The house above is used as a representation only. The crackheads that live next door to me do not live in this house although they may have at one time. WARNING: If you are a crackhead or smackhead, do not read the following article.
As if life wasn't stressful enough. We fight to make a living and make our own way coasting from paycheck to paycheck as the searing heat of summer casts the neighborhood into an oppressive haze. Paris Hilton may be emotionally damaged for life after her days spent in the cuckoo section of an L.A. jail's medical ward and I have no idea if she received my get well card. I haven't won the lottery and as a result have been unable to find any way to support myself at any type of beach home on the Hawaiian coast. I don't have any rich relatives willing to support me in a lifestyle to which I would like to become accustomed. My wife's cucumber and tomato plants suffer greatly at the hands of rebel bird and bug forces determined to storm the garden's borders. She worked hard on that garden and much to my chagrin I can testify to the old axiom which states that if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy, no matter how big or little the conundrum.
To top it off, Hispanic gangsters have moved in next door and created the "Crackhead Inn." They are loud, disrespectful, filthy, and involved in a criminal enterprise having more than a little to do with what I allege to be narcotics distribution. They all have "cool" tattoos and beautiful cars worth more than the shack they now inhabit. I guess shiny rims make the man. They must compete in contests to see who can achieve the most stupid haircut in the history of mankind. Some have a little hair and then a bald spot and then a pony tail. Many of them copied the beanie craze of the early nineties but wear them with thinner more summer friendly materials. They look even more ridiculous to see them in person. They have one or two illegitimate children shrieking through the yard at all hours but they do break from their drug activities long enough to run to the all night McDonald's to purchase the hopeless welp a "Happy Meal." I guess it's different city and same pointless subculture.
Let's see, they are dealing dope or have the greatest big screen TV in the history of our city. At least 20 different vehicles and 40 different individuals stop by to check it out and leave inside of ten minutes. Oh yeah, they all carry a duffel bag or sack inside and leave with it. I hardly ever take my duffel bag over to a friend's house to watch a game. Thank God the police have been called and responded over 20 times. The "gangstas" next door think their polite demeanor towards the men and women in blue passes for good citizenry and deflects any of the suspicions police may have when they arrive. Too bad the police know and we know that to develop any type of cause for a criminal case there must be surveillance, activity logs, and detailed reports compiled to develop probable cause. And too bad for them, there is. So the next time one of the Mexican Mafia shouts towards my bedroom window in a drunken Spanish stupor, I can only smile at the fact that it is only a matter of time before he'll be worrying about dropping the soap. One more tirade like the one at 4:00 this morning and I'll intentionally provoke them. I'll fly the Mexican flag at half-mast and upside down. I mean let's be honest, they already wear their pants at half mast and most of them would probably be surprised to know that there are a lot of military and police retirees within their proximity that really aren't scared of a good fight. Some of us old boys are actually trained to shoot back.
It should be a great summer.