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Scumbags bloody Scumbags

Oh, beloved readers I have failed you! It is with regret that I have to announce that while I have taken some damn fine kicks at politicians, pedophiles, tram and train nazis, tossers and other lowlifes - I have neglected one particularly horrid mob.

And, it must be said, I don't know how on Earth that has happened, because I've had a few dealings with these types myself.

The funny thing is it should have been more obvious, because all five previous Mrs Grumpys have had this one thing in common. No, not being utterly gorgeous (which they all were) or madly infatuated with the Grumpy Lurvv Machine. They all loathed real estate agents!

For some reason the style of real estate agents got right up their noses and they usually had to shower after dealing with them.

The reason I bring this up is that I've had a letter from a reader who told me of a very distasteful occurrence involving her sister, recently widowed, and a real estate agent.

Trying to get her life back together after losing her husband to cancer, the lady arrived home from work one day only to be greeted by a real estate agent whose approach was a cheerful and obviously caring: "Your husband has been dead for six weeks and I have a buyer for your property."

What an utter charmer. The scumbag probably didn't even think twice about doing it and it just goes to show the lack of humanity that exists around the place. Needless to say he was kicked off the property.

Now, the issue at hand is not necessarily the lack of good grace/manners/decency that these agents have - after all, they do live under rocks - but more about how did he find out about the widowing of the good lady.

As asked by my reader: "Do these SLEAZY BASTARDS read the obituary columns to see how much damage they can do to people who are already emotionally distressed, trying to come to terms with the loss of a loved one?"

One would say yes!

Now while the suggested hanging, drawing and quartering of these agents is a good one - I would try another payback, but my burning cross needs some repairs and my white sheet and pillow case are at the dry cleaners - a more practical way would be to get on to your local real estate institute and plonk in an official complaint.

I wouldn't bother with newspapers - as they make a lot of money from their house sections - but also get on to talk back radio.

Which reminds me. There was a terrible bus crash recently in which a coachload of real estate agents went off a bridge and plunged into a chasm below killing all on board. I was first on the scene, saw the wreck and burst into tears. The cops arrived next and I told them what happened. After finding out it was real estate agents who died, the cop asked me why I was crying. When I could get my composure back I told him: "There were two empty seats!"

If there is something that has really got up your nose, let Grumpy Old Coot know at grumpy@webwombat.com