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Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Goddamn Yard Work!

So last night I got home and got to mowing the lawn. Pretty exciting stuff, right? Okay, not so much, but the old guy who lives across the street stopped me while I was mowing to chit-chat. And by “chit-chat” I mean say things to me like this:

“The English are so goddamn stupid! They don’t know how to make a goddamn road that works right. They just build the goddamn road, and then before it’s finished they put a goddamn building in the way so the goddamn road has to stop. It’s so goddamn stupid. I told them that they’re lucky that the U.S. saved their goddamn butts in World War too otherwise Hitler would have crushed their goddamn asses! Those goddamn people weren’t so fond of me. Oh well. The English are just so goddamn stupid!”

“The French are just so goddamn filthy. When I was in Europe, when I was in the service for 15 months during the ‘bad time’ over there, me and my pals called them ‘Pigs’ because they’re so goddamn dirty. Those goddamn people never bathed. Goddamn filthy pigs!”

There was more, but those were a couple of the highlights. Eventually, I was able to get back to mowing. And by “eventually” I mean about 20 minutes later. Old guy likes to talk. About an hour or so later, I went outside to finish watering the lawn. I was rolling up the hose (literally I was; that’s not a euphemism or anything), and lo and behold, Old Guy comes driving out again, once again just stopping at my driveway and wanting me to come talk to him. After a few minutes of exhilarating lawn-care conversation, he then started telling me about the people in the northeastern U.S. I got some nuggets of info like this:

“I was in New Jersey once when I was driving my truck, and some goddamn driver from there made a crack about how I made a ‘starvation wage.’ I told him that my house was a lot bigger than his goddamn flat. And he was stammering, stumbling, and stuttering when I said that to him. Goddamn northeastern jerks!”

“Some goddamn guy in Baltimore once asked me if the west, where I lived, was a rough as it was in the movies. I told him that it wasn’t that bad, but I carried a 30/30 Winchester just in case some goddamn Indian tried to attack me. The guy gave me a look like this (he gaped) and I told him that I didn’t shoot the Indians to kill. I just shot them in the shoulder to knock them back. And that goddamn northeastern believed it. They’re so goddamn stupid!”

This conversation lasted another 20 minutes before I could escape. No wonder why I hate yard work so goddamn much!

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