Dear HolyJuan,
I recognize you as a shining beacon of reason in a world filled with inane ramblings. Because of the high regard by which I hold your judgment, I need to ask another question of you.
After I bought my house last year, I found out that my neighbor had also been interested in buying the house, and was upset that I had purchased the property out from under his nose.
On a number of occasions over the past year I’ve noticed this neighbor snooping around my property.
This past winter I spied tracks in the snow leading from my neighbor’s house to my backyard.
This spring, while readying my yard to be mowed, I noticed lots of dog poo strewn about my backyard. As my neighbor has a dog, and he obviously feels at home on my property, I suspect he has been using my backyard as his dog’s toilet.
Every time I knock on my neighbor’s door to discuss my concerns, he does not answer, although I know he is home.
So HolyJuan, how should I move forward on this issue? As always, I trust your judgment implicitly, and appreciate your attention to my trivial concerns.
Best Regards,
Sleepy Scott
P.S. Two other things that should be noted: 1) This neighbor is a very large man, who looks very much like Paul Sr. from the show American Chopper, so physical violence is off the table. 2) I’d rather not contact the police or dog warden, as again, this neighbor is huge and I suspect he would hold a grudge.
Dear Sleepy Scott,
I do not envy your position. There’s only one way to get rid of a bad neighbor and it’s illegal, so it is best just to learn to get along.
First off, I would begin by erecting a physical barrier between the two houses. If you can afford a fence, great. Make sure you check with your local ordinances to see how high and of what your fence could be constructed. If a fence is out of your price range, try landscaping. Mulch beds and trees can make a physical barrier as well as a psychological one, especially when planted in front of windows. Plus, they will add value to your home.
Second, get your lawn treated. You probably have some patches that need fixing from the dog peeing everywhere. You don’t have to go for the full 30,000 visits that the lawn company tries to get you to sign up for, just get the one. When the lawn guy leaves, ask for some of the additional “Chemicals On Grass” signs that they put up. Line these near the areas where you neighbor will most likely try to enter your yard. And if you are really like me, you cannot even afford to get the first lawn treatment so I would suggest borrowing the little signs from you neighbors who can.
Next, you’ll want to invest in the industrial sized containers of cayenne pepper and black pepper. During a dry evening, sprinkle a three foot path of this up and down your property line. The dog will take one sniff and avoid the area. You’ll need to reapply the powders after five days or a heavy rain. You should only need to do this for 10 – 15 days and the dog will learn to avoid that area. I'd suggest timing this with the chemical sign installation.
Last, if you think he is peeking in your windows, install a few motion sensitive lights. If that is out of your price range, an empty gray box mounted on the eves can also do the trick if he thinks there is a security camera inside. When you do see your neighbor, mention how someone has been sneaking around your house and that you have taken measures to defend your home. When he asks what measures, say you had to sign a confidentiality agreement with the security company and you can't discuss it.
I hope this helps. Good luck with your neighbor!!
Signed,
HolyJuan
PS And if that does not work, I suggest that once a week, you eat three cans of corn and one cup of peanuts for breakfast. Then at midnight, shit in your neighbor’s lawn. When you do see him, comment on how much you love corn. And peanuts. He’ll get the point.
Clinton demands votes from middle school students should count
Lancaster, OH (AP) With Senator Hillary Clinton so close to catching Senator Barack Obama, every vote counts; even if that vote comes from a middle schooler. Earlier today, the Clinton Campaign announced it would seek to count the votes from not only Florida and Michigan, but also the votes from a mock primary election held at the General Sherman Middle School in Lancaster, OH.
"It's a very close race, but if you count, as I count, the 2.3 million people who voted in Michigan and Florida, along with the 82 votes from General Sherman Middle School, then we are going to build on that," the New York senator said.
The mock election was held last Tuesday when the students’ interest in the primaries was piqued after the Ohio primary. Many of the students made posters, held rallies and created negative ad campaigns on YouTube.
Clinton Spokeswoman Norma Wright claimed that the students’ votes should count, “We cannot continue to disenfranchise voters, especially the younger voters. Pissed off kids usually end up becoming Republicans”
Some students did not vote in protest of the electronic voting machines that were used in the mock election. Seventh grader Mark summed it up, “These Sequoia Voting Systems machines are whack.”
General Sherman eight grade Class Treasurer and Hillary Clinton Fan Club president Rhonda Dotts remarked, “The kids that didn’t vote in protest are just doin’ it because it’s cool to protest and not to vote in protest and stuff.”
When was asked about counting the votes won by Obama from the caucus held across the city at Thomas Ewing Middle School, Hillary dismissed the votes explaining, “We can’t win caucuses so we do not believe in them.”
"It's a very close race, but if you count, as I count, the 2.3 million people who voted in Michigan and Florida, along with the 82 votes from General Sherman Middle School, then we are going to build on that," the New York senator said.
The mock election was held last Tuesday when the students’ interest in the primaries was piqued after the Ohio primary. Many of the students made posters, held rallies and created negative ad campaigns on YouTube.
Clinton Spokeswoman Norma Wright claimed that the students’ votes should count, “We cannot continue to disenfranchise voters, especially the younger voters. Pissed off kids usually end up becoming Republicans”
Some students did not vote in protest of the electronic voting machines that were used in the mock election. Seventh grader Mark summed it up, “These Sequoia Voting Systems machines are whack.”
General Sherman eight grade Class Treasurer and Hillary Clinton Fan Club president Rhonda Dotts remarked, “The kids that didn’t vote in protest are just doin’ it because it’s cool to protest and not to vote in protest and stuff.”
When was asked about counting the votes won by Obama from the caucus held across the city at Thomas Ewing Middle School, Hillary dismissed the votes explaining, “We can’t win caucuses so we do not believe in them.”
Words That Need Their Definitions Changed
The following list of words needs their definitions changed and/or updated:
Strike
Let’s start with baseball and common sense. Strike means to hit something. When I strike a nail, I hit it. According to baseball, when I strike a nail, it’s a hit; when I miss a nail it’s a strike. This is just plain crazy when it means the opposite of what actually happened. From now on in every day life, we’ll continue to use the word strike to mean hit, but in baseball, if you swing and miss, it will be called an Opposite Status hit or OShit. Three OShits and you are out.
Next
How many times have you had this conversation?
Other person, “You want to take the next right turn.”
You, “This one?”
Other person, “No, the next one.”
It happens all the time with days of the week. If someone says the concert is next Thursday… you might show up a week too soon. From this point on, next will mean the first next one and not the second next one. If for some reason you are stuck with thinking that there is some ethereal space between the first next and what you consider the definition of next, then say next next.
Example:
“I am going to bang the next girl that walks by.”
Girl starts to walk by.
“I mean, I am going to bang the next next girl that walks by.”
Warning/Watch
Let’s say you are on vacation in a different state and when you turn on the radio you hear that there is a tornado watch. Would you shrug and continue on your business or would you grab the radio and run for the basement or move to an interior room or hallway on the lowest floor and get under a sturdy piece of furniture?
To tell you the truth, I still cannot tell the difference between the two. If someone warns me that they are going to punch me in the face, I’d know that the possibility of a punch in the face was possible. If someone said, “Watch as I punch you in the face” I’d assume that the punch was on its way. The storm people obviously don’t have the same punch in the face definitions that I use. To them, watch means, “Conditions are right for a tornado.” Warning mean, “Get the fuck in the basement.” I think that is backwards and confusing. To relieve all this confusion, I suggest we get rid of both words and replace them with the following:
A Maybe- Conditions are right that maybe a tornado will form and kill you.
A Gahhh – Get the fuck in the basement! (Gahhh is the noise you make right before something bad is about to happen and you need to warn someone, but the words can’t form in your mouth and all that comes out is a guttural noise. You’ll also emit this noise when you are a passenger in a car right before a wreck.)
W
I know W is not a word, but at three syllables, it might as well be. You know the person that made up the pronunciation of W was just trying to piss all the other letter namer people off with not just a two syllable letter but a THREE syllable letter. Jerk. From now on, W will be pronounced “ass.” I think we all know why.
Lower case l / the number 1 and zero / capital letter o
Letter and number confusion were never a prob1em in pre-computer days. We11, maybe back when phone numbers combined 1etters and numbers or maybe on 1icense p1ates. 0n websites with passwords and CAPTCHA, it’s sometimes tough to te11 the difference. 0nly with the correct fonts can the difference be seen. My solution? Keep the number one the same, but make the 1ower case “L” with a circ1e around it so that everyone wi11 know it is a 1etter. Like this:
For the zero and capital O, keep the capital O, but put a line right down the middle of the zero so that people can tell the difference between the two. Like this:
Done and done!
Mortgage
Just because I am hopeful and also because I have a interest-only adjustable-rate mortgage with an 0.5% teaser rate that expires in three weeks and moves up to Prime plus +18%, I suggest we change the spelling of mortgage to Lessgage. Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to put another string of lights on the Christmas tree that we left up, just in case.
Strike
Let’s start with baseball and common sense. Strike means to hit something. When I strike a nail, I hit it. According to baseball, when I strike a nail, it’s a hit; when I miss a nail it’s a strike. This is just plain crazy when it means the opposite of what actually happened. From now on in every day life, we’ll continue to use the word strike to mean hit, but in baseball, if you swing and miss, it will be called an Opposite Status hit or OShit. Three OShits and you are out.
Next
How many times have you had this conversation?
Other person, “You want to take the next right turn.”
You, “This one?”
Other person, “No, the next one.”
It happens all the time with days of the week. If someone says the concert is next Thursday… you might show up a week too soon. From this point on, next will mean the first next one and not the second next one. If for some reason you are stuck with thinking that there is some ethereal space between the first next and what you consider the definition of next, then say next next.
Example:
“I am going to bang the next girl that walks by.”
Girl starts to walk by.
“I mean, I am going to bang the next next girl that walks by.”
Warning/Watch
Let’s say you are on vacation in a different state and when you turn on the radio you hear that there is a tornado watch. Would you shrug and continue on your business or would you grab the radio and run for the basement or move to an interior room or hallway on the lowest floor and get under a sturdy piece of furniture?
To tell you the truth, I still cannot tell the difference between the two. If someone warns me that they are going to punch me in the face, I’d know that the possibility of a punch in the face was possible. If someone said, “Watch as I punch you in the face” I’d assume that the punch was on its way. The storm people obviously don’t have the same punch in the face definitions that I use. To them, watch means, “Conditions are right for a tornado.” Warning mean, “Get the fuck in the basement.” I think that is backwards and confusing. To relieve all this confusion, I suggest we get rid of both words and replace them with the following:
A Maybe- Conditions are right that maybe a tornado will form and kill you.
A Gahhh – Get the fuck in the basement! (Gahhh is the noise you make right before something bad is about to happen and you need to warn someone, but the words can’t form in your mouth and all that comes out is a guttural noise. You’ll also emit this noise when you are a passenger in a car right before a wreck.)
W
I know W is not a word, but at three syllables, it might as well be. You know the person that made up the pronunciation of W was just trying to piss all the other letter namer people off with not just a two syllable letter but a THREE syllable letter. Jerk. From now on, W will be pronounced “ass.” I think we all know why.
Lower case l / the number 1 and zero / capital letter o
Letter and number confusion were never a prob1em in pre-computer days. We11, maybe back when phone numbers combined 1etters and numbers or maybe on 1icense p1ates. 0n websites with passwords and CAPTCHA, it’s sometimes tough to te11 the difference. 0nly with the correct fonts can the difference be seen. My solution? Keep the number one the same, but make the 1ower case “L” with a circ1e around it so that everyone wi11 know it is a 1etter. Like this:
For the zero and capital O, keep the capital O, but put a line right down the middle of the zero so that people can tell the difference between the two. Like this:
Done and done!
Mortgage
Just because I am hopeful and also because I have a interest-only adjustable-rate mortgage with an 0.5% teaser rate that expires in three weeks and moves up to Prime plus +18%, I suggest we change the spelling of mortgage to Lessgage. Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to put another string of lights on the Christmas tree that we left up, just in case.
Stu and Anne-Marie had a boy
Congratulations go out to Stu and Anne-Marie. Here is their message:
Here is our new son Oscar.
He is so healthy and handsome and very funny already.
Ann-Marie is feeling great, she was amazing.
The earthquake shook him at dawn and I guess that was his cue...
Oscar Henry
Born 11:43 a.m. April 18 2008
8 lbs 10 oz. 21.5 inches
We are so fortunate and happy and hope you can all meet him soon.
Love,
Ann-Marie and Stuart
Here is our new son Oscar.
He is so healthy and handsome and very funny already.
Ann-Marie is feeling great, she was amazing.
The earthquake shook him at dawn and I guess that was his cue...
Oscar Henry
Born 11:43 a.m. April 18 2008
8 lbs 10 oz. 21.5 inches
We are so fortunate and happy and hope you can all meet him soon.
Love,
Ann-Marie and Stuart
I Got My Hair Cut at the Black Barber Shop
I couldn’t be much whiter. For example, I get my hair cut at Great Clips. For another, I do my best to pretend that I’m not the least bit racist.
My wife, Miss Sally, and I were surprised one Saturday morning when we pulled up to the local Great Clips and it was shut down. I really needed a haircut and remembered a barber shop around the corner in the strip mall, so we drove over there. I knew it had to be a barber shop because it said, “Donnie's Barber Salon” on the sign and there was a barber pole spinning thing on the outside. You can’t go wrong with the spinning blue, red and white pole.
We walked in and immediately noticed the lack of whiteness. The barber was black. The customer in the chair was black. The guy hanging out and reading a magazine in the other barber chair was black. We were getting paler by the second.
The magazine guy in the chair took one look at us and stood up. He apologized, “I don’t cut hair,” and sat in one of the waiting chairs. The barber said hello. I asked if I could get a haircut and he said yes. We sat down.
I made the decision not to leave. My instincts told me to leave, but I told my instincts to stuff it. I wasn’t going to let my ignorance get the better of me. I shouldn’t be worried about a hair cut from a black man. The guy was a barber and barbers cut hair. Hair is hair, right?
The Vibe magazine I picked up was at least six months old. I pretended to be interested in an article about P.Diddy. Miss Sally excused herself and went around the corner to the Rite-Aid.
Holy shit if cutting black guy’s hair doesn’t take forever. The barber was detailing the customer’s head with a determined precision. I think at one point he used a protractor to get top just so. This barber was good.
I had a Caucasian sigh of relief when another white guy walked in. He was a big dude with a definite brother charm. The guys in the barber shop warmly welcomed him. The not-barber stood up and gave the white guy a hand grasp which was then used as a man shield to fill the void between them when they did a quick hug. The white dude asked if he could get cleaned up. The man who wasn’t a barber suddenly remembered that he was actually a barber and had the guy sit in the second chair. I was just about to be offended when the amnesia struck, now a barber, black guy pulled out the clippers and took white guy’s hair down a sandpaper thickness with a few quick passes over his scalp. It was a shearing, not a haircut.
White guy left and I waited.
The barber finally finished up with his customer and called me over. I sat down in the chair and the barber asked me how I wanted to get my hair cut. I told him the standard, “#4 on the sides and scissor cut on top. I like to part my hair.” What happened next was a hair cut that can only be compared to the awkwardness of a one fingered teenage boy trying to open a bra for the first time. The barber got out his scissors and started cutting my hair on top first. This was new to me. The chicks at Great Clips use the trimmer first on the sides and then move to the scissors. There was a lot of clipping and pausing and more clipping. Of course, I wasn’t going to say anything. This guy was a barber. A professional.
At one point the barber moved around to the front and I noticed his hands. His hands were covered with hairs. Other men’s hairs. What looked to be the hair from 1,000 men. Little tiny bits of straight and curly black hairs. I think my white guy hair was repelled from his skin because there were none to be found.
Miss Sally returned to the barbershop with her purchases and sat down. I think she was amazed that I was still there. She had been gone about forty five minutes. She, too, feigned interest in P.Diddy.
The clippers came out, but only for a minute and then back to the scissoring. He started to get exasperated, combing my hair over and cutting. Stopping. Staring. Tentative cutting again. I finally stopped him and said, “That’s good. That’s fine.” The barber literally shrugged his shoulders and mumbled what sounded like an apology. I waited for him to remove the hair cloak from my neck when there was a clink of a bottle and two man hands rubbing my hair. I hadn’t asked for gel, but just wanted to get out of there and… wait… what’s that smell? Coconut? I reached up and felt my hair… it was oily and coconutty. Barber put coconut oily something in my hair. I’m not sure what the product is supposed to do, but if the bottle said “Pisses Off White Boys” then shit, it was working.
I stood up and looked in the mirror. I looked like a wet dog with a bad haircut. I paid him. He gave back my change and I held out $5 for a tip. He said, “No. You don’t have to.” I gritted a smile and said, “No, take it.” He did. We left.
I steamed silently the entire ride back home. Oily something dripped down my neck. I showered as soon as I stomped in the house. Small black hairs flecked the shower floor. We drove to the Great Clips across town. The lady asked if I had tried to cut my own hair.
Perhaps I should have better communicated with the barber about my concerns or directed him on how I wanted my hair cut. Or maybe he should have told me that he didn't cut white people hair. Neither one of us wanted to offend the other. Both of us ended up feeling foolish. Though I was the only one who looked foolish.
My wife, Miss Sally, and I were surprised one Saturday morning when we pulled up to the local Great Clips and it was shut down. I really needed a haircut and remembered a barber shop around the corner in the strip mall, so we drove over there. I knew it had to be a barber shop because it said, “Donnie's Barber Salon” on the sign and there was a barber pole spinning thing on the outside. You can’t go wrong with the spinning blue, red and white pole.
We walked in and immediately noticed the lack of whiteness. The barber was black. The customer in the chair was black. The guy hanging out and reading a magazine in the other barber chair was black. We were getting paler by the second.
The magazine guy in the chair took one look at us and stood up. He apologized, “I don’t cut hair,” and sat in one of the waiting chairs. The barber said hello. I asked if I could get a haircut and he said yes. We sat down.
I made the decision not to leave. My instincts told me to leave, but I told my instincts to stuff it. I wasn’t going to let my ignorance get the better of me. I shouldn’t be worried about a hair cut from a black man. The guy was a barber and barbers cut hair. Hair is hair, right?
The Vibe magazine I picked up was at least six months old. I pretended to be interested in an article about P.Diddy. Miss Sally excused herself and went around the corner to the Rite-Aid.
Holy shit if cutting black guy’s hair doesn’t take forever. The barber was detailing the customer’s head with a determined precision. I think at one point he used a protractor to get top just so. This barber was good.
I had a Caucasian sigh of relief when another white guy walked in. He was a big dude with a definite brother charm. The guys in the barber shop warmly welcomed him. The not-barber stood up and gave the white guy a hand grasp which was then used as a man shield to fill the void between them when they did a quick hug. The white dude asked if he could get cleaned up. The man who wasn’t a barber suddenly remembered that he was actually a barber and had the guy sit in the second chair. I was just about to be offended when the amnesia struck, now a barber, black guy pulled out the clippers and took white guy’s hair down a sandpaper thickness with a few quick passes over his scalp. It was a shearing, not a haircut.
White guy left and I waited.
The barber finally finished up with his customer and called me over. I sat down in the chair and the barber asked me how I wanted to get my hair cut. I told him the standard, “#4 on the sides and scissor cut on top. I like to part my hair.” What happened next was a hair cut that can only be compared to the awkwardness of a one fingered teenage boy trying to open a bra for the first time. The barber got out his scissors and started cutting my hair on top first. This was new to me. The chicks at Great Clips use the trimmer first on the sides and then move to the scissors. There was a lot of clipping and pausing and more clipping. Of course, I wasn’t going to say anything. This guy was a barber. A professional.
At one point the barber moved around to the front and I noticed his hands. His hands were covered with hairs. Other men’s hairs. What looked to be the hair from 1,000 men. Little tiny bits of straight and curly black hairs. I think my white guy hair was repelled from his skin because there were none to be found.
Miss Sally returned to the barbershop with her purchases and sat down. I think she was amazed that I was still there. She had been gone about forty five minutes. She, too, feigned interest in P.Diddy.
The clippers came out, but only for a minute and then back to the scissoring. He started to get exasperated, combing my hair over and cutting. Stopping. Staring. Tentative cutting again. I finally stopped him and said, “That’s good. That’s fine.” The barber literally shrugged his shoulders and mumbled what sounded like an apology. I waited for him to remove the hair cloak from my neck when there was a clink of a bottle and two man hands rubbing my hair. I hadn’t asked for gel, but just wanted to get out of there and… wait… what’s that smell? Coconut? I reached up and felt my hair… it was oily and coconutty. Barber put coconut oily something in my hair. I’m not sure what the product is supposed to do, but if the bottle said “Pisses Off White Boys” then shit, it was working.
I stood up and looked in the mirror. I looked like a wet dog with a bad haircut. I paid him. He gave back my change and I held out $5 for a tip. He said, “No. You don’t have to.” I gritted a smile and said, “No, take it.” He did. We left.
I steamed silently the entire ride back home. Oily something dripped down my neck. I showered as soon as I stomped in the house. Small black hairs flecked the shower floor. We drove to the Great Clips across town. The lady asked if I had tried to cut my own hair.
Perhaps I should have better communicated with the barber about my concerns or directed him on how I wanted my hair cut. Or maybe he should have told me that he didn't cut white people hair. Neither one of us wanted to offend the other. Both of us ended up feeling foolish. Though I was the only one who looked foolish.
Ask for “The Hillary”
Next time you are at your local elitist bar, ask for “The Hillary.”
A shot of Crown Royal
A bottle of Corona
Sip the shot until one of your staff informs you what a shot is, then cross your eyes and knock back the whole thing.
Pour the Corona into a frosted mug to hide the fact it is a Corona.
Enjoy until 2:55am and leave the bar with excuse of having to take a phone call.
Deny everything the next day and explain your weaving in the parking lot was to dodge sniper fire.
A shot of Crown Royal
A bottle of Corona
Sip the shot until one of your staff informs you what a shot is, then cross your eyes and knock back the whole thing.
Pour the Corona into a frosted mug to hide the fact it is a Corona.
Enjoy until 2:55am and leave the bar with excuse of having to take a phone call.
Deny everything the next day and explain your weaving in the parking lot was to dodge sniper fire.
Cummin Stroke This?
Is this some kind of truck secret code or is this guy just a fan of Clearance Carter?
Via the Fairfield County Fair Parking Field; Lancaster, OH (my hometown)
I am not the Biggest Loser
A few months ago, I started a diet. It was right before the holidays and I debated for a day or two about the merits of waiting to start the diet after turkey and potatoes and Captain Morgans and pie and pie and pie. And from somewhere in the black abyss of my soul a small speck of light flittered forth and wedged itself into my brain folds. It spoke to me and said, "Right now is the hardest time to start. If you start now, you are bound to succeed." Because this was a good idea, my brain immediately smothered it. But it was too late... I started my diet in late November. I was 228 pounds.
After two weeks, I dropped about seven pounds. My boss Erik couldn't help but notice and I would often catch his eyes lingering on my increasingly svelte form. It was at this time that Erik and I began our own personal Biggest Loser competition. With a $4.78 scale and a gentleman's bet, we began the competition with a finish date of tax day, April 15th, 2008.
Stephanie made us a poster to keep track of our weight.
These are the actual before photos.
After a broken scale and Erik having to learn basic math skills to calculate percentage of weight lost, the competition is over...
Erik wins with a total weight loss of 25 pounds or a 12.76% loss.
I came in second with a total weight loss of 17.2 pounds or a 7.78% loss. Even when you add in the weight I loss before this competition began, he still won!
I didn't have a chance.
Congratulations Erik!
After two weeks, I dropped about seven pounds. My boss Erik couldn't help but notice and I would often catch his eyes lingering on my increasingly svelte form. It was at this time that Erik and I began our own personal Biggest Loser competition. With a $4.78 scale and a gentleman's bet, we began the competition with a finish date of tax day, April 15th, 2008.
Stephanie made us a poster to keep track of our weight.
These are the actual before photos.
After a broken scale and Erik having to learn basic math skills to calculate percentage of weight lost, the competition is over...
Erik wins with a total weight loss of 25 pounds or a 12.76% loss.
I came in second with a total weight loss of 17.2 pounds or a 7.78% loss. Even when you add in the weight I loss before this competition began, he still won!
I didn't have a chance.
Congratulations Erik!
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