It's been a while since I've talked about my lovely suburbanite neighbors. For those of you who are new, there are some links on the righthand side called 'Meet the Neighbors' where you can learn all about their mental deficiencies. If not, here's the long story short. I live in white suburbia. My wife is Mexican, and her brother is a millionaire (Internet marketing company) who sometimes comes to visit us in his Lamborghini, so the neighbors all spread rumors that we're meth dealers, because that's clearly the only way "the brown folk" can have money. But that's behind our backs. They love to give us fake cheesy smiles to our faces.
Also, their 12 year old daughter (possibly 13 now) wears the skimpiest booty shorts I've ever seen. Like, if her leg even twitches you see ass.
But now I have a new archnemesis. A nemesis whose name I still don't even know. A nemesis so fearsome it's probably best I never learn his name, so that its unmeasurable evil may never grace my lips...
No, that isn't Richard Dreyfuss (Or "Dreyfuth" as he might lisp), that's the squat little man living in the house behind mine. Like the other neighbors in this area, he drives a Prius and hates any car that makes noise. Namely, mine.
With my own two hands, I've built this car up into something beastly. Loud, fast, and fun. A car meant to be driven. And yet, like any sane adult, I save that for areas that are not my neighborhood. But it's loud, and red, and not a Prius, so whenever I'm creeping by my neighbors at a turtle's pace (20 in a 25 mph zone) they always love to wave their hands at me urgently like I'm going to break the speed of sound and mow down their toddlers, which of course are always playing in the middle of the street. The nerve--what right does my car have to be driving through their playground??
Anyway, a few weeks ago I was driving home through the alley, about to park my car, when this squat little man comes running after me like he's just learned the last Twinkie's been sold. Now, were he a civil human being with rational thought, logic, and courtesy, this is how the tale would have unfolded.
|I assume this is how all British road rage ends|
|Not an exaggeration|
|White people wear Cosby sweaters. It's just, like, a fact, okay?|
Now one thing to understand about this neighborhood is that everyone takes everyone else's shit. That's just how it is. It's all about "keeping up appearances." But I'm not like that. This guy wanted to come up onto my driveway, beating his chest like a tough guy, so I got in his face and told him I wasn't speeding and he needed to fuck off. He then started screaming about how his grandchildren play in that alley (fucking brilliant) and I could have "run them over." And then he tried to scare me.
"You know what happens next time you come down the alleyway?" he asked, like a little girl about to divulge the juiciest secret ever told. I'd swear his heart was about to explode from excitement. "I'm going to call the police! What do you think of that?"
Apparently he thought that was going to be his shining moment, you know, where I shit my pants and pleaded, "No, please, don't call the policemen on me! I'll do anything! ANYTHING. Do you get me? N-E-THING."
That wasn't exactly what happened.
The grin fell from his face instantly. Suddenly, this wasn't going like he was expecting. But I wasn't done laying the verbal smackdown. No, he had come into my driveway looking for a fight and a fight he was going to get.
So I bitch-slapped him... with science.
His jaw slacked a little more. But I still wasn't done. For good measure, I got all lawyer-ish on him too.
|I'd always wanted to interrupt someone like this, and if you haven't, goddamn does it feel gooood|
I'd swear at that moment he'd just started slobbering in defeat. Or maybe it was rage slobber. Finally, like a boxer in the 10th round on his last leg, he threw one last pathetic jab.
I was all set to go in for the kill. But before I could act, it was actually my wife who threw the knockout punch. And she did it much more eloquently than I ever could.
|This was asked by a 22 year old girl of a 60-something year old grandfather, mind you|
Not only did he realize he had no argument, he also realized he was a huge asshole. It's something special to see the look in another human being's eyes when they suddenly realize "I'm THAT guy." And so, having still never even mentioned his name, my combatant simply turned and walked away back to his house, muttering in shameful disgrace. Also, did I mention that since we had been so loud, we had drawn a few spectators by now?
I glanced their way as I marched inside, and they all looked away so fast I'm pretty sure they got whiplash. No one's yelled at me since, or waved their arms at me, or even had the courage to make eye contact with me. They all look away sharply. If you know me in real life you'll probably laugh at that, because I'm the least threatening person you'll ever meet. But I warn you, do not fuck with me, because the brown will come out...
...and I will fuck your shit up. With science.
Cheers and stay classy, friends,