Caterwauling

You know you live in hell when you can hear — over the pounding and screaming upstairs — the bitch’s dog across the lake. You know, the bitch who chased you with her un-leashed mongrels and spat at you how FRIENDLY they are.

The homely bitch and her fat friend sit on a bench that looks right at my balcony. Diiiiieeeeeee.

So a typical day now is that all six of their dogs (are they multiplying?) bark constantly and chase other people’s animals that ARE on leashes as they walked by. And yes I can hear it.

The fat bitch wears a black baseball cap with “NRA” on it. So, great, she’s a member of the NRA or, as I call it, the anti-MENSA.

Bet those assholes will vote for Marco Rubio too. Or maybe one will cancel out the other’s vote with a Ted Cruz nod.

Either way, I was surrounded by mean bullies in high school and thought those days were done. Not so much.

I’m beginning to think it’s time to talk to my boss about letting me move to the Gulf Coast. Or to the Amalfi Coast. (Much better idea.) I’m failing to find intelligent life on the Treasure Coast and frankly I’m tired of trying.

Till then, the cat and I are praying the fuqrs upstairs pack their noisy fucking kids in a box and forget to poke air holes in it. Pack up, bitches.

Woke up early to do my usual early-Monday work.

Got it done more quickly than usual and went back to bed.

Had a weird dream where people were talking in a horrible Island accent. I said to the person in the dream, “You sound like my neighbors.”

Turns out, Big Giant Pussy was upstairs yelling, “Fuck.” So I just heard him, was all.

Speaking of this dump, in addition to no more wildlife in our lake, they must have also poisoned the streams that run through this place too. Wonder if that taco-eating sonofabitch poisoned the canals too, or whether the ducks are hiding there.

I’ve seen three or four rogue ducks. I want to feed them but I also don’t want to keep them in harm’s way. So I returned the 20-pound bag of seed I’d bought a week ago to the store.

Then we woke up today to see our squirrel who lives in the palm tree outside my window was dead. He was run over by a skateboard.

The only thing left is a little black kitty who loves me and follows me around. If anything happens to him, I’m not sure I won’t torch the joint.

When I was leaving Palm Beach, my rich New York neighbor heard where I was going and he said, “And you thought this place was a dump. That town is filled with derelicts.”

And I said, “My new place costs almost the same. I didn’t go low-end. How bad could it be?”

Well, hahahahahahahhaa. Joke’s on me. Like always.