Ladies and gentlemen, you knew you had it coming to you. You’ve been patient for a while now and I know you’ve been hanging by the thread of your bunched up panties waiting for a resolution to this whole epic ego/superego fractious battle of wits that has been taking place for the better part of 4 to 5 months now between my malignant washed up porn star neighbor and me. Even as I was purposily keeping you in the dark of how the scrimmage line was going to be crossed – I was only doing it for the good of all blog kind so I could drag it out until year’s end. Because once the new year swings around – it’s going to be a whole new ballgame. A new overall in looks and appearance and a whole new agenda.
So folks, I humbly offer you the last chapter in this ongoing saga of the Rikki Lixxx / Cary Coatney jilted love feud and this promises to be so very entertaining that you’d never guess that this was Christmas and it makes mincemeat with what’s currently going on between Rosie O’Donnell and Donald Trump.
This could be quite possibly be the…blog of the year, because what I’m about to reveal will absolutely astound you. And haven’t I done a good job of it since last summer???
As you all know of what I’ve been hinting at – Rikki tried at one final stab to complicate my life ( after I’ve somewhat managed to complicate hers – and I suppose of this moment, she hasn’t really felt the full ramifications of it yet.I don’t think the court date of her prostitution and soclitation charge has passed yet- it’s hasn’t been a month yet) by trying to get charges pressed against me for harassment and stalking. She reportedly had a restraining order against me – but I was never served with the papers. C’est la vie, I guess.
When I had come home from my Thanksgiving trip from Las Vegas – placed on the welcome mat was a envelope addressed to me ( which irritated the fuck out of me – since I prefer that all my snail mail correspondance be delivered to my Landescape Productions PO Box) from the offices of Rocky J. Delgadillo, Los Angeles City Attorney which read as this:
FILE # H6VY02003
Dear Cary Coatney:
A complaint has been filled with this office stating you have violated Section P653-MA, annoying/threatening electronic contact, on 01/01/2006. The matter has been scheduled for a City Attorney office hearing on 12/15/2006 at 08:45 A.M.
Please appear at the City Attorney’s Office, 6262 Van Nuys Blvd. #151, Van Nuys, CA 91401, on the above date and time. Any continuances must be requested no later than five working days prior to the hearing date.
Please bring this notice and any documents, e.g. medical reports, photos, and receipts, or witnesses necessary to assist this office in reaching a decision in this matter. If you need the services of an interpreter, or require other reasonable accommondations to attend this hearing, please call (818) 374-3330 immediately. There is no charge for the interpreter.
WARNING: Failure to appear at the City Attorney hearing may result in the filing of a criminal complaint against you.
Very truly yours,
Senior Hearings Officer.
Yeah, like I would miss this for the world. So what I’m holding in my hands here is Rikki’s last gasp riposte for retaliation for probably all the legal trouble that I’ve gotten her into.
Fine. Whatever. But I wonder where she even gets the audacity to think she’s going to accuse me of something of which she is….guilty of in the first place?
Let’s run down the litany of crimes and misdomeanors of which (both publicly and of the heart) Rikki has been accused – NOT all have been mentioned on this blog during this year long on and off stormy relationship. mind you. But here’s an accurate timeline.
last week of October 2005: Rikki and I get into our first major blow out over a stupid note that she left on my doorstep. She finds me at a cigarette shop and has words with me about purposely ignoring her because of a frantic phone call made to me wondering if ‘ her pussy’ had smelled after the first time I ate her out, because of some client had made a compliant to her.
What, they don’t all smell alike?
I go home after she leaves in a huff, I call her. She hangs up on me. I don’t like that. It shows a little disrespect on my end- I go down and knock on her door and demand she gives me back the DVDs I let her borrow. We have a shouting match in the courtyard, throws the dvds out the door and calls me a asshole. We don’t speak for two weeks. I get back together with her because she had injured her leg in a accident in her garage of which she fell off a ladder. I take care of her night and day since I was laid off from Warner Bros, wait on her hand and foot, getting her meals, going to Starbucks, give her sponge baths, buying her shitloads of pretty flowers and eating her out two to three times a week like some sex starved malnourished idiot who stowawayed on a steamship from Euthopia until she was back on her feet. I was pretty much happy with the arrangement until I realized I was blowing out my credit cards just by stocking her with cigarettes and vodka alone – and I guess blowing nearly $ 400 bucks on diamond earrings for her last Christmas didn’t help matters either ( hey, when you’re in love- you do stupid irrational things) – BUT she took that upon herself to toss those in my face when her stupid ex-con husband showed up while I was away in New Mexico and probably co-erced her into doing that.
New Year’s Eve December 2005 MAJOR BLOW OUT # 2- I come back from New Mexico and – well, you pretty much know that story if you read last week’s blog.
We don’t say a civil word to each other until sometime of March this year. I help her move stuff into the garage she rented below my bedroom and she comes up to my balcony one day (of which she always accuses me of STALKING HER whenever I’m up there) while I’m watching my cartoons on my portable DVD player and makes small talk with me. Things don’t work out between her ex-husband and she hints that she’s in the market for a new errand boy. ” Cary, would you like your old job back? ” She sweetens me up by taking new photographs of me. None of which I would allow the public to see.
We become friends again- but not lovers. I come down with a genetic disease. It takes a while for it to go away. I’m thinking it could become contagious – so we keep things strictly plutonic. During the course of the five months of a steady diet of friendship – she does try to hint that she wants me back in the sack with her- but I’m not comfortable with it. I want her to know who the fuck I am and what kind of person I would be in her future – the path the goddamn relationship should gone before blowjobs and cunnilingus made shit so complicated.
And things were blissful until when August rolled around and some Israeli schoolchums move in next door to her and right below me. New cock in town. Suddenly there’s no interest in me anymore – buy me a stripper pole and get the fuck out of my life. Takes past birthday presents I bought her and throws them in the pool. I call her a stupid immature idiot for someone who’s just turned forty and let the C word slip out. She jumps out of the pool and tries to physically choke me. I slap her hands away and spend the weekend at my sister’s, fuming with rage over the fact that a woman would get physically get violent with me.
War is fucking declared.
Less than a week later she abrades my cellphone with various text messages accusing me of ‘keying’ her car on the second day of my new job at Fox – trying to bluff me to cop to it by threatening to go to the police, even though she admits to neighbors that she wasn’t sure that it was me. Both my sister and I tell her to go put down the crack pipe- because it must have happened in your hallucinatory dreams.
Then in October, she sics her shifty-eyed dorky looking husband to assault me on my very own balcony- but that was met with a brutal response that goes to the catchy tune of this diddy : “Hey Kevin, nice to see your ugly face again. Would you care to eat some plaster? ”
before possibly giving him a concussion as his head went smacking into my balcony floor.
I decide that’s the final fucking straw and I go on and alert the Van Nuys Vice Division, let alone five different vice units including Hollywood and the LAX area that we’ve got a nutty prostitute running around smoking crystal meth at our apartment complex. I give them the works on her, including her website, her page on cityvibe.com, her driver’s license plate, her social security number, and even the parts of her where tattoos of her son’s name appear.
For a six month period, she is put on surveillence and she was arrested on November 14th for trying to give a cop a blowjob in her garage UNDERNEATH MY BEDROOM WINDOW.
Which leads us back to D’oh! D’oh! D’oh! D’oh! D’oh!
To be honest, since her arrest, I didn’t think she would have the nerve to face me. But here she came sauntering in the city attorney’s office TEN minutes late of what the notice specifies. I’m sitting in the waiting room and I point to the clock on my cellphone. She ignores me and goes to sit on the opposite site of the waiting room (which is cleverly arranged so you don’t have to look at each other due to the wall partitions that separate us from the reception desk.
So we’re both sitting there for roughly a half hour or so, until we’re called in by some nice kind and curteous middle-agen African American lady who introduces herself as Frankie something and she will be our moderator for the proceedings. I didn’t have my notebook to write stuff, least of all arise some suspicion from Rikki herself as to why I was jotting things down. She takes both our driver’s licenses and while she’s doing that, I’m leaning against the back wall and I just couldn’t help myself by chiding Rikki in my usual smartass gloating tone- ” So how was jail, Sweetie?”
One flashing look of disgust and in a low threatening monotone, she utters back: LEAVE. ME. ALONE.
I smirk and retorted ” Yeah, well, now you’ve got someone really stalking you. And they wear badges, too. Now you’ve really got something to be paranoid about”
We go in. Rikki starts doing all the talking. She makes her case by explaining that we are just merely neighbors and were not romantically involved. Therefore, and this one is rich, ” I told him I just wanted some space and he got mad about it and began terrorizing me”
That’s not how it went down, babe and you know it.
So Frankie asks about the restraining order that was supposed to be served against me.
Rikki says that one was drafted – but they couldn’t find me to serve it. This is the first that I’m ever aware of – and I chime in, ‘well. they just could went over to Fox studios and found me there.”
So Rikki hands over a little itty bitty file and a tape cassette from her answer machine. Frankie asks me to leave the room. I go back out in the waiting room- and all of a sudden, I start to have my doubts. What could she possibly have that’s damaging to my reputation? And the trump card that I’m willing to put in play – is it going to be enough? And damn, I left my bag in Frankie’s office with the enormous big fucking giant file sticking out (and purple too, I may add) – that bag could be searched.
Five minutes later, Rikki emerges out of the office, she is being directed by Frankie to go to the rear of the room – Frankie makes one of those finger gestures to get into the office quickly just like those good old days of yesteryear when you were paying more than a social visits to the principal office in your high school.
Oh crap, now my palms are starting to sweat – just a twinge. But I knew going in back to that office that something miraclous was about to happen.
After all, my file was thicker than hers.
Frankie begins the conversation with a little tone of admonishment in her voice: “Mr Coatney, what are we going to do with you and how can we get you to stop harassing Mrs. Cook, here.
Your honor (knowing if I said would sort of butter her up), are you sure you have the right man? Because what she is accusing me of works on a level of a two way street – AND she was the one who fired the first salvo. ” I told her what we had could have been considered as a love affair or a deep rooted friendship. ” Whatever she’s given you – I can match it ten fold!”
Then I whip out my massive thickening (although not as cock thickening as Rikki would like ) file AND my phone with all the assorted 42 insulting inbox text messages (not all, but most) from my pocket and hand it to her.
While she is perusing through my phone – she’s telling me about the police report that Rikki filed – FOR BEATING UP HER HUSBAND?
What? Are you fucking shittin me? I tell Frankie that it was I who called the police on him for trespassing on my property and attacking me. I even whip out the photo that SPOILER KING took for me of the hole his head made in the floor. Frankie looks at the photo – AND unbeliveably enough STARTS cracking up laughing.
She puts her hand over herr mouth to stifle her giggling and apologizes to me – but she couldn’t help it – the punchline took her completely by surprise.
Then I drive home the point that if I was the one who supposedly attacked him, then what the hell were we doing….fighting on my balcony???
Then I start babbling about the e-mails and I outline the fact that it takes her six e-mails to barrage my inbox when only one would do and that whatever she’s given you are mostly of me IN response to her cock’in’ mannie (and I say that in a nice way) last gasp for attention.
I then go in and fish out my trump card out of the file – although we don’t know it yet.
She looks at this certain e-mail that I hand over. She glances at it. This one reads:
Dated May 19, 2006
This is the message that I mentioned to you when you came to my door saying how you promise never to discuss my business with anyone, ever again. Too late for that_
I just walked by you Clearly, you and all the other assholes who seem to be preoccupied with me are gossiping. How do I know this. First clue is the way you replied to my hello as you were leaving Jeff’s apartment.. Second, you and whoever are talking on your balcony until I walk by. Then all I hear is TOTAL SILENCE.
Just though you know, I could give a fuck! It just shows that your lives are so boring that you have this need to assume what you don’t know and talk to all your other hater friends about it. Actually, it is quite flattering. You and your buddies can think/say whatever you want about me because, again, I COULD GIVE A FUCK and YOU ALL NEED TO GET A LIFE!”
And Frankie looks as if she’s going to throw up her lunch even before she decides what it is she’s going to order from Quizno’s in the first place because there’s an attachment to it of which we’ll discuss later..
What follows is some dramization dialogue:
ME: ” Your honor, You see those beef curtains – aren’t they’ just crying to be drenched in teriyaki sauce? ”
“Ohmygod – does this woman have a yeast infestion?”
” No your honor, it looks more like a big puffy rice one – You know they almost named a classic children’s show after her – it was called H.R. Puffinpuss…”
And I start rambling on and on….
Okay, Mr. Coatney, I think I’ve heard plenty. You can stop now “.
Then she calls Rikki back in to tell us both our verdict. She invites Rikki to sit in the chair next to me.
Ms. Cook – you have presented me some evidence on Mr. Coatney and his rash undertakings of purposily attempting to cause undue stress on your life. (Oh, Rikki put in the doctored signs that I made – not really expecting her to do that since it does sort of ‘out’ her as a prosititute- but Mr.Coatney here has also presented me with evidence to suggest that you are doing the same thing to him AND ESPECIALLY Mrs. Cook, if you’re claiming that this gentlemen was harrassing you with e-mails and phone calls then why —- THE HELL ARE YOU E-MAILING HIM PHOTOGRAPHS OF YOUR ASS???
Yeah, at this moment, Rikki’s jaw dropped. Welcome to the Cary Coatney Coup de Grace and we’re not in the business to be taking any prisoners.
You could say at this very stationary moment – that her claptrap was instantly debunked and all the arsenals of paper tigers was instantly declawed when I whipped out my trump card with the buttery ease of a killing stroke. A little way out in the aptly colorfuly metaphoric prose description department – but when in Cyber Rome….
And do you want to know what her lissome response was to that as she struggled to clear her throat in this teeny tiny display in public humilation?
” Well….uhm……I….um,…..work in the SEX TRADE!!!”
Yeah, likely excuse.
Then I can’t help myself – I’m on a fucking role here ” No your honor, actually, she’s in the con artist industry and this week she just happens to be selling cancer.!!!
I turn to Rikki and say: ” And people don’t appreciate getting these kind of e-mails at the workplace….”
Oh, the bitter concept of a regular nine to five job!! The mere thought must have made her whince because she blustered out: OH GOSH!!! I guess a more dignified response must have slipped her pea sized even made smaller brain at the moment.
Frankie announces to both of us that she isn’t going to press charges against either of us because we’re both accusing each of the same thing and she recommends that Rikki don’t doctor up any more police reports since I provided proof to disapprove her theory. No restraining order, nada any action to be taken against me. JUST STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM EACH OTHER.
And last, but not least the moral of this story
” You know, if you had just reimbursed me for that stupid stripper pole, none of this would have escaluated like it did.
“ARE WE DONE HERE????” she screamed as she stormed out of the office.
WHERE THEY ARE NOW 2015 – Rikki Lixxx was evicted from Hazeltine Hellmouth in January of 2009 – I soon follow suit two months later to move in with Harry Perzigian in Brentwood to be closer to my job at Sony Pictures. Since then, I’ve held positions at the Director’s Guild of America, SAG-AFTRA, NBCUniversal, and Universal Music Group.