My Fucking Neighbours

I was going to write about something a fuck of a lot more entertaining than this (not the election either!) when my neighbour started up his car. He starts it up about a dozen times a day with his remote control. A neighbour up the street says the car starter is a dope runner. Says he figures he runs bud across the border. Could be every second or third person you see on the street is in the business for hundreds of miles around Dope City. My down street neighbour says the police had the car starter's house under surveillance and one day they came and took a fancy car away that they do not start up 12 times a day. I do not think they found anything because the car came back after it was taken away after a few days. I think the down street neighbour called in the cops because my car starter neighbour is from India and has too many nice cars. He thinks everybody should spend all their money on golf and viagra like he does.

The same nosy neighbour figures my other neighbour is growing the green gold in his house. I told him other neighbours had asked me about the possibility. Sonja and I thought so too at first but I think we were just getting caught up in the grow-up hysteria along with everybody else who is not involved in the business. I told him that like everybody else around one or two of the things you are supposed to look out for in a grow-op apply to my neighbour's house but that is it. This did not sit well with the grumpy old bastard who I can tell is itching to save the fucking planet by calling in the police yet again.

I figure I ought to know a grow-op or a drug dealer from space. I grew up in Sliverville, where dope is King and you can fuck off if you do not like it.