Friday, July 14, 2006

Angry Resident of 2nd Street writes:

We moved into our new duplex the same day that our neighbors did, and from the beginning they were the most annoying people on earth. The woman who is late fifties walks around all day in SHORT shorts and little tops with her old ass hanging out drinking beer, walking their puppy who looks like it's starving. The husband initially wouldn't even make eye contact when he spoke to you. I wish I could go back to those days. We tried to ignore them and deflect any form of relationship other than "Hi".

Only since we do not smoke in our home every time we went out for a cigarette the old, drunk, skank would babble at us about her glory days as an Army nurse. My boyfriend formerly being in the Army accidentally took the bait and unfortunately started dialog. FUCK!!!!

This is a nice neighborhood, a couple blocks from the beach, surrounded by law offices in homes and I am baffled as to how they can afford to live here. Neither have a job, just a disability check for the wife. They didn't have any furniture when they moved in and still do not two months later, just an airbed (that they have to inflate every day and we can hear every time) , and said it was because of a house fire right after their insurance lapsed. Oh and had previously been living in a tent! Yay!

Week three their car broke down, and we made the mistake of being nice and giving them a ride once, now we are their personal chauffeurs any time we are seen leaving. Apparently they can never have enough beer or cigarettes. Time spent in the car will unleash more information than you need. Turns out we live above a pill popping felon and his druggie ex-nurse wife. Now it's scary.

By week four the husband had lost his job, and I guess they had run out of drugs because we were asked to drive the little lady out of state to "one" of her doctors. Turns out they both eat more than a hundred and eighty percosets in two weeks (Jezus thats alot of percs, that is a perc each every 4 hours. I'm suprised they are not dead - Editor), plus a litany of other drugs and alcohol. They make out like they NEED them and at the time we had no idea what we were doing, she just said medication she needed.

I woke up one morning to the sound of their puppy crying out. The man was downstairs beating it with a broom. I was on my way to the phone book for the cops or humane society, when the wife knocks on my door to "talk" and get away from him. I wish I had called someone that day, but that fucking cunt was up here. She stayed all day, whining and not making any sense. Later I walked downstairs to see bllod on the floor in little spots everywhere.

We deal with loud Country music blaring up through the floor. The fighting, the nasty element of white trash friends they bring around, the unholy sight of over the hill buttocks in teenager shorts, the creepy ex con husband who is loaded at all times. They have had the nerve to ask us to use our oven, when they have one, if they could get our cable spliced to their half of the house, if we had any "papers" like we are still in high school or pot smoking losers like them.

Everyday we pray for their death, or for them to fight so we can call the cops.

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