Don't let the door slam your ass on the way out
Parting is such sweet sorrow. That is, for people you like. For the ones you can't stand the sight, or sound of, parting is a jubilant celebration.
After having to endure several years living next to these people, I am (almost) jumping for joy because they are moving. Far, far away. Hopefully, to another country.
These people are the defintion of white trash. They make Britney, Cletus and Fetus Federline look like Russian Royalty. Yes, they're that trashy.
Sadly, physical evidence of inbreeding exists a few doors down from my home.
From the car pile-up that lines their pebble-strewn driveway, to the ramshackle house that lies is steps away from a wrecking ball, these people appear to have come from some backwater town.
Countless fights, where yelling multiple versions of fuck is as far as their vocabulary progressed, are a daily ritual. Their screaming keeps up the neighbourhood, but they don't care. They're probably half deaf.
Come sun or come snow, there is never a day where you see a gaggle of dirty kids running along the sidewalk, or running their dirty mouths in the middle of the street.
True, I know nothing of their past. But, I also don't want to know anything. We all have our stories to tell. Some people don't want anyone to know what lies beyond the walls. Some people would rather let everyone know what is going on.
But, it doesn't matter, anymore.
The moment they leave, and when the dust settles, everyone will go back to their lives. The neighbourhood will be quieter and cleaner, the property values will increase, and things will go back to normal.
Hopefully, the next people who move in won't be worse.
After having to endure several years living next to these people, I am (almost) jumping for joy because they are moving. Far, far away. Hopefully, to another country.
These people are the defintion of white trash. They make Britney, Cletus and Fetus Federline look like Russian Royalty. Yes, they're that trashy.
Sadly, physical evidence of inbreeding exists a few doors down from my home.
From the car pile-up that lines their pebble-strewn driveway, to the ramshackle house that lies is steps away from a wrecking ball, these people appear to have come from some backwater town.
Countless fights, where yelling multiple versions of fuck is as far as their vocabulary progressed, are a daily ritual. Their screaming keeps up the neighbourhood, but they don't care. They're probably half deaf.
Come sun or come snow, there is never a day where you see a gaggle of dirty kids running along the sidewalk, or running their dirty mouths in the middle of the street.
True, I know nothing of their past. But, I also don't want to know anything. We all have our stories to tell. Some people don't want anyone to know what lies beyond the walls. Some people would rather let everyone know what is going on.
But, it doesn't matter, anymore.
The moment they leave, and when the dust settles, everyone will go back to their lives. The neighbourhood will be quieter and cleaner, the property values will increase, and things will go back to normal.
Hopefully, the next people who move in won't be worse.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
6 Comments:
Once again, I have come to your blog. Not sure what draws me to it, but you are a great writer. I, on the other hand, am not very good with words. I do better taking pictures. Maybe you would like to see my work? If not, it's okay. Just thought I'd offer it tho. http://thesilverbulletcar.blogspot.com/
Why does it seem like the people you can't stand, are always around more than the ones you like? I know sometimes it just seems that way, but if you have a co-worker you can't stand, that person will NEVER call off sick! Even so, it's better than living next to them! LOL! Congrats to you on their moving day!
Fabulous, I just KNOW they're coming to stay with their relatives - MY neighbors.
I feel what you're saying about the language. I find that when I'm home, I start every sentence with, "It's a good thing I don't have kids, because if I did..........." It's sad to think that those kids will grow up with the view that that kinda behavoir is "normal."
Would you believe I prayed to God for decent neighbours?
Further proof that prayer is a testament of the hopeless.
Sorry, dude, the first time we disagree. :-) I say that prayer IS hope. You can't be hopeless, when you got hope.
Ya know, when we first moved in to this house, I tried very hard (and still do) not to be THOSE neighbors. The longer I live here, I have realized that we can't even come close, lol! Thank God 'THOSE' neighbors live in various houses throughout the neighborhood and are separated from us but...the house next door is for sale.
Post a Comment
<< Home