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That goddamned four-wheeling little bitch across the street. 5 fucking degrees. FIVE! And she's out there in the yard, in an eighth of an inch of snow running that loud fucking piece of shit around and around and around and around and around the fucking place. I hope she breaks her fucking leg.
This is the only reason, and the only time I wish I had a kid.
"Come here Susie. See that little girl over there, go kick her ass for Daddy."
I'd go do it myself, but, the way the last few weeks have gone, she'd probably kick my ass.
Catnapper's wife called the police back in the fall, cuz of the noise, and was told there was nothing the cops could do before 11pm. Great. Cuz little girl's parents like to cook out. A lot. We'll suffer til spring, then see how they like Roy Acuff, Jimmy Rodgers, and David Allan Coe blasting directly at them through my soon-to-be-outside-in-the-front-yard 1000 watt stereo system.
Ugliness. I izzit.
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