Insert 'Shawshank' Joke Here

On a recent jaunt to my parked car, which was stationed up the hill from 1Prime, I happened to fall into step with Five Drinks who was also engaged in the same task.

We didn't make eye contact, nor did she recognize me as the more hairy and handsome of her two next door neighbors (probably because I was never approached to mow their lawn). As I reached my car, I broke off to cross the street. Five Drinks continued up the side walk towards her sedan.

I craned my neck to the left to get one more look, and, instead of turning into a pillar of salt, I got a chance to read the back of her black zip-up windbreaker:

DEPARTMENT

of
CORRECTIONS

(it read)

Visions Of Penis

I'm pretty surprised that this didn't happen until now, but it has finally happened, so I will write about it.

For some reason, our bathroom is set up so that the only window is directly behind the toilet. Furthermore, this window is positioned at such a height so that only the central region of the standing individual can be seen. I.E.: if you are urinating in a male position, the only thing visible through the window is your bishop. This window also happens to directly face their sideporch door. Somehow, this has never been a problem before, or at least they haven't said anything about it.

Ironically, it was one of our friends who actually got yelled at for such a display. As "The Zahn" was peeing, he heard the screen door open and one of the women shouted, "Close the window!". Luckily, The Zahn is used to such comments, so he was barely fazed. It's still makes me pretty giddy thinking about them opening up their screen door and just seeing a facefull of peeing cock illuminated against the otherwise pitch black sideporch. Maybe now they know what it feels like to see 5 Drinks dance in "shorts" (read: a jean material g-string). That's right, it's like seeing a facefull of dick.

I Only Beat Her When She Deserves It

I am going to attempt to describe what is happening right now. Let's just be clear: it's 4am on a TUESDAY night. I am up reading because I don't have a job right now. Here is what I'm not doing: waking up the entire neighborhood with drunken escapades bordering on domestic abuse.

One of the "women" next door is having a "conversation" with her "boyfriend." It might be 4.5 Drinks and Rat-A-Tat. I'm not going to look out the window because I don't like bullets, but our side door is open, so I can hear a lot. Regardless, as far as I can tell, he is repeatedly trying to leave in his truck and has been repeatedly told (by her) to leave in his truck. Sounds simple, right? Both parties seem to want to achieve the same end result via the same means. Incorrect.

Each time he starts the ignition, he turns it off after a few seconds. This has happened NO LESS than 10 times with cursing intermittent. I'm still trying to piece together what exactly is happening, but from the way he is shouting, "You psycho bitch!" after each time he starts his truck, I'm assuming she is doing something brilliant like standing in front of his truck. She is occasionally shouting things like, "Fucking Answer Me!" until he gets out of his car and probably places her elsewhere, after which her shouting becomes, "Fine, Leave!". The instant the ignition starts up again, she is in front of the truck again like the eternal stumbling block she is.

I actually got pretty scared at one point and even had to put my bookmark in my book (after many months of living next to them, I now just try to read through all commotion). It was when she started gasping like she was being choked and saying she couldn't feel her finger. This probably happened because he accidentally? slammed her finger in the door in one of his multiple escape attempts. This gave her a few rounds of extra sympathy: "[I'm not going to use his real name], look how swollen my finger is!"

She must've really been pie-eyed because I think she forgot about her finger only 2 truck starts later. Besides finger-slamming (which sounds a lot more fun in an altogether separate context), R-A-T experimented with the whiz-bang stratagem of blasting the horn repeatedly. If that doesn't work on deer, I don't understand why it would work on a drunk hooker with kids who are, by the way, "sleeping" in the house at this point. He tried the horn thing 3 times (each time blasting it at least a half dozen times) just in case there was anyone in the neighborhood who was still asleep.

Eventually she gave up and he left successfully. Well at least he's not drunk driving. Jesus.

Texts From Last Night II

2:01:04 am Bon Jodi: "U will never guess what we just saw next door"

2:01:36 am Bon Jodi: "I think it's Five Drinks but she was giving a guy a lap dance"

Codename Update

Newsflash:

After another glance, the staff of WTFN is considering re-dubbing Five Drinks to Four Drinks.

Or maybe I just grabbed the wrong bottle for my pre-work virgin mimosa.

Trashy Trash

Due to rain and global warming, The Neighbors have been staying off their side porch these past couple days, so allow me to go into a little more detail concerning Sunday night. Firstly, it was pouring as Five Drinks & Misty battled the evil trash receptacles to the curbside. For secret agents, they certainly seemed to have had a lot of libations. It’s probable that they came straight from Tonic, which is a popular Sunday-night bar well known for showing hardcore “choke your girlfriend” pornography on 80% of its television screens. I dare you to take a girl to Tonic on a Sunday night and not get punched in the face. It would be like taking a deer to see Bambi.

Did drinking on a Sunday night help them with their mission? Luckily, they drink every night like it was a Tuesday night, so they have very high tolerances. All I heard amongst the giggling was, “It’s falling!” which is not a phrase you want to hear when the rain has been filling your trashcans for days. It’s why they come with lids. Though, to be fair, they probably thought the water would decompose the garbage to a fine soup that they could then eat. Who says they don’t recycle? Who am I kidding: the only chemical reaction they understand is Gin + Scotch = More Tiny Humans (and even on that one they miscalculated at least twice).

One of our more astute readers (TJC) recently commented on the fact that they just asked me a week ago when to take out trash even though they have been living there for some time. Let us ponder some possibilities of what they might have been doing with their trash before now (before they knew they could just take it to the curb):

• Lure Oscar to a new home so they would no longer have to pay for their “virtual babysitter”
• Host an eating contest
• Hope that it breeds a dianoga that they could then sell
• Hope to collect enough trash so the city would give them a trash dumpster so they could house more relatives
• Paint it white and use it as Halloween costumes of which the irony would lost only on them

My Chat With Five Drinks

I was outside mowing my lawn yesterday after work (Friday) when I had, by far, the longest conversation with our neighbors that any of us have ever had. It ended with the possibility of many such future interactions, but I’m getting ahead of myself. I did that on purpose to get you excited.

I had brought a pen and paper outside with me because Rat-A-Tat had been on the porch with no shirt on cursing at the dog earlier. And just in case some conversation among them was too long, I had brought my phone so I could call Josh and dictate. We were still high off of the absurdity of what we shall call the “porno-fight,” and we were looking for something ≥

Here is what happened. I was walking down the steps to return the push-mower to my neighbor across the street (and by neighbor I mean mother). Five Drinks and Misty had just parked their car on the other side of street (there were so many cars in their driveway that I half-expected Gravedigger to bust in and mash them all). They happened to be walking across the street toward their house just as I was walking across the street toward my mother’s house. She asked me (and by "asked" I mean "yelled across the street") if they could borrow the mower. I grimaced and replied that it was on its last legs and it wasn’t even mine and that I had borrowed it from a neighbor (I neglected to mention that it was my mother).

Then she asked me if I wanted to come over and mow her lawn. Now I assume she meant physically mowing the grass on the property and not any sort of meaning that my hormonal 14-year old mind would interpret, but you never can tell with these types. I said, “You pay me?” and she replied, “Sure, just the patch in the back” (again, pretty sure she was talking about the lawn). She asked, “How about tomorrow at noon?” I hesitated for what seemed like hours before saying I wasn’t sure when I’d be free this weekend. She told me she’d give me $40 and to just come over and knock on the door anytime this weekend. I don’t even remember what I said I was so nervous. Thank god it’s going to rain all weekend. She said something else as she walked away (probably “I really like your blog about us”), but I didn’t hear it because I was too busy trying to get hit by a car so I wouldn’t have to go over there and mow their lawn this weekend.

In this situation, engaging in friendly relations with the neighbors is like raising a pig you know you are going to slaughter (or in this case, you slaughter on a daily basis). Still, I was pretty tempted to ask her if they had found the Kama Sutra book yet.

The Debriefing (Epic Phone Call Part III)

At this point, the telephone conversation ends, but she proceeds to regurgitate both sides of the entire conversation to someone else on the porch (I assume it was Five Drinks). The funniest part about this is that when she repeats her lines, she emphasizes how clever she is. I can’t even describe it; I wish I had had some sort of audio recording device. It’s like her normal state of being is 15 beers in (or maybe she was just actually 15 beers in). For you Math-heads out there, that’s 3 x 5-Beers (...and even then.....). She also is explaining it to Five Drinks as you would explain something to a very young child. I bet she practices in the mirror (diss!).

So from what I can gather she was talking to some guy who also seems to be having relationship woes (possibly with Five Drinks). I won’t mention his name because I want plausible deniability when they find this blog and take us to court, but let me assure you it’s a ridiculous name that no one would actually ever christen their child with.*

Here are a couple of lines she reiterates to her lucky audience of Five Drinks & I (though we are supposedly separated by at least 20 feet and a wall that I am becoming more and more convinced is composed entirely of sticks):

“She didn’t want to live with your parents”

I don't think she actually said this out loud to man-with-preposterous-name; she was merely venting her thoughts (or whatever passes in her case) to a grave and somber or wasted Five Drinks. For the first time since we began this blog, I can fully agree with Helga. Three people in a trailer is OK, but 4 is intolerable. She would probably have to sleep above the back wheel and orgies with your parents are never fun unless it's dress-up night. How could you expect the parents to keep up anyway? It'd be like trying to run Halo 3 with Windows 3.1.

“Everyone hates my husband; everyone in the world hates my husband. My husband is a terrible father.”

Now here I'm pretty sure she is talking about her own (ex?) husband. Forgive me for stating the obvious, but if Codename: Helga thinks her husband is a terrible parent, then she must have married Vlad The Impaler. Or a toaster-oven. Actually, a hot breakfast everyday without fail would have probably been a godsend for these kids.


*OK, if you really really really want to know, email wtfneighbor@gmail.com and I will tell you

The Day I Made Contact

This actually happened a few days ago (Sunday to be exact), but I had forgotten about it. This is most likely because my notes are taken on anything I can find, so throwing out napkins can sometimes mean throwing out valuable information. I could be wiping my face with untold hilarity without even knowing it.

So I was taking the trash out and Five Drinks is sitting on her porch.

She says, “Excuse me, is today trash day?”
I say, “Yeah, Monday is trash and recycling”
Her, “Thanks.”

The only curve-ball I threw her was the mentioning of recycling. I’m sure Helga and crew document their carbon footprint on a daily basis and go around asking people to donate money to the environment (I did this once and it’s the most depressing job I’ve ever had). If I go through their recycling one day and find all their trash and recycling properly sorted, I will volunteer 15 hours at a local charity this summer. This is even more exciting than that guy who made that Facebook group that started all Facebook groups about the threesome with his girlfriend or whatever. I wonder if they felt like they were making history when the threesome commenced. I suppose I’d be honored to be the third person in that threesome. You might even be in a textbook someday, and who doesn’t want that? I think that’s only reason why Obama ran.

I’m almost disappointed that my first interaction with the neighbors was so pleasantly neighborly and normal. So fuck it, let me tell you what really happened: Helga comes out in sumo-wrestling-dominatrix costume with wolverine claws and slices open her heart. Then she starts grinding on her innards which are spilling out all over the place until they are all ground into the pavement. Then she eats Calamity Jane in a huge hamburger bun with sesame seeds. Too ridiculous for you? Give it time: they just moved in and it doesn’t look like they are going to get any less ludicrous anytime soon.