Friday, October 16, 2009

From the city, the city of Compton. We keep it rockin'....

I really don't live in Compton. I just heard about it, like most of you white suburbanites people, from a Dr. Dre song. And that's just fine. According a a Facebook quiz, my ghetto-survival skills are all about zero anyhoo.

I live in a nice neighborhood on a nice side of an okay city. I have a bunch of protected woods behind my house that a local VFW owns and since they're too busy drinking and remembering the war of aught' twenty niner throwing dinner parties, they don't do diddly-do with the woods and we have all sorts of beautiful wildlife and lovely vistas. I have a veritable herd of deer who tromp around my back yard, exciting my Giant Tan Dog - who is pretty sure he's being kept from a reunion with his 'kinfolk, the Giant Tan Animals. I have a lovely pond. I have lovely herons who eat lovely fish in a very nature-show manner (which is NOT kid friendly I add). You get the idea. Nice area, nice wildlife, etc.

I have some nice neighbors, I really do. Some other neighbors-who-shall-remain- nameless (for fear of shanking), I am pretty sure, import heroin, sell crack, export babies on the black market - no one knows. I wouldn't care about the crack-selling or the baby exporting, but the wife is so batshit crazy, she might, and I'm saying this in the flavor of the youth of today, cutabitch at any moment, for no real reason. She freaked on my husband earlier this year....for landscaping near her yard. Our land, near hers. Her husband calmed her down and looked vaguely embarrassed. You don't want the 5-0 rolling up when you export stolen crack babies - whatever.

What's more fun than that you ask? I'll tell you! Across our picturesque heron refuge of a pond is a Crazy Guy with a weird fence. I call him Crazy Fence Guy. So far, he's managed to piss off half the neighborhood for yelling "Get off my lawn!" all Nebbercracker-style at people. The funny part? It's not his lawn. It's an easement/common area thing. Then he started taking pictures of people walking their dogs on the common area. We know not why. Last night though, Crazy Fence Guy got himself all juiced up on the 'henny or something and started popping caps at the sky. According to my husband (who knows such things), the average 9 millimeter handgun can hold 16 or more shots. I heard about ten. The cops came, but no one is sure why he went nutty or what happened after the fact.

I love my house, but never thought gunshots would be on the soundtrack. The fun part? Crazy Fence Guy and Crack/Baby Sellers are friends. Shocking right? We keep it rockin'....we keep it rockin', now lemme see you shake. Shake it Cali!

Comments, questions, crappy neighbors?

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