ericjasongastelum - 11/15/2008 11:35 PM ET
this makes me want to throw a sloth into the ocean and watch it drown. thank you for making me feel like doing something.
|This is cupid as you've never seen him before.
If you know what I know, you would stay as far away from love as humanly possible. I don’t know who it was that first told that over aged, depends wearing, rejected Cabbaged Patch Kid looking fool that he was the inventor of love, but he is getting on my last nerve! If I have to wake up one more morning to him doing Pilates in his backyard, which happens to face my kitchen window, wearing that ridiculous “loin cloth” as he likes to refer to it, I’m going to scream. That damn thing doesn’t even cover all of his “dangling participles” if you know what I mean. I can’t even enjoy my bagel with cream cheese anymore. Trying to eat with a vision like that in your face is like trying to shit after eating a pound of aged Amish extra sharp whiter cheddar cheese on rye, it just isn’t going to happen. There has to be a law somewhere against this, and if not, let me be the first in line to sign the petition to get one on the books. A grown ass man just can not walk around with a diaper on claiming to be Cupid, the Godfather of Love!
I knew I was in trouble the day he moved in. It was the middle of winter when an Atlas Van Lines truck pulled up in front of my place, splashing muddy slush onto my newly shoveled sidewalk. Before I could grab my robe and slippers they had that monstrous truck backed up to my garage blowing that obnoxious horn that sounds like a fucking elephant in heat. I was not about to open wide my garage door for them to unload their foreign goods inside of me. Instead I put on my snow boots, pulled a hooded sweatshirt over my nightgown, robe and all, and marched out to the front of the truck screaming “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
This dude gets out the truck, with his side kick right behind him wearing a dirty t-shirt cut-off at the sleeve, dingy, grease-stained jeans and black work boots. They look like the poster child for why you should stay in school. I spoke in short, direct sentences, partly because I was shivering my ass off but mostly I wanted to be understood by these idiots. “I’m going to say this slowly and I’m only going to say it once. Get the fuck off my property!” The two men just looked at me like I was the crazy one. Ignoring me, and moving to the back and opening their truck the first guy says, “Look lady, I’m sorry we’re late. We didn’t know about the construction on 73 or we would have been here three hours ago. I’m late for my next drop and we have to be in Jersey by five in the morning, so if you can please just open up and let us get this stuff unloaded we will gladly be on our way.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You’re not unloading anything! I don’t even know who you are!” Just then, we hear screeching tires and we all turn in the direction of a “beep, beep” sound on the street. This clown, in the dead of winter is dressed in this diaper with heart pins on either side, no shoes on his feet, and some damn feathers on his back. I thought, ‘Well I be damned! This fool is one can short of a six pack.’
“No! No! No! Wrong house, follow me” He yells out the car window and just like that he was gone as quickly as he came, sliding in the slush as he attempts to turn at the end of the street, scaring the shit out of the snowsuit bundled children out building a snowman. I was so busy watching him that I didn’t even notice the guys had gotten back into their truck and where pulling out following after the mad driver in tidy whites.
My life has been hell ever since. This Numbskull has turned the entire neighborhood upside. He and his “alternative” friends gather at his house on the first Saturday of each month and all I can say is close your windows, lock your doors and put the children to bed. You don’t want them to see this. I cannot help but see everything that goes on since these parties spill out into the backyard no matter what time of year, and well, I’m not going to just abandon my kitchen just to avoid looking at their mess. I was here first you know! Why should I have to alter my life just to avoid his? Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on things, take notes, snap pictures and report their shenanigans to the Housing Association. We were a very peaceful, keep to yourself kind of community before him. At his last shin ding, there were cars pulling up with girls dressed like fairies, carrying buckets of teeth; guys in rabbit suits hopping along the back fence eyeing my carrots and cabbage garden. There was even some cat, and I don’t mean the meowing kind, I mean a little green freak running all around speaking in a funny accent and carrying on about a pot of gold. I swear they are going to make me loose my religion.
Last night I was minding my own damn business, taking out MY fucking trash when this fool comes skipping out his back door, wearing that damn diaper as usual, telling me, how I can help save the world if I start recycling my water bottles and soda cans. I told that cock-sucking-motherfucker to stay out of my trash and leave me the fuck alone! “If you want to talk to me put some damn clothes on!” And with that I slammed the lid on the trashcan and stormed back into my house. Who the hell does he think he is? I don’t tell him how to plant his azaleas or how to keep the neighborhood strays from hiding under his front porch. Shit the ferns on his front porch keep dying because he keeps over watering them, but you don’t see me “skipping” over there trying to tell him how to run his house. What the…oh no he isn’t…that is it! I’m calling the Association. It is high time someone had a talk with him. I refuse to look at his “loin cloths” hanging on the line out back anymore. Is that a shit stain??
Comments 1 to 6 of 6
Comments 1 to 6 of 6