In the Congo

My day was a little hectic. Spent most of the morning reviewing some old writing I wanted to broaden. The shining sun brings its refreshing warmth, to me, the lizard stuck inside all day. Reminds me of the time when I was laid off from my first job. I would wait on hold for an operator at the unemployment office to pick up. This used to take 2-3 hours. Applying for jobs online used to take all day because after uploading my resume, I would then have to fill out each piece of the application again. This could take up to at least thirty minutes. Hence, I would be inside all day. Occasionally, while on hold I would look at porn and rub one out. Tempting Fate with the possibility that the operator would come on the line at the same time as me, hearing Jessica Carrboro writhing and moaning in the background.

In the afternoon my dogs would go ballistic as the neighbors, and suspected drug dealers would let their dogs run around the neighborhood. Their scampering around my driveway created a piercing symphony of yelping, barking and whining. I would go out, shewing them back to their own property. After a while this became more than a nusance and more of a respect kind of thing. Speaking to my neighbors about it would have no doubt resulted in bullets extending my air conditioning or a miracle of conflagration happening while I was out. Contemplating a solution, I first thought of a pellet gun to give them a good sting. Thinking better of it, I had previously utilized my hose to scare away perspective tresspassing pooches. However this would be too obvious and cumbersome having to turn the hose on and off. Then, I hit upon it. I would fill a Super Soaker ® with a mixture of artificial deer urine and water. Hiding between the cars in my driveway I would steathily soak their asses and be able to retreat under the cover of my car port to the back door of the house, undetected. The dogs, being drenched in scent would return to their master who would be befuddled and unamused at the smell.

How do I know they’re drug dealers? I think it was the posse meetings every day at three o’clock. Or perhaps the guard car full of guys overnight outside their house overnight. His family lives there so he’s not dealing out of the house, just orchestrating. Roughly every three weeks a black Mercedes ® with unfriendly tinted windows rolls up. Never really see anyone get out of the car. It just sits there. But I’m sure they are running a peer mentoring group for young men in the neighborhood. Speaking of which a kid about the age of fifteen or sixteen in a security company shirt and hat came to the house three times (I ignored the first two attempts) to tell me about break-ins in my neighborhood where the perpetrators are cutting the phone lines so when invaded the people can’t call 911. Um, yeah. Apparently he doesn’t live around here. Fighting down the urge to ask him where the incidents took place (I live four blocks from a police station), I smiled and told him that the barking he heard belonged to a 120-pound Rottweiler. And, THAT, was my security system. What I didn’t tell him is that I only have cell phones in my house. Company scare tactics are awesome when they want you to buy something.

The day goes on. Social events surrounding the Kentucky Derby are about this weekend. All required tasks must be complete by end-of-business today. And so I go.

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