Saturday, July 3, 2010
I'm losing my fucking sanity. I have never made any secret out of the fact that I HATE fireworks. I hate the sound, the smell, the fact that they could burn down my house when you, in a drunken stupor send one onto my roof. I guess the question is, how do I tell my redneck, firecracker shooting, Natty Bow drinking neighbor that if he sets my house on fire I'm going to cut his balls off and cram them up his ass? How do you say that in a nice way?
I guess he's nice enough but his family could not be more different than ours. I mean my son has never broken my hand and I don't have a mullet. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I guess, but they've all but ruined a perfectly good holiday for me. I mean this is a really good holiday. I would love to celebrate our country with a nice picnic and playing outside with my kids but tomorrow they'll be more leftover fireworks in my yard than dog shit!
I don't even know where they get these things they're setting off. They sound like civil war cannons! We were reading Owen a book at bedtime and I had to leave the room because we thought there was an accident outside. It was that loud! I knew when we moved here that this was the redneck riviera but come on. Cliche much?
I don't know what it is with rednecks and firecrackers, but I am over it. Actually, now that I look at it, doesn't that sound like the name of a Toby Keith album? "Red Necks & Firecrackers!" Oh God, I slay me! I can find the silver lining in anything, but still, stop shooting that shit towards my fucking house!
Hope nobody loses a finger. Nothing stops the fun quicker than flying phalanges.