(Rather than set this up as a bouncy by starting off with the ubiquitous "SO", I'll start as if this were a sea story...
No shit... This morning we were loading the laundry into the truck for the monthly trip to the laundrymat. Next door to me is an unoccupied house, and the owners have a dumpster in front of it to facilitate damage control from the house's last set of meth heads. This weekend they were busy cleaning out the garage, where the meth heads - after having the city discontinue their trash service for non-payment - had been storing several months worth of garbage: aka rat bait. Encountering them on one wheelbarrow run to the dumpster, they asked us to keep an eye out for folks trying to dive the dumpster: they didn't want the potential liability nightmare that might ensue from someone diving into a pile of bubonic plague infested rat feces.
Fast forward to today. Loading laundry into the truck as I mentioned before, and a neighbor from across the street is diving into said dumpster next door. I ask what's going on, and neighbor, now startled says they gave him permission to rummage the dumpster. Mmm-hmmm. I repeat to him what they told to me, and told him that I'd been asked to keep people out of the dumpster if I saw 'em. At which point he proceeds to get argumentative: I shrug, give my signature "what ever buddy" and load the wife and son into the truck, and off we go.
So, (uh-ohh, I said it anyway...) I come out of the house again at about 17:00 to fire up the grill, and first thing I need to do is dump the ashes from last night. Take the pan over to the dumpster, and on the way back, this same neighbor is standing on top of his roof, surveying the surroundings, I guess. He hollers over at me, "Hey; are you a racist?" Now, it should be noted here, that this weekend I took my hair from high-and-tight to completely shorn. It should also be noted that yon neighbor from across the street probably lists on his welfare applications that he is a black man, though I suspect that his negroid ancestry is by appearances about as muddled as the Jug-Eared Kenyan's in the Oval Orifice. Anyway, I was unsure whether he's referring to my "skinhead" appearance, our "discussion" this morning, some combination, or nothing specific at all. Thus my answer was simple and direct: "No; are you? What the hell kind of question is that?"
I suspect that his consumption of Labor Day libations may have contributed to the question directed at me, because shortly afterward there was a group of college kids were walking up the alleyway after a liquor run, and when he tried to say something I guess he thought was sexy to one of the girls in the group, and the girls in the group ignored him, he got equally boorish then as well.
I know; no cops, no bushes, no conversions. So I'm not expecting to rate very many bongs with this, but it's still kinda fun when the moonbats come out of the woodwork in real llife.
