muffled yelps; some poop falls out
prison's a bad place
So we moved.
The time had finally come, this past weekend, to bid lovely Ferrelview, with it's trailer park of doom, high concentration of sex offenders and penchant for harassing anyone brave enough to risk passing the police at the speed limit, a final adieu and move on to greener pastures.
I remember it like it was about 3 weeks ago, when my lovely wife was, as is our usual configuration, sitting on the edge of the tub bothering me with her questions and idle chatter while I tried to take a shit. I specifically informed her, that "no matter what, the ONLY STIPU-FUCKIN-LATION I had was that we needed to either stay in the area we were in or move slightly West, as I was not willing to drive a whole lot farther to go to work. You can all see where this is going, and those of you lucky enough to know my wife (whether you worked with her or had the terrible misfortune of sitting opposite her at a Charlie Murphy comedy special (I still feel bad about that)) know that once she has her mind made up everything else is simply beeps and clicks; my most fervent arguments are simply tiny speedbumps on her journey to completely neuter me and somehow make me gay.
So instead of even bothering to look at the many very nice homes I found in Platte City, Gladstone, Leavenworth, Basehor, and Compton (I keep hearing good things about this corner called Florence and Normandy, great things), she said the only home she wanted was in Smithville. And I, being a sad, broken man, spent my weekend moving all manner of gay/heavy thing into this pink house. Fuck my life.
Actually, it is a pretty nice home, and was at first a rent-to-own, but is now (I think since I am black) a lease-with option to buy, where we lease for a year while they look for less Africanized tenants, presumably, and then We can buy the house. It is a nice 4 bed, 3 bath place that looks completely out of place for either me or my Escort of Flava. I do enjoy the 3 shitters though, it really increases the opportunities for me to toilet shop in my own home, which is nice.
Anyway, we are packing the U-Haul up, and over comes RR. RR is short for Richie Rich, and is as close to a white version of Smeagol as genetics would allow. He is about 30, has absolutely 0 teeth, is a failure in everything he does, and is so annoying my other neighbors pretend to not be home so as not to have to talk to him.
This damn loser is known to be competing for the coveted title of "Roach King", so called because of the awesomeness of the infestation at their abode.
RR is very close to being the complete winner, he only has to make that final push. He is not my neighbor, he lives across the street, but he has been seen with numerous roaches crawling around in his hair, in his shirt, his wife has been seen outside shaking clothes and carpets out, flinging huge, live, pregnant cockroaches toward the next door neighbors (who I like) and has been seen with them in her hair as well. Now I usually cannot complain, we had ants during the summer which are almost impossible to get rid of, but when you start fearing the ant population is going to go down because you know the raging hordes of roaches are now coming to your domicile, things get hairy.
Anyway, outside of these charming qualities, he is also the most annoying person on the planet, yes more annoying than Smeagol. I have a few stories on him, but this one is probably the sassiest. I had had a shitty day, what with having to work and all, and k-rat did not go well either, because Karawte Man was trying to do....something, I will not go so far as to say he was attempting anything even coming close to actual karate at that point, as all he was doing was attempting to punch, failing miserably, then asking what I would do if someone superglued my body to the ground and a volcano erupted under me while impending Nazi Panzer tanks fires shells directly into my anus and all of my limbs were gone due to an unfortunate smelting accident and blah blah blah.
I had just attained some delicious McDonald's, and was looking forward to watching some hokey kung fu films whilst my boys ate to try to lift my spirits.
It was a windy night, a detail you will want to keep in mind for later. I am getting my kids out of the car, and stupidly placed the bags on top that were holding my dinner. Well, a gust of wind finished out my bad karma for the night, and knocked my sandwiches, fries and drink all over the driveway, which my dog had shit on only minutes before. The kids' food was fine, as it was in happy meals. As I get down on my knees, yes forgetting the dog had shit and getting it on my fucking knee, RR moseys over, with his "so what's going on in your world" shit. RR is INCREDIBLY fucking nosey, and a gossip, just like smeagol. His wife is hideous, just like Smeagol's. He cheated on his wife, gave her STD's and left her when she had the kids, only moving in when she finally got a place of her own, which he ran into the ground in 2 weeks. Sound familiar?
So I am really not in the mood, and he is standing there rambling on about how he got fired from Subway because the manager was afraid of him because he worked so much faster than him, blah blah blah watching me and still rambling on like a leech attached to an asshole: getting fuller and fuller of shit by the second but unable to disengage.
Part fucking II tomorrow, or in like 6 months, you all know my track record by now.