Posts Tagged ‘neighbors’

I decided this year I was going to play Santa Claus and get my neighbors special gifts. Some people say the perfect gift is something expensive. Others say it’s only the thought that counts. I believe a great gift is getting someone something they need and don’t even realize. Here is what I plan on getting my neighbors for Christmas.

-For the people above me who always yell and fight I plan to get them soundproof walls and a marriage counseling book. Actually, they’re not even married and they’re already fighting. Maybe instead I should get them a gun so they can settle things once and for all. I don’t need to wake up to the word “motherfucker” getting yelled on a Sunday. That word should be reserved for the PM hours.

-For the family next to me with three yippie dogs who never shut up I plan to get Michael Vick. Yes, the actual guy. He hasn’t done too well this season and if we’re lucky he will be desperate for a job next year. I don’t want Michael Vick to actually kill the dogs but his presence could maybe shut them up a bit. If Michael Vick isn’t available I’ll get the husband a workout DVD so he doesn’t have to step outside shirtless and subject me to his terrible body.

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(Is his last name really “Blanks” or is it something like “Fuckers” and they’re trying to censor it?)

-For the Canadian family living diagonally up from me I plan to get an ashtray. This ashtray is for them to then give to the people living above me so none of us have to live with a front yard covered in cigarette butts. Thank you Canadian family for never being a problem.

-For everyone living in my complex who doesn’t keep their dog on a leash I plan to get a leash. Not for their dogs, for them to hang themselves for being so inconsiderate.

-For the new family living on the corner who always toss their chicken wing bones onto the ground I plan to get the knowledge that boneless chicken wings exist. If they are too stupid which I think they might be then I will get them a larger garbage can so they don’t have to throw their garbage onto the lawn. Seriously, do they really think a squirrel can do anything with these bones? I’ve had to yank three out from my dog’s mouth and he accidentally bites me every time. I really want a bus to crash through their window.

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(This is all I want for Christmas. Maybe an explosion too)

-For the guy I saw folding his laundry while smoking I plan to get a nicotine patch. Dude, getting ashes all over your clean clothes defeats the purpose of washing.

-For the woman who once made a passive aggressive comment to me from her car about how her neighbors let their dogs piss and shit all over the place I plan to get a bag of my dog’s shit. How about if you see me not picking up the dog shit then you say something. I saw a black guy looting a stereo on the news. I don’t assume it’s your son you whore.

-For the only other younger white people I’ve seen living in my apartment complex I plan to get friendly smiles. Out of all the gangsters, the white trash, and the obnoxious ghetto women I seem to see on a daily basis these younger white folk seem to be the least friendly of any. What’s with white people and their stubbornness toward being friendly to strangers? White people crazy.

kat williams

(“They sho’ is.” – Katt ‘What Did I Do To Piss Off Comedy Central’ Williams)

What do you plan on getting your neighbors for Christmas, Kwanza, or whatever it is you celebrate?

Imagine this opening paragraph appearing like the opening text to Star Wars. You know, that yellow slanted moving font that was impossible to read. Anyway, long ago in a town about 35 miles away, there was a family that lived next door to me. No. Not that family. The other side. The ones that were actually a family and not a woman who liked to cut down trees and sleep with men who drove dirty trucks. The ones on the right if you’re looking at my old house are the ones I’m talking about. This was a family who declared war on mine. Things never got out of hand, but they were entertaining enough for me to write about. Okay, that was not as epic as I had thought it would be. Kind of like the entire Star Wars franchise.

(Sorry, but I like the Ewok movies better. They got oozies!)

The family in question consisted of a mom, a dad, a daughter, and a son. The ideal for any family who is not Chinese. Their ideal family would be a son, a son, a son, and a robot. This family was nothing close to ideal. They were wretched. Being mean and aggressive was the way they chose to live their lives. And that brought out the demons in us all.

Mainly battles between our two clans took place over cat poop. They insisted that our cats were pooping on their property. I would argue today that the banks own property and that they should take it up with them, but back then I still had hope that Democracy was real. I’m sure our cats really were pooping on the lawn and I can see how that might be annoying. Even more annoying was when they would put the cat poop in a bag and leave it near our mailbox. No stamp was ever placed on the bag so it wasn’t like they were trying to send it anywhere. It would be ridiculous if they placed the stamp on the actual poop. How’s the mailman supposed to see that? Eventually things toned down and I’m sure there was a lot of yelling between parents that I never paid attention to. Our cats died and a few times we still had cat poop arrive at our mailbox. I think one time I threw it onto their roof. I don’t remember for sure. I do remember once when they were out at a soccer game I accidentally dropped a stink bomb and before it could fully shatter I broke it on their front door. They arrived home to a horrendous smell. A wonderful victory at my own hands.

(Holy shit! That finger print on the lens looks like a ghost cat. Children with large unibrows covering their eyes attract ghost cats too)

Another issue between us was that of balls traveling through the yards. We had an unwritten policy about returning balls to each other if we found them in our yards. Until they didn’t return one of my balls. Then it was fair game. My first dog Baylee popped a blow up ball of theirs. Another time, good o’le McGwire grabbed it and took it up to our deck. I remember sitting on the back deck while the kids next door were outside. At this point I was scary looking and fat. They weren’t about to ask me for their ball back so they just stood there hoping I could read minds. I can’t. So the ball sat on our deck until it slowly deflated itself. A perfectly good ball ruined because they were bitches.

(Who am I kidding? My backyard never had nearly this much grass. Only my family gets this)

I only remember going into their house one time. Their backyard, a few times, but actually inside once. I had returned home from school and neither of my parents were home. It was probably St. Patrick’s Day, Cinco de Mayo, or a work day when “mommy and daddy need a drink to help them with stress.” The neighbors let me hang at their house for about a half hour. All I remember doing was hiding under a blanket with the girl who lived there. Nothing happened. I didn’t want it to because I already knew their dirty secret. They were gummy bastards.

What is a gummy bastard? A gummy bastard is a next door neighbor of mine. More specifically, the family who had these strange things on the tops of each of their heads. The dad had it, the daughter had it, and the ginger son had it. I must have been playing a game of lice check with the daughter when I first noticed it. A big red deformity poking out of the top of her head. I poked at it because that seemed like the only thing to do. It felt like a gummy bear. But we certainly couldn’t call the family the Gummy Bears. They were not bears. They were bastards. Hence the name, the Gummy Bastards.

(I’d be a bastard too if my head contained delicious snacks I could not lick)

I’m not exactly sure why we really hated each other. I guess that’s just what neighbors do. You find things to be disgusted about one another. It’s natural though. When you are forced to see the same ugly faces everyday only feet away from where you rest your head at night, you’re going to grow to hate them. They were everything my family wasn’t. They were social, had family friends, athletic kids, their father smoked cigars instead of cigarettes like mine, the mom jogged while mine watched Dawson’s Creek, the daughter’s nickname was Cookie for some diabetic reason while my sister’s nickname was bear for reasons that made sense at the time, and their son was a Ginger while I had the hair color of champions, dirty blondish brown. All that separated us was a damn fruit snack on top of the head. Could it have been the source of their bastardness? The hair to their Samson. The genitals to their Ron Jeremy. The being married to the executive of E! to their Chelsea Handler. I can only speculate what it was. What I do know is that they were animal hating bastards. I hope a loud black family moved into our house you gummy bastards.