insane real estate broker who laid in the hot scorching sun too long and her brains are fried and scrambled. This type of insanity is a common occurrence in Florida, so make absolutely certain that you really want to move here because its easy to get in, but its impossible to get out, so make sure that you really want to relocate to this awful dump."
My new customers laugh it off as if I'm joking around, but I have never been more serious in my life. As we continue to proceed with the paperwork during the next hour, I'm not only paged every thirty seconds, but the receptionist who as you know goes by the name of Lauren Coy, runs into my office in a downpour of heavy tears because Judy has cursed at Lauren with put-down remarks and Lauren repeats for all to hear "She called me a cunt! She said I'm a vagina licking lesbian who takes a ten inch dildo up the ass and loves it!" and Lauren refuses to answer the phone until Judy stops calling. With a shocked expression on the customer's face, the sexy wife comments, "Oh, so you were being truthful to us before, because we thought that you were only joking with us. How can a business woman who is a licensed Realtor behave that way for no reason at all? Did that crazy woman skip her medication?"
"You need to get used to this type of behavior since this is what Florida is all about, otherwise you need to relocate to another State because in Florida, these Rednecks Are Goddamn Crazy! One is more nuttier than the next one and this is no joke. If you want a real happy life without problem after problem, then I sincerely advise you not to buy this big mobile home and to relocate to any other State but Florida.
And mark my words, if you relocate to Florida, you both are in for a world of hurt."
With a nervous giggle and faint smile, my foolish customers ignore my sound advice and proceed to sign all of the paperwork for the purchase of their big mobile home. With their paperwork complete, this happy couple makes an appointment with me to arrive early on tomorrow morning which is on a Saturday morning, to deliver a very large check which is for their down payment along with a lengthy list of many questions to be answered. But unbeknown to me, the insanity, lunacy and criminal wickedness of today will be eclipsed within mere minutes of tomorrow morning.
As I arrive bright-eyed and bushy tailed on this very hot and humid morning to open the dealership for business, before my coffee can percolate my new customers arrive with a spring in their steps and a smile on their faces, after the happy couple takes the grand tour of the big mobile home that they are purchasing, thirty minutes later they reconvene in my office to settle the down payment issue as well as to gain the answers to their lengthy list of questions and as we begin to discuss the answer to the fifth question which is among a list of thirty-five questions and in the midst of my educated answer, my concentration is interrupted by the sounds of bells ringing with a loud jingle-jangle here and a loud jingle-jangle there and as I look up to ask "Is Santa Claus here in the lobby?" the sexy wife is the first one to look through the window to then answer "No, its only a crazy woman and her dog walking in circles around the lobby." and I'm in shock to recognize the evil creature who is none other than The Tasmanian Devil, Judy Corriveau, whose middle name is Is IS — Trouble!
The Tasmanian Devil is speed walking her toy poodle around and around the long coffee table to halt here and there to allow her little pooch to pee on a plastic plant with the majority of urine landing on the carpet. With every step taken the bells around the dog's neck rings aloud with a jingle-jangle here and a jingle-jangle there as if the ice-cream man is outside. With bells constantly ringing and while the brisk walk around the coffee table continues, Judy begins to loudly babble to herself that is mixed with many swearwords and as various people walk through the dealership, they always find it necessary to poke their heads into my office to interrupt us by inquiring, "Did you know that a psycho woman is cursing while walking in circles around the lobby and she looks like, she has just escaped from a padded cell from an insane asylum? That psycho looks dangerous! She looks like One Crazy Kook!"
When suddenly, The Tasmanian Devil screams out a yell that will curl your toes:
"When are the Fucken Deals Agoin' To Close I Fucken Ask? When are they agoin' to Fucken Close I Fucken Says Again? I knows that four fuckers are closing soon, but what about all of the other cunt lickers? I want my fucken commission moneys right fucken now because I worked very hard on those fucken plots of vacant land is the dream I dreamed, so I need to be paid now I a-sayin'! Its been a fucken month
already I a-thinks! Is the Busy Bastard too busy to close on the deals, what's holding up those deals Mudderfucker? Give me my fucken moneys I fucken demands or I'll tell Wayne Frier who is still a boyfriend of mine, the big Busy Bastard is not paying me my loot! I'll tell Wayne Frier on you and you'll get into giant trouble Mr. Busy Bastard! I knows Wayne Frier for thirty years and he'll do what I tell that old geezer to do! Wayne Frier is my ex-loverboy 'cause I used to give his little two inch dickie a blow job after he fucked my asshole every day in the model homes. Pay me my moneys or I'll drop a big smelly shit on your gum ball machine! Don't fuck with my ass, 'cause my ass is clogged with pounds of smelly shit! If I don't get me loot, I'll squirt loads of diarrhea onto your walls and roof! I'm goin' to tell Wayne Frier to fire you and he'll do it 'cause he used to love when I took a big shit on his face and chest, So I Can Fire Your Yankee Ass! I want a fucken gum ball from that big gum ball machine Mr. Busy Bastard! You needs to buy me a fucken gum ball You Gum Chewing Mudderfucker! If I don't get a red gum ball from that gum ball machine, I'll tell my dog to drop a fucken shit on your desk! I want ten red gum balls and six blue ones! If I give the word, my toy poodle is a trained killer and he'll attack your ass! I'm such a tough little bad-ass, that I haven't douched in ten fucken years!"
Since my meeting with my new customers is horribly disturbed, I quickly rise to my feet to step around my large desk to stand in the open doorway of my office and as delicate as possible, I respond with an intelligent answer: "First of all, we are only in the third week and the contract on each deal has a ninety day on or about closing period, the closings are not due for another sixty plus days, with another thirty to sixty day extension period if needed. What did you do for money before I gave you my ten deals, are you hurting for money that bad, because if its that bad, just to get rid of you, I'll give you the commission money right now if you leave this dealership and never return, even though you deserve a swift kick in the ass? So do you want the money now for each deal?" Without answering my question, the wild berserk Tasmanian Devil, Judy Corriveau, punches the gum ball machine while grumbling, "I knows that shit! The deals are moving slower than the rash on my fat fucken ass! Slow, slow, them fucken deals are moving too fucken slow and when will I be paid?"
As I continue to waste my time and breath, I reply with a second intelligent answer: "As a real estate broker, you must know that the payment of the contracts will be made from the proceeds of an end loan, which means that the contracts will be paid off by the mortgage on the day of closing. The deals are going through the mortgage process with various banks, because the financing clause in each of the contracts are conditional upon a loan commitment, which simply means that its conditional upon the closing of a mortgage and that is where we are. So get out of here, get out now!"
But The Tasmanian Devil does not leave, to instead reply: "Yeah, yeah, I knows all that fucken shit! But when are the banks agoin' to close on them because I want me fucken commission moneys for the hard work that I thinks I done? Who is delaying the fucken shit out of them? Are you the big cunt licker who's delaying the deals?" "No," is my third intelligent answer, "the banks are processing the deals as fast as they can, the deals can only move as fast as the banks move because the banks are in full control of the deals. The bank will only move at its own pace which is always at a slow pace. If you want to complain about the speed of each deal, then do not come here because you need to call each bank to complain directly to them and not to me? So with that said, get out before I throw you out!" But the insane Tasmanian Devil, Judith Corriveau, does not heed my warning to instead scream with the insanity of:
"Bullshit, bullshit, my shit, your shit and that's bullshit! I'm agoin' to fuck you back in the same way that you're fucking my ass right now! 'Cause I'm growing madder over these long delays and in my mind I saw the past, that in New York you ate clammy Italian cunt! You're always too fucken busy and I'm sick of waiting around for your Yankee ass not to be busy and your breath smells like Nigger, because all you Yankees eat smelly Nigger pussy! Its bastards like you who is holding up me moneys on them deals, so you will never drink from the lips of my cunt 'cause only my girlfriend can eat me!"
"If you bother me or interrupt me when I'm with customers again," is my cool, calm and collected reply, "I will not hesitate to pull each and every deal away from you to give the deals to another broker who will not bother me. Go sell your insanity some place else, because we're all stocked up here. So get the hell out of this dealership!"
But this only incites Judy to run around the table while shouting like a spoiled brat:
"No, No, No! I No Gots To Leave if I don't wants to and you can't make me! Because I own this fucken dealership and when I call Mr. Wayne Frier up, I'm agoin' to tell him to fire your Yankee ass and you gots to listen to him, because Wayne Frier Is Your Fucken Boss! I'm an ex-lover of Wayne Frier who is your boss and he owns this whole damn dealership, not you Mr. Busy Bastard! I'll call my loverboy Wayne Frier from this lobby phone right this second to tell on you and I'll get your fucken ass thrown out of here so fast, that you'll feel like a dildo changing hands in a lesbian orgy! Wayne Frier is my horny ex-lover who fucked my asshole, cunt and mouth and I've known his Redneck ass for thirty fucken years! So I'm staying here and you needs to get the fuck outa here Mr. Busy Bastard! When Mr. Wayne Frier ate my pussy, I always peed on his face and he loved it! So you get outa here I says! Get the fuck outa here You Licker Of Smelly Nigger Cunt! You're the big cunt licker who needs to get the fuck out of this dealership, or else my man- eating dog will attack your ass and he'll pee and shit all over this ugly lobby! You can't make me leave this dealership and if you try, I'll smash my head against the wall and then, I'll tell the police that you punched little ol' me!"
Before my new customers get up and leave out of disgust, I close my office door to resume with the sixth question within their long list of thirty-five questions. As the sexy wife turns around since she is the last one to stare through the window, she comments that The Tasmanian Devil has picked up the lobby phone and has dialed someone to curse with curseword after curseword into the phone, when just then the loud evil roars of The Tasmanian Devil easily penetrates through the closed door:
"Mr. Busy Bastard told little ol' me to get out of this dealership, he told me in a rude tone of voice, to get the fuck outa here, he said to me! So you need to fire Mr. Busy Bastard because all Yanks love to eat Nigger pussy and that's why I call the busy bastard — The Nigger Licker! You is one fired fucker, so you yourself needs to get out of this dealership Mr. Busy Bastard! Did yous hear me in there? I said get the fuck out! Since Wayne Frier loves to fuck my asshole, that means I'm the boss of you and Your Fucken Ass Is Fired!"
And that's all the abuse I can stands and I can't stands no more! Immediately after the last word said, with the acrobatic moves of an acrobat I jump over my desk and dash around my new customers to then fling the door open and in a seething rage, I burst through the open doorway to throw that Goddamn Tasmanian Devil and her dog into the street, but The Tasmanian Devil had already dropped the phone to fly over the table and out the door to then run across the parking lot with her attack dog still attached to the leash who is sailing through the air behind her to arrive on the soft shoulder of Highway 19 huffing and puffing. Judith then screams in a real bizarre language that not only remains undiscovered, it remains undecipherable as well. Thinking that this is the last that I'll ever see of the devilish Tasmanian Devil, I slowly turn from the front door to walk back into my office to sincerely comment:
"This type of insanity and off the wall lunacy that occurs every single day, is what you have to look forward to when you relocate to Citrus County, Florida. You thought that I was just kidding around earlier, but now you saw it for yourselves that I wasn't joking with you, its never a joke because in this insane State of Florida insanity is your only reality. You just saw the real thing for yourselves if you believe your own eyes. And don't delude yourselves into thinking that this insanity rar
ely occurs, because this is a common occurrence that not only happens on a daily basis, but some days on an hourly basis as well. I can guarantee you, that this Tasmanian Devil Incident is not yet over, because the Rednecks always drag it out day after day. My last word of advice is, there is still plenty of time to back out from the purchase of your big mobile home, so think it over very carefully before you make the horrendous mistake of moving to the land of insane Rednecks. I said it before and I'll say it again, these Rednecks Are Goddamn Crazy!"
The husband laughingly says, "We very much so want to continue with the purchase of our big mobile home, because I like crazy people, because they make me laugh."
"Well then, you'll be laughing an awful lot," is my sarcastic but genuine reply. As I finish the answer to question number sixteen, the front door opens and instantly the jingle-jangle of bells ringing is heard by all and in amazement, we all look through the window to watch The Tasmanian Devil return to her fast walk around the long coffee table to make circle after circle without one word being spoken. After a few minutes we sit back down to commence with question number seventeen and by the time that we arrive at question number twenty-eight, I peek again through the glass window and The Tasmanian Devil is peacefully sitting on the couch without uttering a single sound, so I sit back down to continue with the long list of questions that need to be answered and this occurs, without paying no mind to The Tasmanian Devil sitting all alone in the lobby with her little attack pooch at her side. With an additional five questions added to the long list of questions and upon my answering of the fortieth question and with the happy smiles of satisfaction plastered across my customers' faces, we stand up to stretch and as I peek out of the window to scan the lobby, The Tasmanian Devil is no where to be seen, that deranged wacko most likely got tried of waiting and left the dealership while we were preoccupied with the long list of questions. After more than two hours of sitting in my office, its time to escort my new customers into the parking lot so they can drive happily away while waving bye-bye. After opening my office door to its fullest extent and in unison, as a happy group we step together to enter the lobby when "Holy Nauseating Stench!" the foul nauseating stench of feces hits us like a deadly avalanche that one can not survive. While holding her cute little nose, the sexy wife inquires in a serious tone of voice, "What is that awful odor? Where is that disgusting stink coming from? Its surely emanating from somewhere in this lobby and that's really the most sickening smell that I have ever smelt! That's really foul and disgusting, where is it coming from?"
Crime Does Pay Page 6