Howdy, folkpeople! I hope you’re all full of mirth and not forced to pick up someone else’s dog shit like me!
Percy, how you’ve been taken for a fool!
I recently moved into a new home for folks waiting to kick the tin bucket. Lick the final stamp. Thatch the yard one last time. You get the idea, faithful blog readers.
The new place, Terminal Pines Senior’s Paradise, is down the street from a dog park. All morning as I sit and read the transcript from the prior day’s Paul Harvey Show I’m forced to observe my lazy neighbors walking their three-legged dogs and yapping furballs past my bay window. And if I had a buffalo nickel for every time I had to throw my remote control gun at the window, I’d have enough money for an extra case of Pabst every month!
Percy, why do you refuse to buy the party-sized 30-pack?!
The other day, though, I was at my wit’s end! The three-legged dog and his mill rat owner were traipsing in the grass outside my window when I saw the last lawn deposit I ever wanted to see in my life. I was overcome with rage — the kind of rage you get when someone cuts in front of you in line at Wal-Mart and you realize they have a full cart to your bottle of Maalox and box of Jalapeño Poppers.
I hobbled my way to the front door of Terminal Pines and yelled at the Lathe Lackey as he tried to dash off with his odd mutt in tow.
“How’d you like it if I shit in your front yard?” I screamed at him.
“What? Oh, I. That wasn’t from my dog’s ass, you old man.” he bellowed at me.
I didn’t bother replying because at the moment I’d already forgotten what I had planned to say to him. It was good, I know that much. But sometimes you have to practice patience and focus on the war instead of the battle. I learned that from Bob Hope during his USO Tour back in Korea. In this case, that meant waiting until he wedged himself in his tiny Korean car and made his way to the cardboard factory he’ll eventually lose a finger to.
I sauntered down the sidewalk towards his cottage house and proceeded to make a little lawn deposit of my own. Nothing like a little vigilante justice to right the wrongs perpetrated on Terminal Pines! Next thing you know, dear reader, his wife pops out of the house screaming like I’d just taken their first born to the prom. I fastened my velcro belt and tried to pretend I didn’t know what was going on, but she kept insisting I pick up the lawn ornament I donated. I relented, dear reader, when she threatened to call the police. Last thing ol’ Percy needs is another lawsuit to juggle while I’m trying to get this RWI (Rascalling While Intoxicated) dropped.
The lesson, readerfolk, is that you need to wait until it’s dark out before you exact revenge. No one can see you; it’s why ninjas wear black and it’s why my son waits until the midnight hour to steal my pills. Now if you’ll excuse me, readers and readerettes, I have to go wash my hands.