Won’t You Be My Neighbor?
 
So... my neighbors are really fucked up.  The Clan and I--that’s “Clan” as in “Family” not “Klan” as in “Ignorant Redneck Fuckers”--moved to a new apartment recently and now I am surrounded by crazies and/or dumbshits.
 
The first weekend we were here my wife and I were sitting in the living room talking. I was saying something like, “So the Rabbi says to the Priest,’ I don’t care what it tastes like, get it out of your mouth!’,” when we heard this very loud THUD. Followed by a very loud, very guttural ”UUUUUUHHHHHHH!!!  UUUUHHHHHH!!!!!”  We stopped talking for a second. Then I said it was probably some drunk asshole falling down the stairs or jumping off the balcony because drunk asshole are always doing things like that and we laughed. About twenty minutes later we saw the flashing lights. Apparently the drunk asshole lived in the third story apartment across from us and they were wheeling him away on a stretcher from the slight indentation on the ground.
 
A few days after that while I was at work my wife took our two year old to the local playground/graffiti art display where she met a Russian lady who was also one of our neighbors. She didn’t speak very good English but she was able to exchange a few niceties and small talk and tell my wife, Rachel, that they used to have three cats “but we eat one”. Side note to this anecdote: Beware of old Russian women with multiple scratch wound scars on their face.
 
Then there’s this Indian couple--dots, not feathers--that live next to us. Now, I like foreign people, they have good food, but if you’re going to ask me to help you move your washing machine, or borrow my patio furniture, you don’t have to bring your whole family over to ask. And one night I came home from work and there were two women, 27 children, and 150 bags of groceries all in front of their apartment. Somehow they had locked themselves out... from the inside. Their safety chain had been set and there was no one in the house. How the poop does that happen?
 
Why is it you never see these people until after you move into your new place. By then you’ve signed your lease. You’re committed. Then you meet the shifty Australian that lives below you that likes to come out every so often and smash a beer bottle on his head and scream “ROYT!!! NA THAT’S FUCKIN’ AUSTRALIAN!” There’s also this guy who shows up every night in his car and picks his friend, our neighbor, up from work. He never gets out of the car. He just honks his horn. Every night. Same time. I know he’s going to be there. Surely my neighbor knows he’s going to be there. QUIT HONKING THE GODDAMN HORN! I know you can’t legislate common sense but learning it must not have been an option for these people. I mean, they can’t all be crazy, right? Some of them just must be ...stupid. Which kind of makes me wonder about myself. Clearly these people have gathered here for some unknown cosmic reason. And if that is the case that must make me either crazy or stupid. Could that be true? Holy shit. I hadn’t even considered that until just this second. Oh fuck me. Am I stupid? I’m not stupid. I don’t going around checking if the penny fits in all the outlets. Or is that crazy? Oh wow man, this is getting deep. To determine whether or not I’m crazy or stupid lies in the difference between the two. So the real question is : Where is the line between crazy and stupid? Oh wait, I’m married with children. That makes me both.

~~~~~
 
If you have any naked pictures of Al Bundy, feel free to email them to Tadd.