Like any good suburbanites, my wife and I have neighbors, and like any neighborhood, we have more than our fair share of annoying or bizarre neighbors. Honestly, what neighborhood would be complete without those? When you get home from work in the evening, don't you look forward to sitting behind the closed blinds of your front room window and peeking through to see what your neighbors decide to do next?
You don't? Then you don't know what you're missing! Pull up a stool and your favorite pair of binoculars, turn off the lights and get to spying! Well, okay, I understand. Neighbors, like chocolate milk on a sugary cereal, are an acquired taste. But I wouldn't suggest that you go out and try to taste your neighbors. Not only do they get soggy in milk, but you never know where those neighbors have been. That's a good way to get yourself arrested, and probably a nasty case of rabies. And cavities.
Now then. I happen to be the proud owner of two sets of lovely neighbors. First there are The Cults. They live across the street, so they make for prime viewing real estate. When they leave the house, that is. When ANYONE leaves the house. Even with all of their visitors, with as many people as I see going into that house, so few come out. There are ways. Oh, there are always ways. They don't call them "The Cults" for nothing!. They own a flooring business, and they're always bringing out rolls of carpeting, yet we never see any rolls going in. The ones that do come out are all lumpy in the middle, but I'll let you put 2 and 590,834 together.
Our other set of neighbors are my pride and joy. The Trolls live next door and due north of us, or as we like to call it "up wind." They are a bunch of foul smelling, loud, incestuous and hairy people. It's like living next to a family ofSaskatchewan sasquatch (SpellCheck, what are you trying to do to me?) from [insert back-woods state here]. I have often said that every culture has their version of rednecks, and these people are definitely the rednecks of their culture. It doesn't matter what their culture is, because their culture isn't the problem. Personalities, not nationalities, if you know what I mean.
So those are the main two sets of neighbors. There are others, to be sure, but they are shining beacons of hope for humanity compared to the two dark pits of despair that cause me to cry myself to sleep at night. I don't want the hair to eat me, and I don't want to wind up in a rug or lost in the tunnels with only a lighter and a sock full of tater rounds. Don't make me go. Please!!
You don't? Then you don't know what you're missing! Pull up a stool and your favorite pair of binoculars, turn off the lights and get to spying! Well, okay, I understand. Neighbors, like chocolate milk on a sugary cereal, are an acquired taste. But I wouldn't suggest that you go out and try to taste your neighbors. Not only do they get soggy in milk, but you never know where those neighbors have been. That's a good way to get yourself arrested, and probably a nasty case of rabies. And cavities.
Now then. I happen to be the proud owner of two sets of lovely neighbors. First there are The Cults. They live across the street, so they make for prime viewing real estate. When they leave the house, that is. When ANYONE leaves the house. Even with all of their visitors, with as many people as I see going into that house, so few come out. There are ways. Oh, there are always ways. They don't call them "The Cults" for nothing!. They own a flooring business, and they're always bringing out rolls of carpeting, yet we never see any rolls going in. The ones that do come out are all lumpy in the middle, but I'll let you put 2 and 590,834 together.
Our other set of neighbors are my pride and joy. The Trolls live next door and due north of us, or as we like to call it "up wind." They are a bunch of foul smelling, loud, incestuous and hairy people. It's like living next to a family of
So those are the main two sets of neighbors. There are others, to be sure, but they are shining beacons of hope for humanity compared to the two dark pits of despair that cause me to cry myself to sleep at night. I don't want the hair to eat me, and I don't want to wind up in a rug or lost in the tunnels with only a lighter and a sock full of tater rounds. Don't make me go. Please!!
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