Day: July 25, 2023

I honestly don’t know what the hell is going on at Crazy Pants’ house these days.

Yesterday some dude I’ve seen around was stomping down the street calling the boyfriend of Crazy Pants all kinds of names and then walking back up to better hear the boyfriends response.

Then he’s acting like he wants to fight right there on the street calling the boyfriend less than a man.

If I’d not had the windows open I’ve have ignored the whole mess but since I could hear everything I decided to watch as well. I thought about making popcorn and cracking open a beer even though it was only 9am!

Hey, if they’re going to put on a live show, why the hell shouldn’t I watch?

After another few minutes of grumbling at each other the stranger, who I think of as “Whitey” because of his long white hair, goes back up to Crazy Pant’s property. Where the two males, continue to bitch at each other.

I was thinking, “Come on guys, just fuck already! You’re fighting like you’re married!”

After another hour or so, things quiet down.

Around 9pm there’s more yelling then there’s a male voice I’m assuming “Whitey” moaning and saying I’m hurt bad, then he’s almost begging Crazy Pants boyfriend, “Please don’t hurt me more”.

I’m thinking one of two things, 1) They finally decided to punch it out, or 2) They decided to fuck and are into some rough stuff.

I don’t think Crazy Pants boyfriend is particularly hung so it’s not like Whitey was moaning over, or complaining about taking it.

At one point last night someone called for help but not one of the neighbors, myself included, went to look, opened our front doors, or called the cops.

This morning all is quiet, even the fucking 5 Chihuahuas that are yapping all the damn time. I thought I heard Crazy Pants muttering and mumbling earlier, but now she’s quiet.

I found myself thinking, “I hope they fucking kill each other.” Then it occurred to me that there will be one survivor, there is always one survivor. There’s always one roach, or one rat, but one always survives.

Then I thought, “In older times, the neighbors would be within their rights to deal with the survivor too.” In less fire prone areas, the neighbors would burn the house to the ground. That way they’d avoid having to bury the bodies, just stack ‘em in the house and “Woosh”.

Fire purifies everything. It would even burn their names from the neighborhood’s memory.

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The only epitaph would be, “They were bad people.”

When stuff like this goes through my mind I realize it’s just me being super tired of the constant drama. But I wonder about myself as a person. Does this make me a bad guy too? Does my growing hatred for those people present a danger, and are they dragging me down to their level? Who am I to sit in judgment?

I’ve contented myself, thinking as long as I’m asking these questions I’m probably okay. There is some shred of morality left in me regarding these people.

I found it jarring yesterday because I was hoping the two guys would beat each other to death and I was hoping that Crazy Pants would be hurt badly when she got in the cross fire. What shocked me was that I was perfectly content to watch it, beer in hand and baseball bat within easy reach.

Yeah, I tend to not spend much time in the front yard unless I’ve got something to defend myself with these days. Crazy Pants has been known to wander the neighborhood with large butcher knives, pick up rocks, and as in my case simply punch people without provocation.

Whitey just walked down the street. He’s wearing a backpack, carrying a bottle of water and looked like he was a man on a mission. I didn’t see any visible injuries. I wonder if he had enough and is gone for good? I’ve heard the boyfriend yelling at one or two of the dogs. So there are multiple survivors.

Dang!

Oh well, maybe this weekend they’ll do each other in. I’ve got plenty of popcorn and beer!