I haven't really discussed my new neighborhood very much. Unless I'm wrong, I think I referenced it twice thus far in Jerks of the Week. The first instance occurred when I was lucky enough to witness the Best Football Player Ever. The second, when my Russian gypsy neighbors stole my trash can.
An update on both: I sometimes see the Best Football Player running up and down the hill a few backyards over. He occasionally does this on Sundays when football is on TV. He's obviously such a great football player that he doesn't need to watch professionals.
Oh, and I've discovered that my Russian gypsy neighbors aren't really gypsies. There are only three people who permanently live in that house. One is a hot chick, who unfortunately is married with a baby. I'd try to do something about this, but I don't want to be known as the neighborhood slut/home-wrecker. Not yet anyway. I've only lived here for a year and a half. I'd like to be here at least three years before I begin sleeping with everyone and ruining marriages. I think that seems reasonable.
Anyway, the guy she's married to is Husky Dude from my previous entry. I don't know why he said, "No, no leeeve heeeerrrre" to me when I first met him. Maybe he's a pathological liar. Maybe he didn't understand what I was saying. Or maybe he was scared that I'd steal his wife, commandeer his house and take all of his precious Russian jewels.
The reason I thought these people were gypsies was because so many people came in and out of their house. As it turns out, both of their in-laws live nearby, so they're always coming over to watch the house, take care of the baby and secure the Russian jewels.
This, however, does not explain the homeless woman I always see snooping around their house. She's in her mid-40s and looks like she hasn't showered in years. Her hair is dirty, and she always wears sweats with stains on them. I know, I know, that sounds hot, but trust me, it isn't.
I mean, it's OK to be unkempt - I wear sweats with stains all the time (who doesn't?) - but I always see her pushing an empty baby carriage around. And I'm serious when I say this - on the few occasions in which I've been close enough to peer into the carriage she constantly walks around with, I've never seen a baby in there. Not once.
Now, there are a number of explanations for this. She may have lost her mind, much like Claire from LOST, so perhaps she finds dead squirrels, puts them in her carriage and pretends they are her children. That's just one possibility. Another is that like me, Homeless Carriage Woman wants to sleep with Husky Dude's wife and steal his Russian jewels, so perhaps she's out to prove that she can be motherly.
I know what you're thinking now: "Walt, why don't you eliminate Homeless Carriage Woman so you're the only one that your hot neighbor will consider cheating on her husband with?" That's a very good question, I'm glad you asked. The issue is that Homeless Carriage Woman is insane.
My office is on the second floor and faces the backyard, which is how I can see the Best Football Player Ever acting like an idiot. Well, on one summer day, I spotted Homeless Carriage Woman in my neighbor's backyard. She was scooping water out of the baby pool and dumping it onto the grass, much like an OCD maniac. She did this for several minutes until it appeared she heard something. She then grabbed her baby carriage and ran away.
What an idiot. Seriously, how can anyone be such a moron? Stupid Homeless Carriage Woman, the Russian jewels aren't in the baby pool. I already checked.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 2: Cookie Thieves
I used to have a blast making fun of the Evil Vietnamese kids in my old neighborhood. Of course, it was easy to do this because they broke fire hydrants, helped their dad evade taxes and shouted heterosexually challenged things to each other in the pool, like "I have rubber in my butt!" Not that there's anything wrong with that.
There are a**hole kids in my neighborhood as well, though they're of the Native American variety (the ones from the country of Native America - the one that non-politically correct racists refer to as "India," whatever the hell that means.)
My doorbell rang one evening back in October. I answered the door to find two Native American kids of about 12 years old standing on my porch. Jerry Sandusky would have been thrilled, but I was rather annoyed. I remember that I was eating barbeque Pringles at the time, and I had to stop because these jerks wanted something. The nerve.
Native American Kid: Hi, we're trying to raise some money for a fundraiser!
Me: Fine. I'll give you $4, some beads and a clump of dog hair for your land.
OK, fine, I didn't say this. White people have done enough to Native Americans over the years. I'm a nice guy, so I wasn't going to contribute to their misery. I'll let someone else can buy their house in exchange for various knickknacks.
Native American Kid: We're selling cookies! Would you like to buy some cookies, sir?
Me: ARE YOU AN IDIOT!? OF COURSE I WOULD!!!
I honestly don't know if I said this or not because the prospect of buying cookies without leaving my house greatly excited me.
Native American Kid: Here's the menu. What would you like?
Me: OMG OMG OMG CHOCOLATE COOKIES OATMEAL COOKIES SPRINKLE COOKIES VANILLA COOKIES ALL CHOCOLATE COOKIES COOKIE COOKIE COOKIE COOKIE NOM NOM NOM!!
Native American Kid: Are you OK, sir?
Me: COOKIE COOKIE COOKIE COOKIE COOKIE COOKIE!!!
I ran upstairs to grab my money. Thinking $40 was enough to buy 5-6 boxes, I threw the two Jackson bills into the kid's face.
Me: I WANT CHOCOLATE COOKIES OATMEAL COOKIES SPRINKLE COOKIES VANILLA COOKIES ALL CHOCOLATE COOKIES BARBEQUE COOKIES COOKIE COOKIE COOKIE COOKIE!!
Native American Kid: A box of cookies is $20, so you can only get two.
There's no doubt I was getting cheated here. Perhaps this was retaliation for the White Man buying New York from their ancestors for a mere $18.
It was a tough decision, but I ultimately settled on two boxes of sprinkle cookies because the other types can be purchased at Bottom Dollar Food. I've looked all over Bottom Dollar, and I regrettably haven't been able to find sprinkle cookies anywhere. This depressed me for weeks.
At any rate, my neighbor Gene texted me shortly afterward. He asked if I'd be home next week so I could hold the cookies he purchased while he was away on a business trip. I said I'd do it, but didn't specify whether I'd hold the cookies on my counter top or in my stomach. Muhahahaha!
The following week came and went. No cookies. I didn't get any cookies the week after either. Or the week after that... or the week after that. Thanksgiving passed; no cookies. Pearl Harbor Day passed; no cookies. Christmas was quickly approaching; no cookies.
I was very angry. I had a chance to buy the Native American property for $4, beads and dog hair, yet I decided against it because I'm a decent guy. So, what do I get in return? A couple of Native American kids who swindle me out of $40, that's what! It's so true what they say about nice guys finishing last.
I couldn't complain or anything because I didn't know exactly where they live. There are about 80 or so houses in my development, and everyone's Russian, Asian or Native American, and all the latter families have multiple kids, so I had given up hope. I was down 40 bucks and had no cookies in my belly. Life couldn't get any worse.
Or so I thought. I received a call from an unknown number around Christmas time.
Caller: Hi, what is your address? We have your cookies for you. Sorry for taking so long.
Minutes later, the two Native American kids were back on my doorstep. They handed me two white boxes and left.
As I shut the door, I noticed something strange. The two boxes were really cold, almost as if they just came out of a freezer. My heart sank when I read the label on the boxes:
Cookie dough? Does this taste as good as cookies? I kept reading:
"BAKING INSTRUCTIONS: Convection Oven (with fan) Pre-heat and Bake at 325 degrees. Conventional Oven (no fan) Pre-heat and Bake at 360 degrees."
What the f***!?!??! I just want to eat f***ing cookies! I don't know how to bake. I'm not some sort of witch doctor or brain surgeon. Ugh!!!
1. What exactly is an oven? Is that the microwave on the bottom of the kitchen place thing? I know how to microwave things, but the bottom microwave/oven thing looks much more daunting.
2. How can I tell if my oven has a fan? I've never opened my oven thing, so what do I look for? Does it look like a ceiling fan?
3. Pre-heat? I know what heat is, but what the hell is pre-heat? How do you pre-heat something? I assume you heat stuff in an oven, but where do you pre-heat something? Hmm... well, birds sit on their eggs and that heats them, so maybe they mean that I should sit on my cookie dough before putting it in the oven. I may try this soon unless people tell me otherwise.
4. What do they mean by 325 or 360 degrees? There is no such option on the microwave, so maybe the oven is a little bit different? That still seems way too hot though. I went into the hot tub recently, and it was way too hot even at 106 degrees, so heating something to 325 or 360 degrees would probably burn my whole house down.
Perhaps that's exactly what those Native American kids have been plotting all along. Well played.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 3: Jerks Around the Bush
I have a pet groundhog. No lie. Well, OK, maybe I don't. Not really, anyway.
Remember how I said my office overlooks my backyard? Well, right in the middle of this area is a bush with strange purple leaves. A groundhog apparently has a hole under the bush because I always see it running toward the bush if someone or something (like a stray cat) approaches.
One such person who bothered my pet groundhog was a Russian woman in her 50s. She was walking with a small dog and she approached the bush. She started peering around for about five minutes until she decided to rip the leaves off the bush. She created a small pile by doing this, and then she inexplicably started stomping on the leaves. It was one of the weirdest things I've ever seen. Even her dog looked at her in bewilderment.
Leaf Ripper then walked away. About 10 minutes later, she came back with a random Mexican worker who was holding a chainsaw. She barked at him for a couple minutes, but all he did was say a couple of words. He then shrugged his shoulders and walked away. I couldn't hear the conversation, but I imagine that it went like this:
Leaf Ripper: Vy iz zeez leavez porplez? Need cut boosh down!!!
Mexican Worker: I dunnnoooo...
Leaf Ripper: Big rat leev in zis boosh. Need cut boosh down!!!
Mexican Worker: I no speak a English...
Leaf Ripper: Please to cut porple boosh down!!!
Mexican Worker: No deport, please, no deport...
Leaf Ripper isn't the only jerk I've seen around my pet groundhog's home. There was once this girl who was wearing a red hoodie and tight black pants. She had a tremendous a**. Unfortunately, she was with some dude who had a Justin Bieber lesbian-style haircut.
Lesbian Haircut Man took off his belt and began whipping the leaves. After he got bored doing that, he took out a lighter and pretended like he was going to set the bush on fire. The chick thought this was hot because they started making out minutes later.
Some thoughts on this:
1. For all you psychotic pyromaniacs out there, this is proof that there is a hot woman out there for you - even if you wear your hair like most lesbians.
2. I have the urge to steal Lesbian Haircut Man's girlfriend. She may only like dudes who play with fire, but that's cool. I'll light myself on fire for her. I did say that she has a great a**, after all, so why wouldn't I?
3. I'll actually light anything on fire. Anything, that is, except for my pet groundhog's bush.
I can't allow the groundhog's home to be burned down. After all, I wouldn't be able to tell the weather without it, and I need to know the weather because as you all probably know, the best time to hunt for Russian jewels is when it's sunny outside.