December 2013 Archives

leg hair

In a sign of how just few men she knows, newly divorcing Anna's been pestering me to go out with her. A dubious fit with me under any circumstances, she is a needy mess right now, cripplingly anxious about the prospect of being alone for the first time in her life. As if a hot personal trainer with craterously low standards is going to be alone for long.

I am giving her a wary, wide berth. Here is a distillation of our recent Facebook chats:

Let's go out.

No.

C'mon, we can just go drinking in a smokey dive bar and make fun of people.

It's uncanny how many of my buttons you're finding, but no.

BTW, here's a photo of me.

Jesus H.

And here's one of me with my kids.

That's easier, thanks. No.

Just as friends?

You really expect me to fall for that? I bloody invented that.

I'm so down lately.

(To myself) I am not putting on my knight suit, I am not putting on my knight suit...

I need to work on my flirting skills.

No, you really don't.

And my favorite:

We can go out when you're way clear of your marital crap. Like in six months.

Sigh. I'll just let my leg hair grow out until then.

mgnuggets return

That didn't take long.

Now they're laying down a tarp along our cliff's edge, with gravel on top of that. In inimitable McNugget fashion, they laid the tarp over a tree stump.

tarp2.JPG

Yep.

Hmm? No, I'm sure it's perfectly safe to choke off the vegetation at the edge of a cliff, then pile several tons of rock on it. Are you stupid or something?

the dumb one, redux

At the dog park yesterday, I turned around to see Fredo taking a dump. This is a lamentably common sight.

More specifically, Fredo was taking a dump on a park bench. Though perhaps not unprecedented in the long, vile history of his species, this activity was unusual for him, particularly in light of the fact that my dogs are never on furniture.

More specifically still, although his back paws and business end were perched awkwardly atop the bench, his front paws were on the ground.

And thus did Fredo bolster his already-formidable claim on the title of Most Revolting, Retarded Dog Ever.

At least I didn't have to bend over far to clean it up?

mcnuggets forever

Continued from here

Shortly after Lou Ann McNugget felt the concussion of my door in her face, I was feeling the concussions of falling trees, precious few of which were near the fence that she both 1) made necessary and 2) so zealously said wanted to protect.

Eventually, inevitably, it came time to remove the tree right next to my fence. When tree-hugger me had a tree cut down three years ago, the professional loggers I hired scaled to the top of the tree and cut it down one chunk at a time, safely ziplining the chunks away from fences and decks. When Percy cut down an even larger tree, his loggers did the same thing.

So how does the sort of "logger" Lou Ann McNugget hires cut down a tree? He uses a backhoe to brutally pry it down, away from the fence, until the trunk snaps. And then he acts surprised when it recoils and destroys the fence. And then he takes another hit of meth.

Fortunately, my security camera caught the critical moment. The Definitive Moment of Ultimate Whitetrashity.

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The tree ended up whiplashing into the fence with tremendous force, destroying one 6' panel and shattering five others. Eventually, a panel fell on my new laurels, crushing one.

It is now eight days later.

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"We're only worried about your fence, John," sneered Lou Ann McNugget three weeks ago.

I'd love to know how this is my fault and not theirs, which is surely the dogma next door. But then that would require hearing her speak words, and I'd love the absence of that even more.

Enjoy the invasive bamboo I'm planting, sweetheart.

mcnuggets reloaded

Continued from here

I was in a business meeting when the dogs erupted. Lou Ann McNugget was knocking under this sign.

"John, it's your neighbor Lou Ann," she yelled through the door, as if this somehow made me more likely to answer it.

I opened the door. "I'm not going to come in," declined the lying trash I would never, ever, under any circumstances invite into my home. Bizarrely, she then read a letter from her husband, who was asking me for permission to park a bucket-ladder truck on my property so that they could remove more trees. "Trees some-times fall," he/she explained in the slow, halting cadence of someone who rarely reads. "Like the one a-cross the street re-cent-ly. We are only wor-ried a-bout your fence."

Right. Of course. You're only worried about my fence. Just like you were only worried about danger trees, you were only worried about weed control, blah blah blah.

"Do what you want. They're your trees," I said. "But let's not pretend you're doing this for me. I would prefer the trees remain."

Lou Ann is one of those obviously uneducated, vomitously stupid people who get angry when you don't buy into the nonsense they expected you to believe. Don't you realize how rude it is not to eat the steaming plate of bullshit I just served you? they seem to think. You're such an asshole.

And get angry she did. She repeated the part about the fence, since I clearly didn't understand her the first time. "Nah. It's pretty clear you just hate the trees," I replied.

"Oh. So you're a tree-hugger," she snorted, as if I had just fallen into her carefully executed trap and confirmed what she'd suspected all along. As if one has to be a tree-hugger to prefer looking at trees to looking at her. As if those who actually know me and go through my trash to count recycling fouls weren't about to double-over laughing at the "tree hugger" thing.

A Bertrand Russell quote flitted through my mind:

A stupid man's report of what a clever man says can never be accurate, because he unconsciously translates what he hears into something he can understand.
"Nope. I just hate looking at your lot."

"John, we're trying to make it look better!"

"Oh, so you're tearing down the aluminum garage?" I asked sweetly.

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's ugly. Especially compared to trees."

"Well, John, there's lots of things about your house that I don't like," said the person who has spent thousands of dollars to get a better view of my house, to the person who has spent thousands to get a worse view of hers. Said the person standing on my deck, uninvited and unwelcome. Said the person asking for a favor.

"Well then stop tearing down trees to get a better view of my house!" I yelled, no longer able to humor her sneering idiocy. "In fact, get off my property. We're done." And I slammed my door in her face.


Tomorrow: the McNuggets worry about my fence.


mcnuggets revealed

Continued from here

Once upon a time, my house was nestled against beautiful woods.

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Then one fine spring day, I heard chainsaws and backhoes. Soon after, my house filled with smoke from a burn pile. This would persist for over six weeks. Thinner and thinner did the trees grow, until one day I literally saw a bulldozer reaching over my lawn. Thus began the Epoch of Ugliness.

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Soon, Lou Ann McNugget was yelling to me. "Doesn't it look better?!" shrieked the neighbor with whom I wanted zero relationship.

"No."

"SO much better," she nodded.

At an impromptu meeting of neighbors in my driveway, the guy two doors down asked Lou Ann what we all wondered. "Why?! Why do you think this looks better?"

"I love mowing the lawn," she replied. And that she does. She rides that mower every single day during the summer.

Soon, she put lawn ornaments right by my property. My favorite was a frog. Its ass mooned me every time I left my house.

Not coincidentally, I had the property line surveyed and erected a fence. I didn't consult with the neighbors who, after all, announced their plans with a bulldozer. Yet she complained. Along the way, she mentioned that of course, they had had the line surveyed, too. Considering that they do everything on the cheap and with a preposterous sense of entitlement, not to mention the lack of survey markers, clearing permits, or records of any kind, I knew she was lying.

I called the county. They knew my neighbors quite well. In investigating their illegal clearcutting, the county had noted three things:

  1. Lou Ann told them that all the trees were "danger trees," even the 2 footers 100 feet from their house.
  2. When the county asked about the unpermitted deck construction, Lou Ann told them that they merely replaced the existing deck.
  3. Historical photographs showed that the deck was entirely new.
A profile started to form in my mind. Lyin' trash was swingin' a backhoe right into my life.

Soon after, they hired a crew to do some more clearing. "Weed Control is making me do it," Lou Ann told me with great resignation, clearly not realizing that I was verifying every one of her lies at this point.

"We told who to do what now?" the Weed Control office said.

"I hate them," the McNuggets' undocumented worker whispered to me. He pointed to the survey marker eight feet from my driveway. "She told me to clear to your driveway. When I discovered this marker, she told me that you'd moved it."

Tomorrow: Lou Ann wants a favor

introducing the mcnuggets

Earl and Lou Ann McNugget are my other neighbors.

Thanks to the heavily wooded land between us, I lived here for four years before I ever caught sight of them. I was behind Earl on Metamuville Road. He's in his 80s, and as Metamuvillians in their 80s (or as I like to call them, "the kids") are wont to do, he slammed on his brakes while going downhill. I waited until he did it in a passing zone, then I passed him. Minutes later, I was at the end of my driveway getting my mail when he stopped his truck in the street in order to lecture me about road safety.

Having already been followed home by two old farts previously, I cut him off. "You were going beneath the speed limit and braking. It's daylight and the roads are dry. I passed you legally and safely. We're done here."

We both drove off, and that remains the only time I've ever spoken to him.

A couple years later, they tore down the trees, which it turns out were entirely on their property. I wasn't delighted, but what are you gonna do. In a matter of days, I went from living in the country to living on top of white trash. Being themselves, they did the demolition on the cheap, and I had to listen to backhoes and chainsaws and smell their burn pile for six weeks without a single daylight hour of respite.

If you really want someone to hate you, knock 20 grand off their property's value, uglify their life, and make them breath smoke and listen to chainsaws for six weeks.

Through the smoke, I saw my future emerge. Where once I saw only trees, I now saw dilapidated trucks. A box house with an aluminum roof, as well as a matching, filth-caked aluminum garage. Lawn ornaments. Tin bugling angels tacked to the front of the house year-round. And countless lightbulbs burning 24/7/365 so that we were all sure to enjoy their trashness to the absolute mostess.

Tomorrow: Lou Ann McNugget, super-genius

My friend of 20 years and staffer for two, Katrina now irritates me by referring to me as "my boss" to her eight-year old, Annalie. Whenever Katrina has to work instead of finger-painting, blame falls squarely on "my boss." The child has taken to viewing me as a douchebag, which I'm quite certain is the point.

"Oh my god. I so regret buying her this Christmas CD two years ago. She just plays it over and over," Katrina told me last week in a lapse of judgement that can only be described as apocalyptically idiotic. "Jingle Bell Rock and I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, again and again and again. I hate those songs!"

"Uh huh," I said, clicking the one-click purchase button. Yesterday, Annalie received Dr. Demento's Christmas Album. The songs:

1. The Chipmunk Song - Chipmunks
2. All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth - Spike Jones & His City Slickers
3. Jingle Bells - Singing Dogs
4. Twelve Gifts of Christmas, The - Allan Sherman
5. I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas - Gayla Peevey
6. Nuttin' For Christmas - Stan Freberg
7. A Christmas Carol - Tom Lehrer
8. Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer - Elmo & Patsy
9. I Yust Go Nuts At Christmas - Yogi Yorgesson
10. Twelve Days of Christmas, The - Bob and Doug McKenzie
11. Green Christmas - Stan Freberg
12. I'm A Christmas Tree - Wild Man Fischer
13. I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus - Kip Addotta
14. Santa Claus And His Old Lady - Cheech & Chong
15. Christmas At Ground Zero - Weird Al Yankovic
16. Christmas Dragnet - Stan Freberg & Daws Butler

"You are pure evil," Katrina told me from her desk. Then I heard her child run up behind her. "THANK YOU! AND SHE'S NOT WORKING! SHE'S SURFING CLOTHES!"

actual top link on cnn.com right now

"Paul Walker honored at car show"

priorities, postscript

Nope. Haven't heard a peep about Mandela today, but plenty about (looking up his name) Paul Walker. So young, so beautiful, so tragic.

priorities

I'm saddened by Nelson Mandela's passing, perhaps the first and last politician about whom I'll ever be able to say that. I'm grateful for (and more than a little amazed by, given his life) his 95 years on earth. He's perhaps the most transformative historical figure of my lifetime. There is no upside to his passing.

Except one.

Maybe now the media will stop fawning over Paul Walker, of whom we were only marginally aware a week ago, and toiling to transform him into the next James Dean.

spade

Anna is coming out of a brutally awful marriage. Uneducated, unqualified, inexperienced, and kinda dim, she's now in the unfortunate position of having to support herself and her kids. It's been bumpy.

I like her. She's a kind person. I'm rooting for her. I'd date her in a heartbeat if it weren't for the circumstances. Date a mom with a psychotic ex, and you pretty much date the psychotic ex. Pass.

"Set me up with a computer geek," she texted me last night.

I was trying to think of a computer geek who might possibly be interested in dating a smoking hot personal trainer when the follow-up text arrived.

"Because I really hate working."

the dumb one

Of my two dogs, Fredo is known as "the dumb one." Sure, he's charming when you meet him. He's a happy, friendly dog. He seemingly swats at swarms of hornets with his tail. But he's also the one who wags happily when I'm yelling at him for the abomination on the kitchen floor, the one who pees on his sister, the one who after three years has yet to learn that I need to open the car's hatchback before he can jump in.

Fredo taught me that there are owners who root against their pet, and that I am one of them. I take a special delight when my deck freezes over and I see the little moron faceplant on his way to the yard, then, having no understanding of what just happened, faceplant on his way back inside.

"You idiot!" I cackled this morning as he wiped out three times in rapid succession. Seconds later, my own feet shot out from under me and I fell hard to the deck. It was the damnedest thing.

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