Another Adventure

Helga leaves with brat for what seems like the 16th time today. I imagine that when they leave, the car bounces around the neighborhood like Billy in “The Family Circus:” the car goes around causing playful mischief and leaves a trail of black lines mapping its quest. Except in this case the black lines are cigarette ash and tar from Calamity Jane's home-made diorama of "Bum Squad Delta Saves The Day!". Make sure you visit the car-wash before heading home!

He Must Be Here For Easter

As I'm editing something that Wolfgang asked me to look over, he breathlessly reports via cell from the other room that the little girls are practicing walking back and forth to the car. They must be getting ready to open the door for Pope Benedict XI when he makes his annual pilgrimage to their holy grotto. Also, Codename Helga is "txting" (as the youth call it) whilst sitting in a cheap plastic chair on the porch. She suddenly scolded one of the girls, "no, you're NOT starting the car."

The stress level of the deadline I am working under is nothing compared to the legs of said plastic chair.

Brobile Phone

Codename Helga is now standing at the corner of her shed with her back to house like a frat bro (pictured below) when the line for the bathroom is too long.

She is on the phone and mentions going out for more cigs. I think getting cigs is a code for saving the universe. Either that or they eat cigs. Or maybe they are building a Cigarette Palace Playhouse for the kids. Cigarette Jimmy was one of my favorite action-figures as a youngblood; I was especially drawn to his retractible quellazaire (I did not make that word up) and interchangable black lungs. But first Helga has to take out the tobacco and use it to power the television (…like you know how televisions work!).

DWI (Driving While Ignorant)

Our long national nightmare is over as the tan sedan drives down the driveway. Or careens wildly. Your choice.

If I Ran The Circus (I Wouldn't Put It Here)

It is a circus outside. The little girl is sitting in the drivers seat of the car with the dog in her lap while the other 2 little girls sit on the trunk of the car. I'm going to refer to the girl in the driver's seat as Calamity Jane. I can't really tell the girls apart, but I'm going to give Helga's genes the benefit of the doubt. Let's just say there was only one "problem-child" to come out of them. The other kids are simply "good-challenged." As for the girls sitting on the trunk - perhaps Helga is training them to close car trunks that may contain "unwilling cargo" (i.e. the screaming kind). Start 'em young I always say. When I have kids, I'm going to paint them the color of the house walls so they can practice eavesdropping when we have company over.

Some woman is standing there talking to them all woman-y while swinging what seems to be a foxtail (a toy from 1983 – I checked). Now one of the girls is crawling from the the trunk to the top of the car. I can’t imagine a better place for a little girl. If she practices enough, she could ride there on family vacations to Detroit so there could be room inside the car for the important stuff. Like the 9th member of the family: an electric-blue, cardboard cutout of Dale Earnhardt signed on the mustache (you can't really see it too well; it looks like it just says, "iiiillllIIIIlllliiii").

Helga needs a cigarette break from all the inactivity. (Oh, and I didn’t actually check the date of the foxtail, but you believed me anyway).

IJP

...and by "Insensitive Joke Police", I mean "Vinny."

ALERT

There is now a THIRD girl playing outside with "Doggy"! They're multiplying like pod people or things that routinely multiply. Like Asians.

"BOOOOOOO!", the Insensitive Joke Police bellow from the rafters.

Typed Whilst Wearing Earmuffs

The pet next door "Doggy" is squealing like a pig with a pain in his tooth. It sounds like Cyndi Lauper being stuffed into a chipper-shredder.

WTFN Radio

The boyfriend has just returned and it's 4am. I might’ve only noticed because the truck drives right past my window as it parks. Or maybe I noticed because he was blasting music as he did so. I’m not sure what type of music it is as I can only feel the thumping bass in my coccyx and sternum, but even money it’s either Akon or country music. After he parks, he loudly sets the car alarm as though some thief would be desperate enough to steal his truck with stickers of Hobbes’ friend Calvin pissing. Don't get me wrong; it's probably the coolest sticker to ever attach to your car. I think the NRA even requires it on all of their vehicles. As does the NASCAR Fan Association, Skoal 4 America, the KKK, Bow Hunters United, and the American Flag Appreciation Society. It's lucky. One time my friend Bonez found one of those stickers and put it on his car and he never had to wear a condom again!

“Mom, get your butt out here”

One of the little girls just said, “Mom, get your butt out here” in a cute little kid voice. I’m kind of astounded that the girl still hasn’t learned, “Bitch, what the fuck is the hold up; are you OTR or some shit?”

Native American Names

I think we should scrap the Codename jive and give our (wtf) neighbors Native American names. My favorite Native American Name was given to my friend "Diamond" Dave by our buddy Josh Horowitz; it was "Wrong About Grand Slams."

Codename Helga would be "Rears Children With Profanity and Tobacco Breath."

Please Take Your Lunch Break Halfway Through Reading That Last Post

I know. I know. A homecoming joke and a prom joke within the same paragraph. I never went to either, so for all I know they are Spider-Man to Venom. Besides, I know Jesus wouldn't have wanted either to take place (which is why I didn't go).

"Get out of my car before I get mad!"

Helga (to one of the girls): “Get out of my car before I get mad!"

Now I'm no psychiatrist, but judging the tone and pitch of her voice, I'd say it's too late. If Helga's decibel level was my high score in Snood, Sally Jenkins would've definitely found a better night than homecoming to wash her hair. I still can't believe she scheduled her hair washing on that day of all days!

When Helga spoke of her precious motor vehicle, there was an emphasis on “my” as though she was reaffirming the fact that it belonged to her and no one else. It might be the first time she’s owned anything. I mean the limited edition Princess Superstar cassette and "Dog" Chapman: Bounty Hunter dinette set are pretty cool, but this was her home for weeks! She’s not even so sure about the kids: she kind of remembers something about a trash can, prom, and few men with billyclubs, but that was during her “peyote years.”

Interrupted Priorities

While reading the amazing gossip blog "What Would Tyler Durden Do" for the 11th time today, I think I hear a rustling next door. Turns out it's only a helicopter, or as we used to call it in Albany a "ghetto bird."

But before I can finish typing that, Little Girl #2 (or was it #1?) sets off the car alarm for 25 seconds.  

I wonder if that's going to earn her a "whoopin’”, a term that Codename Helga would probably use. Because she’s uncouth.  

(In all fairness, it was probably Little Girl #2's homework assignment from "How to Hotwire a Car" class at our local Devry Institute.)

Icons

If you were wondering (and I know it’s been eating at you), the icons that we use in our profiles are photographs of our actual views of the neighbors. In the case of the neighbors filing suit against us on the grounds of stalking, we will quickly revert to our backup icons of Kid N’ Play (and I already called “Kid,” Josh O!)

Really?!

Somebody just pulled up on a motorcycle.

I repeat: somebody just pulled up on a motorcycle.

As If Teaching Them To Curse Pre-Pubescently Wasn't Enough...

While finishing up work for the day, the tan sedan returns with one of the little girls steering while sitting on the lap of Codename Helga. That’s probably safe.

Hmf.

Did Codename Helga have a few too many libations at the brewery???

"Get The Fuck Out Here"

Today I am awoken from a nap by, “Get the fuck out here” repeated a couple times. I don’t think Codename Helga would yell at her kids that way unless it was an emergency. Maybe the duct tape and silly putty that was holding together the bathroom burst and the house is flooding. Or maybe it's "Bring your child" day at the local brewery and they're quickly running out of Bud.

Lunchtime Letdown

As I sit and eat my salad,

these infernal children are playing with their pet, appropriately named "Doggy." Outside-the box thinkers, these lasses. One of the girls goes on to exclaim "buh buh buh bump!" It's SO NICE that spring is finally here and open window weather is upon us.

F-Bombs

I just returned from the kitchen, and Josh & I proceeded to speak intensely about the proper way to write "F-Bombs." We were tempted to ask Codename Helga herself for advice, but I don't think she knows what "F-Bombs" are. We would've had to say "FUCK-Bombs." Instead, we just flipped a coin.

Over/Under: Many

Wolfgang and I are tallying the F-Bombs Codename Helga is currently dropping with great relish and frequency during a phone chat. This beauty clearly belongs to the highest strata of our Society. Methinks there is no finer creature in our fair city. Have you ever seen her dance the Mazurka? Such dainty feet and well-turned ankles!

...oh. There's another three F-Bombs as she lights a ciggy.

Wolfgang declares "this is too much excitement for me" and retreats to the kitchen.

Jobs?

They are leaving again. I don’t think any of them have jobs (And yes, I realize that my spying on them all day not having a job is super ironic). No, I think their job is to go somewhere every couple of hours. Maybe they test cars? Maybe they are doing other experiments? Like fitting roaches with house arrest bracelets for the tiny insect prisons that we will so desperately need in the future.

Notice To The Public

After a high-level meeting, we have decided to refer to the terrible, half-bleach blonde chain-smoking walrus as Codename Helga.

All Thanks To A Condom Brand Called "None"

A different car from the normal ratty Jeep Cherokee Sport just pulled into the driveway. It looks to be a tan sedan (unintentional rhyme ...or was it?). We just decided that these neighbors of ours need codenames. The woman, who shall remain codename-less (for now) just entered the house with two little girls that we've never seen before. Fuckbeans – they have KIDS. We’re clearly in for it now.

An Exceedingly Legal Disclaimer: Vincent “Wolfgang McSkeeter” McCrink and josho! are not liable for any shenanigans involving little people during any sexy parties hosted at 1Prime (our home).

A Second Exceedingly Legal Disclaimer: Any and all parties hosted at 1Prime are inherently unsexy; in fact, they are rather drab.

I Should Be Asleep By Now

Today, I witnessed our neighbors coming and/or going in their automobile four times while Vinny “Wolfgang McSkeeter” McCrink noticed 3 separate excursions. They have driven their car up and down the driveway a grand total of 7 times in one twelve hour period; this begs the question: W. T. F. (neighbor)? Where are they going? What sort of riff-raff are they engaging in?

I don't think I'll be able to compose myself enough to fall asleep tonight. My brain is abuzz with all sorts of possibilities about where these weirdos are going.

In no particular order:

-a local renaissance festival

-a silent auction of silent movies

-a meeting with their Witness Protection Program advisor

-a "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie" reenactment (psst! They're Foot Soldiers!!)

First Post!

As we are throwing around the concept of this blog, the neighbors leave again. It’s literally been eleven minutes and one josho! shower since we decided to start logging their journeys and now there is an unprecedented flurry of activity. I think this time there is a fire down by the old mill and they are the only ones on the HAM radio right now, so it’s up to them to lead the bucket brigade!