Twice now, I’ve stopped here to stare at this damned lizard. It never seems to move. Just sits there with its tongue sticking out like it’s waiting for snow. I’ll grant you, it IS metal; made from tin in some shitty tinkerer’s shop and sold at a county fair or farmer’s market. But still, the owner ought to move the thing away from where her poor taste and shame are on display for the world to see.
I look up.
Fuck it! I kick the ugly little bastard out of the grotto and into his owner’s yard.
Not two seconds later and I’m laughing my ass off. Apparently, I forgot to check for observers in the screen door. The owner is trotting down the steps at me, cussing like the trucker I used to be.
My laughter pisses her off even more, and I’m thinking it’ll be a wonder if she doesn’t have an embolism right there on her sidewalk in her Winnie the Pooh PJs. Not like I care, but still.
I turn and walk away. Dumb old bat follows me past three driveways.
I hate morons. Her bad taste in decor isn’t my fault. maybe I ought to turn and show her a thing of real beauty. Something to set her straight forever. It doesn’t come to that though. The bitch stops before I reach the Red Rider in the fifth drive. It seems like that happens a lot. Folks stop right before shit gets serious. Too bad for them. Imagine the peace when I’m done with them. Like nothing no-one’s never seen.
And I aint fuckin’ jokin’ neither.
But, just like the Pooh Bear lady, they’re all chicken-shits.
Oh. Look! THIS idiot drives a Fiero, Douche! He’s even jacked it up and given it chrome wheels.
Damn I need to pee.