When you live next door to a fucking whack job, your life sometimes feels like a sitcom. You often wonder, "Is this shit real or did I toke too many funny cigarettes? Where'd these freaks come from?" All too often I find myself shaking my head in disbelief.
One lady, Lulu, who thankfully, has since moved away, called the police on us. She told them that we had tunneled through her garage wall and stole her frozen food.
Police have to investigate all reports of break-ins, regardless of how fucked up they sound. When the sheriff came to us and told us why he was there, we had trouble not laughing in his face. He had some history with her and knew she was nuttier than a shit house rat.
As he backed out of our driveway, I reminded him to put an APB out on the bag of broccoli and Pizza Rolls.
About a year and a half ago, we got no eyebrows Denis, who again, thankfully, moved away. He is another motherfucking wacko. A harmless wacko, but a wacko nonetheless. He was the type you we would see outside religiously on Sundays at 7 a.m. drinking an Old Style over an open fire. I guess you can't drink all day if you don't start bright and early, which, hey, I don't have a problem with. It's the fire that scares the shit out of me.
He burned all of his trash, and lawn debris and then anything the neighbors threw out during the week that he considered burnable. It wasn't Sunday morning if you didn't hear that familiar "Whooooosh" from the gasoline soaked pile he lit. He kind of reminded me of Beavis and Butthead, "Fire, fire!"
It's a little nerve-wracking when someone who drinks beer first thing in the morning, has a fire raging in their yard.
When no-eyebrow Denis moved, Maniac Mike moved in. He likes the drink too. He can often be found trying to fix his car with a tool in one hand and a Miller Genuine Draft in the other.
One day, not too long ago, we pulled into our driveway to find Maniac Mike mowing our lawn. He was on a riding mower, one hand on the steering wheel, the other wrapped around a beer.
I swear, that asshole was mowing at top-speed. He was whipping around the trees in our yard like it was the lawnmower races and he was shooting for first place in the goddamn obstacle course. The Duke and I looked at each other before getting out of the car. I quickly hopped out of the car and ran toward the front door, maniacally laughing and said to the Duke, "Tag! You're it."
I went straight to the kitchen to point and laugh. When I looked out at the backyard, I could clearly see, Maniac Mike had been there. He might as well have just mowed his motherfucking name into the grass. All the mow lines were wobbly and there were two empty Miller Genuine Draft cans on the ground. Folks, our yard isn't that big to be able to down those two plus the one he was working on when we drove up, especially at the rate of speed he was going.
When the Duke finished talking to Mike, he came in the house with a shit eating grin and said, "Mike was trying to do you a favor so you would cut his hair."
"Cut his hair?! How does he know I can fucking cut hair?"
"Oh, I guess I might have told him."
"goddamn you little asshat!"
It wasn't long before Mike was sitting in front of me with his nappy ass head. He was so smelly, B.O. and cheap beer, plus his hair was matted and dirty and he had grass clippings stuck all over him. I feared he had small fucking woodland creatures living in that mop of his that would jump out at me. I made a mental note to kick the Duke's ass later. Practically gagging all the way, I managed to wash his hair and cut it and have him out of our house in 15 minutes. His smell, however, stuck around much longer.
When I finally got a chance to really checkout his crooked lawn cutting skills and pick up his beer cans, I noticed he mowed over our entire garden. I wish I knew that before I did his nappy fucking hair. I would have returned the uneven favor.
Maniac Mike stopped me in the driveway this morning, asking if I would cut his friend's hair. I quickly lied saying, "My scissors are too dull. I need new ones before I can do any one's hair." I don't know why saying no is so difficult. I hate that about me. What I was really thinking was, "No fucking way, pal. If he is your friend, he is likely a smelly, nappy-headed, nasty ass douche bag just like you, so, fuck that."
His friend arrived shortly after I went into my house. He was driving a riding mower down the street. I swear on everything pink and leopardy, if this guy touches my lawn, I will totally pull a goddamn Edward Scissorhands on his ass.