Wait, wait… don’t mob me

It’s Saturday morning, I’m listening to Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me! on NPR, 94.9 FM with voice-over from the mobbers. I have not yet set up my scanner or programmed it to scan Citizens’ Band for nearby broadcasts, something I hope to remedy in the next few days now that I’ve got a decent Mac laptop and vmWare Fusion on board to be able to make use of the Windows-based software that simplifies the task of connecting to and programming a Uniden scanner and recording the broadcasts it finds.

In the interim, harassing male and female voices vie for my attention in continued round-the-clock harassment, speaking over the witty exchanges of host Peter Sagal and Carl Kassell, interrupting punch lines and refusing to wait for audience applause to subside before continuing their assault.

Zip it!

We’ve seen you giz, and we’ve seen you wiz!

Get out!

The voices are familiar, one is probably the girlfriend of one of the owners of the mobbing houses who likely believed that I would finally give up and move after she testified in court that they would not have children if they had to live next door to me. The statement was stunning, but not as stunning as the fact that the judge allowed it in his courtroom. Call me natural birth control, if you will. Whatever keeps the scumbags who would do this to others from breeding is fine by me. Would that I could have done as much for the progenitors of Hitler.

Anyway, the likely means of transmission of this morning’s harassment onto my radio  combines Citizen’s Band radio with a linear antenna. And this is what my weekends with NPR have become.

We’re tired of watching you shit!

Move on!

I note that this is in violation of FCC rules on interfering with radio, TV and telephone signals. The monitoring  effort is carefully orchestrated between the mobbing houses, something evident even this morning as a familiar silver Mazda SUV departs from the mobbing house on my north and, within minutes, the owner of the mobbing house to the south returns in his SUV, efficiently backing up the driveway into the garage and shutting it behind him.

I killed your cat.

You might ask, why not stream Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me. Sorry to say, been there, done that. Mobbing seems to demand the construction of a compelling end-to-end “program” of harassment. I would think that the ship has sailed on convincing me that I hear “voices” and “getting [me] out” based on that hoax, so all that’s left to the mobbers is to attempt to “break” me, in other words, to overwhelm me emotionally and mentally by holding me hostage in a state of harassment.

No matter how you scream and shout, we’re going to have to get you out.

These people didn’t devise a scam this elaborate to get caught, and their alliance with some prominent real estate speculators and the neighborhood watch pretty much necessitates not taking no for an answer.

We have pictures of you wiping your ass!

This means that for every radio I listen to, every speaker I power, the mobbers have devised a method to put harassment on it. Sometimes there’s a moment or two of quiet as I switch from radio to TV, or between the time I mute the speaker on my computer and they switch to projecting the harassment at the windows closest to me instead. It is saddening to be so acculturated to the harassment that instead of existing in these sparse moments of quiet, I examine them in disbelief, listening carefully for phrases of harassment until the next one comes.

We know what you did to that kid.

Often I put my stereo speaker outside and turn it away from me, which makes it necessary for the monitors to watch the street to ensure they pause the harassment if someone comes within range. Happily, it also diffuses the harassment that is transmitted over the broadcast so that I can more easily enjoy the stories of The Moth or the guffaws of the Car Talk guys.

We’re harassing the Village Idiot.

And these days, now that I use sound board inside the house, I sleep better and can mute a significant portion of the harassment that is projected onto the window panes closest to me using ventilation or projective techniques like directional speakers. But streaming doesn’t help me when the mobbers have ways to access my speaker, and there is no way to listen to radio or to watch TV or use streaming devices without giving the mobbers a platform for harassment. Remember the mobbers’ creedo:  All your device are belong to us.

I write this short entry on the harassment au courant to keep up with the important task of providing everyday documentation of the malicious harassment and felony crimes I am subjected to, in hopes that this blog does not only get me the investigation I’ve been asking the Seattle Police Department to either complete or to ask the FBI to perform for years now but also provides evidence of the host of crimes that real estate mobbing entails, crimes that are deliberately constructed to discredit their victims and to escape prosecution.

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