Poof!

The worktruck is gone.

And when I say "gone", I mean not only is it not in front of our house rotting away, it's gonegoneGONE from the neighborhood.

We think Beavis sold the damn thing. It would explain the switched license plate, we think.

I forgot to mention that when I was taking pix of the beast(see previous blog entry) and trying to write down its VIN(conveniently obscured by a book of matches...um, illegal!), Beavis' horrible Scottish mom lurched out of the house and started screaming for Beavis to come outside to save that glorious piece o' crap from my scutiny.

Note: I don't hate Scottish people in general. I just hate her because she's such a damn negative stereotype it makes my teeth ache from me grinding them into a fine paste when I watch her try to pretend that she's a reasonable human being when I know she gave birth to that pillow-biter boy of hers.

So I started yelling back at her.

That kinda confused her.

I stomped back into the house to call LA DOT yet again. Gawd knows what that drunken sow did.

By the end of the day, the truck was gone.

Coincidence?

Maybe, but at this point I don't care.