"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them." - Henry David Thoreau

Thursday, June 10, 2010


Hate (verb)

-to dislike intensely or passionately; feel extreme aversion for or extreme hostility toward;

(from Dictionary.com)

I hate my neighbors. No, really. HATE them. I say this without exaggeration or hyperbole. Not all of them, of course, just a certain family that lives just around the corner from me. H.A.T.E. My loathing burns like the fire of a thousand dying suns. If I had a time machine, I would go back to when the very first mammal laid it's webbed foot upon the land and squash it under my Crocs™. Yes, that's right...I would prevent the human race from ever coming into existence if I could make sure these horrible people were never brought to being. This is how deeply my loathing runs here.

What could these subhuman reprobates have possibly done to earn such blinding rage? Have they caused irreparable harm to my life, family or property? No. Have they committed some terrible crime for which they can never be forgiven. Not really, I suppose. Has there been any kind of personal altercation between us at any time? Uh-uh. Do I even know their names? Nope.

So what then? Why am I so angry? What cold cause such a sweet, good-natured, easygoing fellow like myself to turn into a white hot, quivering mass of creamy hate-filled goodness?

Three words: Off Road Vehicles.

Yup. That's it right there. ATVs, dirt bikes, scooters, etc. If it makes a shitload of noise and kicks up a lot of dirt, then these inbred redneck townies own them. And ride them up and down my street. You know the type. The 'men' walk around in ripped jeans and no shirt. The 'women' have fake tans, fake hair and fake...you get the picture. They walk their spawn up and down the block in used, ratty strollers while they chain smoke and drink Rolling Rocks. I think their favorite game is called 'Let's See Who Can Swear The Loudest.' They frame their mug shots, because it's the only decent picture they have.

Now, lest you judge me too harshly, let me explain. I do not want to be the party pooper, the turd in the punch bowl, the Negative Nancy here. If these walking genetic throwbacks want to ride their crappy noisemakers without helmets and jump over ravines and such, more power to them. I hope all their future head and neck injuries are painful, yet not fatal. But, please...TAKE IT SOMEPLACE ELSE, YOU WHITE TRASH @$$HOLES!

I can't leave my windows open on a nice spring day because of all the noise of their un-mufflered motor vehicles. They kick up dust and dirt all over my car and home. They care not a whit about anyone else and act like they own the entire freaking neighborhood! Yet, I am powerless to do anything about it. I'd like to move, but thanks to the idiots at the other end of the class spectrum, my house has about two-thirds of the value it what when we bought it (up yours, Zillow.com!).

So I am stuck living in the middle of a glorified BMX track. My only hope is that one day karma will catch up with these defective cousin-humpers.



  1. I guess I shouldn't complain about the roosters at 3 in the morning, I could take care of them and they couldn't yell back at me. At least in English anyway.

  2. I'm pretty sure that "defective cousin-humpers" is going to enter my vocabulary.