Daily Archives: June 8, 2011

Old people suck.


But they do.

In the last couple of months Miss Carol and me have been here amid sucky old people, and then, last week, when we had to get utility easements for electricity to The Little House of Horrors, Miss Carol had to speak to this old shithead, er, whoops, I mean, gentleman, whose property rubs up against ours.

Now, keep in mind, by us paying for the utility being run past his property enhances him and his future.

He doesn’t have to fork over the big bucks, he just hooks up, should he ever want to build.

So we were kinda surprised when Miss Carol called him and he reduced her to tears saying he’d NEVER allow us to put a telephone pole on his lot unless we bought his lot from him.

Come to find out, he’s an old dickhead with lots of time on his hands who just looooves to be a prick.

Do you spell asshole with a capital A?


I was walking the boys yesterday afternoon.

Whoops, stop, and back up.

I was waiting for the boys to finish eating before I could walk them and I saw this elderly, mostly bat-shit crazy couple walk up the street. They are local bat-shit crazies. He was dressed in the same old nasty dirty shit he’s always wearing and she was sporting her bag-lady seemingly seamless shapeless dress and overbearing do-rag.

They were muttering to one another as they went by.

So Cutter and Tug finish up and we head out for the evening yank-around. As we head up the street I see that the bat-shit crazies have turned and are heading back and they’re still muttering about important stuff, I am sure.

They get closer and closer, and I’m like? WTF? are they gonna just walk on top of us and stomp me and the boys into the road with their shitty Wal-Mart walkers?

Then as they pass Mrs. Bat-Shit Crazy says- you’re walking on the wrong side of the street boy.

I turn, thinking, no way Mrs. Bat-Shit Crazy is talking to me and thinking, if she is, maybe I’ll kick the shit out of Mr. Bat-Shit Crazy.

Sorry. That was just how my day was going.

But as they scurried away Mrs. Bat-Shit Crazy started to scream at me over her shoulder about the importance of walking facing oncoming traffic. Mr. Bat-Shit Crazy just kept going, slumped.

I stood, mesmerized, Cutter and Tug jerking and yanking, and I wondered how much it must suck to get old and realize your lap is over. You’re done. You’re just waiting it out, marking out the final ticks of time.

And I thought how I’ll probably suck when I get old.

But I yelled, Fuck you bitch, into the face of her screeching, anyway.

I’m not proud of that.