Tangling with the Rats: The Real Estate Game and Other Relevant Thoughts as the Buffalo Club Breathes Its Last

“The end of our elaborate plans. The end of everything that stands. The end.”

-The Doors

On the whole, real estate agents are selfish, greedy pigslappers who deserve an eternity in the fire-laden pits of hell and damnation. Maggie, from a real estate agency my mustachioed lawyer warned against mentioning for fear of lawsuits and blacklistings, is the queen pigslapper, a woman who gets her kicks from rolling around in her own cesspool of lies, deceit and broken promises. Kim, from another real estate agency that my mustachioed lawyer again advised against mentioning for fear of lawsuits, blacklistings and potential physical attack, is just as scummy and will be getting her due when forced onto the street with an ice problem and no cash as God takes his subtle vengeance on those fucking with destiny.

It is a harsh and vile indictment but it is fair and accurate and I challenge anybody to question it.

This head-busting tirade comes not unprovoked. I am not sitting above the fray, passing judgment and comment from afar. I’m in the trenches, a warrior on the side of grace and righteousness. My friends, I am tangling with the rats.

And the battle is vicious and in the end it is decided not by right or pride or honesty but by the bottom dollar. Real estate agents, like used car salesmen and punk security guards, are nothing but cheap whores who will do anything for a buck from a punter. They are morally bankrupt, devoid of anything resembling decency, honesty, pride or honour in Their Word.

It was amid much yelling that The Buffalo Club received its death blow. The final notice, if you will. Agent Kim wrote, at first cordially, progressively getting more aggressive in her words as I failed to respond to her outrageous demands. Contact soon moved to the telephone and the slanging match got heavy. She started asking questions, demanding “the truth” on such matters as claims a goat wearing oversized sunglasses was seen on the property and assertions that a bunch of Bobby Knight fanatics, constantly decked out in the cream and crimson of Indiana and allegedly holing up in the residential wing of The Buffalo Club, were living the nocturnal life, downing White Russians and watching low-rent pornography high atop The Buffalo Club. “All guests of The Buffalo Club are guaranteed privacy” I muttered, unnervingly calm.

She screeched and the tone really escalated. The result is the closure of The Buffalo Club and the death of an era. The high tide will sweep over The BC this Friday and that will be that, a generation of High Times drowned and swept away into the ether.

The anger levels continued to rise when a new abode, complete with smokehouse (for hams and chicken etc.) and all the idiosyncrasies a professional writer, was about to be signed off on. With good credit and sound references, the only credentials one seemingly needs in this town, the dance was over and the deal was done. With the papers being drawn up, Maggie, in the cheap whorish manner that marks her style as a real estate agent, sold out your ultra-tense author for 25 bucks a week and a few kind words on her stringy hair. I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess, but I’m a cock-eyed optimist and this kind of low-priced prostitution doesn’t bode well for my senses.

After a week of chaos and angst, where high level political favours were called upon and the wheels of vengeance put in place, a new pad has been found. At press, it remains nameless and charmless and wordless. But the future looks sound, if not uncertain, and the words that flow from the new castle will no doubt be just as lucid and just as ravenous as they have been when emanating from the BC.

But, right now, The Buffalo Club is on the chopping block and with heavy heart, I pound out the last few real words it will most likely ever produce.

And those words, in the general theme of this piece, are pointed and filled with bilious anger.

One finds it hard to fathom the complete and utter stupidity of those pulling the strings and calling the shots at the NRL. Unless you knew better, you could easily draw the conclusion that rugby league in Australia is run by cross-dressing chimpanzees or members of the Australian Democrats.

A number of NRL participants are meeting to discuss the future of the game this week and who knows what they will come up with. Apparently 11 man rugby league is on the agenda, among other ludicrous proposals to complicate the great game and further confuse fans and referees alike.

After a quick look at the 2007 draw, it would not surprise anybody if the powerbrokers at the NRL decide to scrap play-the-balls for rucks and mauls and add an extra two men to each side. Coming up with a fair and logical draw is not hard. Particularly when those who need to make the nut get their greedy heads fed by a decent paypacket and the thrill of directing destiny.

The draw is an absolute monstrosity of a joke. How can the Bulldogs play Newcastle twice in the first eight rounds yet not play Canberra until round twenty-two and St George until round twenty? And why do Manly get the Raiders twice in the first eight rounds and the Tigers the Storm?

It is absolutely ludicrous. Is it that difficult to manufacture a draw that sees each side play each other once before playing certain teams again?

Add the 2007 draw to the ridiculous McIntyre finals system, the insanely subjective rules that are ruining league and the complete and utter lack of respect for history with no Sunday final, no Saturday afternoon rugby league and a night time grand final and you have one more unnecessary blow to the game.

The anger is bubbling, the mind seething. Competent administration of the greatest game of all cannot be hard. It blows the mind…

And that is that. The final screed from The Buffalo Club. The hammer hovers intently above all of us now and we all need to drive hard to see in the New Year. Those who don’t will be smacked hard. The scene is turning nasty and all that can be done now is to keep a low profile and carry protection at all times. For those who don’t, beware.