September 1, 2012

• Average American street, with average American idiots!

     AT THE CORNER OF SANE AND DORK

   

      I often sit on my front porch in the morning having my cup of coffee. As I sit, I observe the ebb and flow of humanity as it slugs up and down my street like a septic drain field. Young men driving by in their cars listening to some screecher rapping about his gonads being on fire and needing love moister to put it out….or something like that. As they cruise by, they’re gyrating and shaking their heads to the music like they’re transfixed in the middle of an exorcism and the demons are winning. Sometimes they’ll flick a cigarette butt out the window or maybe an empty can of Red Bull for me to pick up later and dispose of.

      Sometimes they have their girlfriends sitting next to them with their bare feet up on the dash and the pink and purpled haired bimbet will also be ratcheting her head back and forth to the music causing her multiple ear piercings to rattle like the corset on a belly dancer. Likewise, she’ll most likely toss a butt out the window along with a half empty Slurpee cup, which I’ll also have to pick up later.

      Then the mail-lady pulls up in her truck to fill my mailbox with AARP propaganda and ’OPEN IMMEDIATELY’ junk mail. She has weird symbolic tattoos from her wrist to her pits and what looks like a bloated rattle snake around her neck. She wears what’s called cargo pants, which covers her robust legs and hides whatever ink tapestries lurk there. Ralph, from across the street, says she’s a bull dyke lesbian that killed off her lover in prison years ago during a moment of autoerotic asphyxiation using the elastic from her knickers. I usually take gossip from Ralph with limited credibility, especially when I smell NyQuil on his breath.

      A landscaping truck rolls by with a dozen fence refugees riding in the back singing mariachi songs and tossing empty coffee cups over the side……to be picked up later. The guy driving the truck looks like a brown Pillsbury Doughboy with a bandito mustache. Across the dash of his truck is the reenactment of the Passion play done in plastic figurines surrounded by empty taco wrappers and coffee cups. Still….it’s good to see folks employed.

      Before I get off my butt to head inside for my Spam sandwich lunch, the FedEx truck stops in front of the house and this sweating little brunette Barbie leaps from the truck like a gazelle and comes skipping across my lawn with a package of goat cheese that Wifey ordered. The young lady hands me this electronic device and instructs me to scrawl my signature on it, and then she waves it over the package like some kind of voodoo ritual releasing spirits and then hands me the goat cheese. She then gives me a smile and a nod and prances back to her truck with her ponytail flopping. She’s most likely on meth, I figure.

      My street is just an average American street with average American neighbors living average American lives doing average American drugs. It’s the average American idiots that concern me the most, but at lease they live in Washington on our average American tax dollars. (Sorry about sneaking in that political jab).

   

   

  • 12:12 pm
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