Last night Tanya and I were about to take a walk when we ran into our older downstairs neighbor coming from the house next door. We saw him a little earlier as he went over there. But we didn’t know how to ask him what he was up to.
In case you don’t know, the house next door is the lair of the jerk-asses which inspired “The Neighbor Song” (link to the right). So when our downstairs neighbor started talking to us about our phallus-smoking neighbors (they’ve been conspicuously missing for the last two weeks or so, but you’ll get no complaints from me), we seized the opportunity to ask him why he was poking around their house.
Turns out, he was just curious about the house. See, while Tanya and I were at play performances, the dicks next door fled into the night (afternoon). They actually moved out! It’s like some kind of victory!
We did, however, find out that our downstairs neighbors didn’t mind the asshats next door. Probably because my downstairs neighbor is bit hard of hearing.
But we were having a nice conversation with our downstairs neighbor (who I’m guessing is in his late 60s) when I finally asked him what he was really doing over at the house. He told us that someone left one of the doors unlocked and he was sneaking around inside. To which I said, “I would like to see what the inside of that house looks like.”
That’s all he needed. Instantly, he led us over to the house and we went in.
I felt a little strange. There was no furniture, of course. But the dumbshits that lived there never had furniture anyway. There was however a very nice house (that was built in the 20s) with hardwood floors (complete with inlaid trimming bordering the rooms) three bedrooms and one and a half bath. Tons of built-ins and closets accompanied the modest molding and simple layout with a dining area conspicuously placed at the center of the house. There is a huge front patio/porch (where the jerks would hold impromptu “concerts”) with separate side windows/doors that lead to the dining room and living room. Plus a two-car garage.
This house is absolutely great. The kitchen is too small, of course and so are the bathrooms. But, as we learned from our neighbor, the lady who lived there before the jerk-asses (the former owner) moved in right after it was built. The house has only had one owner and she hasn’t changed a thing.
This place is a treasure in LA. Untouched. Built at the height of the studio system. Original everything (except for the bathroom tiles, their horrible pinkness belies a 1950s renovation job). And it was going to crap at the hands of a group of idiotic, unappreciative fucktards.
The place was a pit. Dirt everywhere. Empty except for what looked to be bong residue, an internet downloaded chord chart for guitar, a broken fan (the place was hot), a microwave and a collection of – and I’m not kidding – prominently placed beer bottles, all of different brands and types.
The insight was amazing. Tanya and I have fought with these people (passively) for months now. They were loud. They were always drunk. They were stupid. And they were constantly barbequing. I mean all the time. Day, night, afternoon, morning…
Now we know why.
The retards didn’t have a stove. Just a microwave sitting on the floor where a stove should be.
And now I’m even more pleased with myself. One night when they were being particularly annoying, I waltzed over to their front yard and kicked over their precious BBQ, spilling ash all over their front lawn.
Man, were they pissed.
Man, am I glad that they’re gone.
Thank you old downstairs neighbor for allowing us to break and enter with you.
Fun Fact: You Can’t Do That on Television was one of the best shows on TV when I was kid. There have been no DVD releases of it and they don’t re-run it on TV anymore. So I was pleased as hell to find a site where I could recapture a little of my youth.
Go here to get all the dope on the show that turned my generation into a bunch of hoodlums. And while your there, check out an entire episode!
No comments:
Post a Comment