I Have Failed

You want a Breeder update, c'mon admit it, you do. During this season of holly and jolly we all like to take a break and take a gander at the disgusting underbelly of humanity. My neighbors will have to fit that bill.

There is good news and there is bad news and even more bad news. The good news, their house is for sale. The bad news, they've priced it $20,000 above the appraised value and in this neighborhood, with houses being put on the market daily due to the large military population and most pricing them at appraised value or less to move them OR a willingness to lease, I don't foresee those two fuckwits across the street moving any time soon. It's been on the market 6 months, I'm guessing it'll be on the market 6 years from now at this rate. Word on the street, it's pretty "used" on the inside. I did see them lug in gallons of paint and they did have to replace the entire back yard lawn, which they let die this summer. So, there might be hope. We'll see.

Now the really bad news. Earlier this week I had an actually verbal confrontation with Mr. Breeder. In my defense this is only the 3rd time I've spoken with the man. 3rd time to talk and only one verbal confrontation is a new record for me. Really, it is!

Sunday, the Husband, here to for, now referred to as Roman, was blowing the leaves from the yard, side walks and front porch. We were having a PAR-TAY and needed to spiff up. He came in ranting and raving about all the cigarette butts littering our yard and lining our side of the street. Now people, I don't smoke and neither does Roman and to my knowledge none of my neighbors do either, except one. Mr. Breeder.

He smokes outside and talks on the phone and drinks his Bud Lights. That's his current job since loosing his paying gig with the USPS. Yeah, evidentially you CAN get fired from the post office, who knew?

So back to the ranting and raving of Roman. He's not disgusted by much but someone else's nasty cigarette butts in our yard tend to tee him off a bit. I tried be the voice of reason and give Mr. Breeder the benefit of the doubt saying, "Maybe he emptied an ash tray into the trash can and the trashmen accidentally dumped some of it out on the street? It happens, they aren't always really careful. We always end up with packing peanuts on the street." He insisted that he's seen Mr. Breeder out front smoking and tossing his butts into the gutter. "Bah!" I say, "We're looking for additional reason to dislike them." Never a truer statement has been uttered.

So Monday afternoon I'm sitting here at my desk, in my office, and I see with my own two eyes Mr. Breeder take that last long drag of a Marlboro and toss the butt into the street. That jackhole! And here I was willing to give that idiot the benefit of the doubt! So I go out onto my front porch and yell across the street, "Hey! Quit throwing your nasty cigarette butts in the street, they end up in my yard when the wind blows!" To which he says, "Kiss my ass!" Did you catch that people? He invited me to kiss his ass. I threw up a little in my mouth just now. The thought totally and completely repulses me. The only retort I could muster was, "Oh go FUCK YOURSELF!" Merry Christmas.

That's it. That's all I had. After all the years of going to the Matilda Pottymouth School of Sarcasm and Whit that's all I could say. People, do you realize the golden damn opportunity I missed!?!?

I came inside and slammed the door in a huff. Not because I was angry at that fuckstick telling me to kiss his ass but I was truly and genuinely pissed at myself for not coming up with something more cleaver. I failed. I want a do over.