I'll resist the temptation to make a joke out of the "wet" and the "dream" part of that title -- it was unintentional, and now it just looks cheap. But I'm too lazy to change it.
Nothing new around here except the wonderful weather. Once again, looking more like Louisiana and less like Wisconsin every day. We have a nice coating of very heavy, wet snow, but the rain is making it look less and less like a white Christmas this year.
Reminds me of Christmas, 1970. Sixty degrees. I rode my Honda 70 minibike around my grade school that day for an hour or so. Then I went home and played the Beatles album (album? WTF?) "Let it Be." I got a new pair of Radio Shack headphones from Santa that year -- Nova 10's! They were made of genuine plastic, and only weighed about 11 pounds. You lost about a pound an hour in sweat alone, since they couldn't breathe. Looked like you worked out, by the time the album was ready to flip... (??)
I have to pretend to work tomorrow... I'm not on salary, and I don't want to take the day off, at least not off my paycheck. I'll miss next Friday, too, and the Friday after that I'm going snowmobiling with my son Steven. So it's three short checks in a row to start the new year. But I'm still lucky to be working -- a lot of others are having a pretty shitty holiday out there.
Including my neighbor, the dick. Poor bastard's too broke to bring up his garbage cans, I guess. But I noticed that this week, he's savvy enough to keep them in his driveway, like the SMART white trash. Tuesday morning I snuck out and pulled them into the street by a few feet, because it was snowing again. But no dice, the snowplow didn't run them over... Damn. Oh well -- they were empty anyway. (But thanks to the commenter who suggested putting a few bags of sakrete in there. That's just evil. I like that in a guy...)
Anyway, I still haven't received a check from Google for the ads that run just to the left of my blog postings... you guys need to help me out here. For every 100 clicks on a specific ad, I get 11 cents. So get to clickin'... I've got a mortgage payment due.
Funny thing -- the ads change after every post. And apparently, they are keyed to whatever is the subject of my rant.
A few weeks ago the ads featured stuff about animals -- specifically raccoons and animal traps. Last week they changed to ads about bear-proof garbage cans and related stuff. I can't believe for a minute that anybody from Google reads this crap, so Google must have a program that selects the ads based on key words. So here's a test: I'm going to put in some key words, and we'll see if the ads reflect the subject matter. Here goes:
Naked Asian chicks.
Sex involving pastries.
Exotic aquarium dwellers.
Snowmobile riding.
Men with "growing" problems. (Don't you love those commercials?)
E.D.
Naked snowmobile riding chicks having sex with men who need Flomax. Eating aquarium pastries with Asian friends suffering from E.D.
That ought to lead to some interesting ads. Or it'll get me kicked clean off this website.
Merry Christmas -- I'd love to keep writing, but after writing about Flomax, I gotta pee......
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
My Neighbor, the dick -- the Sequel
I thought it would be tougher to get started on this next posting -- the last one seemed to write itself, since I had so much pent-up bitching inside me.
But after I wrote that last one, things just got better around here.
My neighbor, the dick, left his garbage cans in the street last week, as I mentioned before. But it snowed last Wednesday night.
Our little village is small -- it has to hire a snow plow service to do the roads. We have a new company this winter, and the new guys mean business.
The village had sent out a reminder -- which hit our mailbox that Monday -- telling us loyal subjects that we have to keep our garbage cans out of the road on nights when snow is predicted. They apologized, since this might mean a bit of inconvenience to residents, but said it was necessary "for the safety and blah blah blah..." My eyes glazed over.
Wednesday came, and it was snowing like HELL, starting shortly after noon. The dick's garbage cans were still in the street, going on 9 days now. I saw this as I turned the corner, heading for home, and suddenly I remembered the warning from the village! It's snowing like HELL out here, and my neighbor, the dick, still has his cans in the street! And they're still full of garbage! SWEET! I could hardly fall asleep that night... there's NO WAY that lazy fucker will take them up in a snowstorm!
Sure enough, the next morning I awoke to find the street plowed, but his garbage cans were no longer in the street. Instead, they were in his yard -- fully 20 feet off the street -- and garbage was every-fucking-where.
Man, I know exactly what went through that snowplow-driver's mind when he turned to come down Pearson Road... TARGETS ACQUIRED!! My mission: To get some AIR with those fucking cans! I guess he hit them at about 30 miles an hour. Oh Sweet Successful Mission! I bet he shit himself when he hit the cans -- probably thought they were gonna be empty. Hope he didn't bend the plow...
Naturally, being a good, concerned citizen, I called the Village Hall the MINUTE they were open, to complain about the HEALTH ISSUE and the PUBLIC SAFETY concerns I had when I saw this horrifying display of garbage on the side of the street. And since this is a small village, a little gossip goes a long way. Our village motto: "If you can't say something nice about your neighbor, come sit next to me and let's talk..." So of course, I listed a whole 'nother litany of complaints.
I feel better now. Someone took the cans up to his house and cleaned up the garbage strewn about -- it was cleaned up even before I got home from work. The Village Administrator called me and said she left a voice mail on the dick's answering machine, and hoped everything would get better... we'll see.
In the mean time, the Holidays are already a bit happier around here!
And what, you may ask, spurred me to write a sequel about my neighbor, the dick? I got the urge because right now I'm watching the tow truck driver hooking up the dick's wife's Audi SUV to his winch. It appears she ran off her driveway and got the Audi buried in their yard, in broad daylight, once again.
Some things never change.
But after I wrote that last one, things just got better around here.
My neighbor, the dick, left his garbage cans in the street last week, as I mentioned before. But it snowed last Wednesday night.
Our little village is small -- it has to hire a snow plow service to do the roads. We have a new company this winter, and the new guys mean business.
The village had sent out a reminder -- which hit our mailbox that Monday -- telling us loyal subjects that we have to keep our garbage cans out of the road on nights when snow is predicted. They apologized, since this might mean a bit of inconvenience to residents, but said it was necessary "for the safety and blah blah blah..." My eyes glazed over.
Wednesday came, and it was snowing like HELL, starting shortly after noon. The dick's garbage cans were still in the street, going on 9 days now. I saw this as I turned the corner, heading for home, and suddenly I remembered the warning from the village! It's snowing like HELL out here, and my neighbor, the dick, still has his cans in the street! And they're still full of garbage! SWEET! I could hardly fall asleep that night... there's NO WAY that lazy fucker will take them up in a snowstorm!
Sure enough, the next morning I awoke to find the street plowed, but his garbage cans were no longer in the street. Instead, they were in his yard -- fully 20 feet off the street -- and garbage was every-fucking-where.
Man, I know exactly what went through that snowplow-driver's mind when he turned to come down Pearson Road... TARGETS ACQUIRED!! My mission: To get some AIR with those fucking cans! I guess he hit them at about 30 miles an hour. Oh Sweet Successful Mission! I bet he shit himself when he hit the cans -- probably thought they were gonna be empty. Hope he didn't bend the plow...
Naturally, being a good, concerned citizen, I called the Village Hall the MINUTE they were open, to complain about the HEALTH ISSUE and the PUBLIC SAFETY concerns I had when I saw this horrifying display of garbage on the side of the street. And since this is a small village, a little gossip goes a long way. Our village motto: "If you can't say something nice about your neighbor, come sit next to me and let's talk..." So of course, I listed a whole 'nother litany of complaints.
I feel better now. Someone took the cans up to his house and cleaned up the garbage strewn about -- it was cleaned up even before I got home from work. The Village Administrator called me and said she left a voice mail on the dick's answering machine, and hoped everything would get better... we'll see.
In the mean time, the Holidays are already a bit happier around here!
And what, you may ask, spurred me to write a sequel about my neighbor, the dick? I got the urge because right now I'm watching the tow truck driver hooking up the dick's wife's Audi SUV to his winch. It appears she ran off her driveway and got the Audi buried in their yard, in broad daylight, once again.
Some things never change.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Back And Better Than Ever (or not)
Well, it happened.
The huddled masses, yearning to be free, have prevailed upon me to continue my blog. Fifty percent of my avowed followers, plus two more people who I believe have actually read my previous posts, have checked in. And the question on all their minds is the same... in unison, they've asked the question on everyone elses' lips: "Why'd ya quit already?"
Of course, my well-reasoned response was, to quote the philosopher Jeff Spicoli, famed alumnus of Ridgemont High School class of 1980, was: "I dunno..."
So I'm having another whack at it. Today's topic: My neighbor. The dick.
The guy who bought the house across the street from me is trying to set some kind of record for the combination event of Trying to Be White Trash While Proving a Stereotype About Pollock Contractors With Drunk-ass Wives Who Can't Drive For Shit.
If he ain't leading the event, he's gotta be up in the top 5 across the US, let me tell you.
This guy is a piece of work. He bought a $450,000 house, and immediately set about remodeling it. Two years in the making, so far, with no end in sight. He's a contractor who uses white slavery -- check that -- immigrant tradesmen from eastern Europe. If they have drivers' licenses, they got them before the crackdown, because they've been off the road with the company dump truck at least four times in the last year. The road is only 33 feet wide, so I cut them some slack.
His wife, however, isn't driving a dump truck. She's driving an Audi SUV, which she got stuck in their yard -- off the driveway -- so many times they have the local wrecker service on their speed dial. Initially we thought it was because of the snow, and their serpentine driveway. But then she buried it past the axles on a clear day with no snow cover.
Following the vehicle's recovery, their drive was covered in mud for a month. Which made it easy to follow her tracks when she left their driveway -- off the road into the grass into my yard, the neighbor's yard, the guy down the street's yard, etc. She's a mobile Grim Reaper for Kentucky Bluegrass.
Another neighbor of mine -- let's call her Betsy (her real name is Pam) -- was friends with them for a while -- their kids are in the same class at school. But they quit hanging out this summer -- Betsy can't drink straight vodka at 10 a.m. more than once in a while, and she and her husband felt like lightweights hanging around the "garage."
That's right -- the garage. When the Party Lamp is lit, they hang out in the garage, on plastic lawn chairs, whooping it up from a.m. to whenever, from March to January, looking out on their spread. Enjoying the view of their unmowed lawn, their garbage cans sitting in the street for days and days after the garbage pick-up. (Their 7-year-old twin girls are "lazy," they told me, and refuse to bring the cans up on Monday after school. So they leave them up there until the girls get the idea.)
Besides, the cans are full -- apparently they haven't paid their garbage bill lately.
Anyway, the drinking explains the driving. I know from experience, having left the roadway on occasion in the past. Shit, I even ran over a Stop sign on a snowmobile trail once. (At least that's what my buds told me the next day when I was trying to figure out the bruises on my leg and the red paint on my sled, but they could have been bullshitting me.)
But that's no excuse, and that's all in the past, anyway. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
The huddled masses, yearning to be free, have prevailed upon me to continue my blog. Fifty percent of my avowed followers, plus two more people who I believe have actually read my previous posts, have checked in. And the question on all their minds is the same... in unison, they've asked the question on everyone elses' lips: "Why'd ya quit already?"
Of course, my well-reasoned response was, to quote the philosopher Jeff Spicoli, famed alumnus of Ridgemont High School class of 1980, was: "I dunno..."
So I'm having another whack at it. Today's topic: My neighbor. The dick.
The guy who bought the house across the street from me is trying to set some kind of record for the combination event of Trying to Be White Trash While Proving a Stereotype About Pollock Contractors With Drunk-ass Wives Who Can't Drive For Shit.
If he ain't leading the event, he's gotta be up in the top 5 across the US, let me tell you.
This guy is a piece of work. He bought a $450,000 house, and immediately set about remodeling it. Two years in the making, so far, with no end in sight. He's a contractor who uses white slavery -- check that -- immigrant tradesmen from eastern Europe. If they have drivers' licenses, they got them before the crackdown, because they've been off the road with the company dump truck at least four times in the last year. The road is only 33 feet wide, so I cut them some slack.
His wife, however, isn't driving a dump truck. She's driving an Audi SUV, which she got stuck in their yard -- off the driveway -- so many times they have the local wrecker service on their speed dial. Initially we thought it was because of the snow, and their serpentine driveway. But then she buried it past the axles on a clear day with no snow cover.
Following the vehicle's recovery, their drive was covered in mud for a month. Which made it easy to follow her tracks when she left their driveway -- off the road into the grass into my yard, the neighbor's yard, the guy down the street's yard, etc. She's a mobile Grim Reaper for Kentucky Bluegrass.
Another neighbor of mine -- let's call her Betsy (her real name is Pam) -- was friends with them for a while -- their kids are in the same class at school. But they quit hanging out this summer -- Betsy can't drink straight vodka at 10 a.m. more than once in a while, and she and her husband felt like lightweights hanging around the "garage."
That's right -- the garage. When the Party Lamp is lit, they hang out in the garage, on plastic lawn chairs, whooping it up from a.m. to whenever, from March to January, looking out on their spread. Enjoying the view of their unmowed lawn, their garbage cans sitting in the street for days and days after the garbage pick-up. (Their 7-year-old twin girls are "lazy," they told me, and refuse to bring the cans up on Monday after school. So they leave them up there until the girls get the idea.)
Besides, the cans are full -- apparently they haven't paid their garbage bill lately.
Anyway, the drinking explains the driving. I know from experience, having left the roadway on occasion in the past. Shit, I even ran over a Stop sign on a snowmobile trail once. (At least that's what my buds told me the next day when I was trying to figure out the bruises on my leg and the red paint on my sled, but they could have been bullshitting me.)
But that's no excuse, and that's all in the past, anyway. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
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