Possible NEW Crackhead Nose-Picking Neighbors

The kids next door are moving out. SB chased their asses off in record time. Just kidding. Actually, they found a house in a neighbouring town--the town where SB grew up. Think corn and tractors and FFA, motherfuckers. That's my home town. That's where I come from.

NOTE: FFA stands for Future Farmers of America, but I used to call them Future Fuckers of America, because that shit is immature, and SB still thinks that shit is funny, because it is.

Anyhoo, people have been stopping by to inquire about the For Rent sign out front. Last night, a lady and a few straggly mangy-looking kids and her boyfriend, who I shit you not, picked his nose (but did not eat it, thank Christ), knocked on my door. The lady had sores on her face (methhead), and then I remembered seeing her and the nose-picking boyfriend coming out of a house close by, where I suspect drugs may be sold. Neato.

This lady asked whether my ass got booted for having the yard sale FROM HELL. [She thought it was my half of the house that was for rent!] The monstrosity, the SHEER PHYSICAL FUCKING SPECTACLE, of this fucking sale IS THAT BAD. If it was Christmas time, I'd just throw some X-mas lights up on that shit and it would look like some sort of LOOMING MODERN CHRISTMAS SCULPTURE, and my ass could sell bottled water and charge admission to look at that shit. Surely the local news would feature our house, and we'd win some sort of shitty Chinese-wang local prize.

If I had a damn cell phone, I'd take a damn photo and post that shit, and then all you motherfuckers could collectively gasp. You would gasp, too! Count on that shit. But SB is a good non-complaining neighbour and that shit just amuses the fuck out of me. The yard literally looks like LITTLE KENTUCKY. Ohioans always pick on Kentuckians. We have to be superior to somebody, motherfuckers.

Now, I have to worry about methheads moving in to the other half of the damn house and burning that shit down or poisoning the pets and my ass. CAN YOU SAY METH LAB EXPLOSION, MOTHERFUCKERS? It's a distinct damn possibility. I watch COPS. I know how that shit works. The po-pos have to wear masks when they go into the damn meth labs. And I have a kitten! I have a NEW and FRAGILE fucking life to worry about, people!

And, no, before you ask--this is a small rural Ohio town--it is not typically filled with druggies and low-life sorts--just my particular nitch in the town. Lucky me!

It is raining here today, and SB feels like shithell. Bella, the new kitten, makes more noise than the bloody fires of blooming hell because she is HIGHLY NOCTURNAL, and SB's dumb ass made the mistake of buying her a rhinestone-studded purple tinkle collar with a bell. Did I mention the new collar HAS A BELL and that it tinkles almost CONSTANTLY? Little sleep, peeps. Little sleep.

I finally got up and removed that shit (Bella hates the fucking tinkle collar anyway and kept trying to get it off her own neck frantically--it was quality entertainment), but by then it was 4:30 a.m. so a fucking LOT of good that shit did.

When I left for work this morning, both Mercer and Ginger were in their beds SLEEPING. Those young bitches will wear an old motherfucking ass out. If I teach you motherfuckers nothing else, let it be that shit right there--I repeat: Young bitches will wear your ass out! And well you know it.