SweetWitch
Green Goddess
- Joined
- Oct 9, 2005
- Posts
- 20,370
Yes, that's right. 2:03 AM. I was up writing at this hour for one reason: That GD, brillo-headed, worthless, stupid, ignorant, loud-mouthed, son-of-a-pickled hamster boy next door--whose parentage I now call into question--has decided to take this time to fire up one of his useless, broken-down rebuilt cars with a set of jumper cables and his friend's muffler-less over-sized pickup truck with a loud diesel engine. Gunned. At full throttle. Unending. Never ceasing.
Now, it was cold outside. I was in my nightshirt. Barefooted. Didn't bother with shoes or a robe. Didn't bother with modesty. Didn't flippin' care. Have I mentioned I was a touch angry? He woke me. He woke my crippled, pain-riddled husband, which meant I had to deal with him. They were revving their motors outside our bedroom windows.
Did I mention the hour? Who the heck does this idiot think he is? No, really. I want to know. All day long, in his father's driveway, he's rebuilding cars. All. Day. Long. Not a single vehicle he has worked on has a muffler. I work from home. Sometimes I like the windows open. I can't have them open. The motors are too loud. He must work nights because he takes off in the middle of the night—every night—with a powerful explosion of a gunned, un-muzzled engine.
I try to be a good neighbor. I truly do. I try not to complain about how the seven little curtain-climbers over there scream and holler and cuss like sailors. I try not to complain when they steal my firewood and do God-knows-what with it. I try not to complain every few days when I have to clean all their garbage and broken toys out of my yard. I try not to complain when those kids are on their 4-wheelers and dirt bikes with loud motors as soon as they get off the bus because kids need to have fun. I don't even mention that I can't use my gazebo to write in because of all the never-ending noise. I try. I really do.
But last night I was done.
So, in my nightshirt with no shoes, no coat, boobs flopping as I stomped across the yard, I stormed up to the little twat and yelled. I scared the holy religion into that boy when he saw me in his car window. I yelled loud enough so he could hear me over his loud vehicles. I yelled so loud every dog in the neighborhood started barking. Lights came on all over. I was standing with frozen, wet feet on the gravely road at 2:03 AM yelling at a 19-year-old without enough sense to realize it was the middle of the night.
And do you know what he said to me? You're going to love this.
"I'm trying to start my car."
Really? OMG! We have a genius here, ladies and gentlemen. A true genius.
I weep for the future.
Now, it was cold outside. I was in my nightshirt. Barefooted. Didn't bother with shoes or a robe. Didn't bother with modesty. Didn't flippin' care. Have I mentioned I was a touch angry? He woke me. He woke my crippled, pain-riddled husband, which meant I had to deal with him. They were revving their motors outside our bedroom windows.
Did I mention the hour? Who the heck does this idiot think he is? No, really. I want to know. All day long, in his father's driveway, he's rebuilding cars. All. Day. Long. Not a single vehicle he has worked on has a muffler. I work from home. Sometimes I like the windows open. I can't have them open. The motors are too loud. He must work nights because he takes off in the middle of the night—every night—with a powerful explosion of a gunned, un-muzzled engine.
I try to be a good neighbor. I truly do. I try not to complain about how the seven little curtain-climbers over there scream and holler and cuss like sailors. I try not to complain when they steal my firewood and do God-knows-what with it. I try not to complain every few days when I have to clean all their garbage and broken toys out of my yard. I try not to complain when those kids are on their 4-wheelers and dirt bikes with loud motors as soon as they get off the bus because kids need to have fun. I don't even mention that I can't use my gazebo to write in because of all the never-ending noise. I try. I really do.
But last night I was done.
So, in my nightshirt with no shoes, no coat, boobs flopping as I stomped across the yard, I stormed up to the little twat and yelled. I scared the holy religion into that boy when he saw me in his car window. I yelled loud enough so he could hear me over his loud vehicles. I yelled so loud every dog in the neighborhood started barking. Lights came on all over. I was standing with frozen, wet feet on the gravely road at 2:03 AM yelling at a 19-year-old without enough sense to realize it was the middle of the night.
And do you know what he said to me? You're going to love this.
"I'm trying to start my car."
Really? OMG! We have a genius here, ladies and gentlemen. A true genius.
I weep for the future.
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