This one is mine and I know this because when she is sick she spends pretty much all day pestering me into watching rated-R comedies like "The Big Lebowski" and "Shaun of the Dead", and when she isn't doing that, she's eating all the food I own like some kind of crazed animal with a tapeworm, and asking if I could go back to the store for more fish sticks, and I'm all "Jeez Kid, shouldn't you be passing out after all that Nyquil©?" and she's all talking nonsense about not being able to see and how her chest hurts, and then she complains about the neighbor's music for like the millionth time and now it's the entire AC/DC back catalog, which is better than the rap- metal guys screaming about letting the bodies hit the floor and being down with the sickness or whatever and I'm finally digging it a little, but she keeps pounding on the wall between blackouts so it's pretty much ridiculous at my place and it's no wonder I can't keep a nanny.
No wait. That was Mary Poppins.
So at some point the neighbors decide that they need to get their low-rider out in front of the house again, because this economy is eating their face and they've been trying to sell it since I moved in a year ago, and they probably can't figure out why it isn't selling because it does have a sweet hydraulic system and the whole back of it is pretty much one big speaker which is perfect for when you want the bodies to hit the floor, and even though it is painted primer black with spray paint and doesn't appear to actually go anywhere, it's great for sitting in and drinking 40s while you have a campfire in your rusted-out gas grill using wood you've "found" around the neighborhood, like the wooden post that was holding up Mrs. Wellington's mailbox. So it's pretty much the perfect car for the non-driver. But right now it's stuck in the mud in the backyard, because the best thing to do when you can't move a stuck car is to gun the engine and spin the tires so that great flumes of mud and grass spray everywhere and then swear.
I'm pretty sure that's also the cure for cancer too, if you were wondering.
So they decide they are going to tow the low-rider out using their big truck and I don't know what happens next because it was naptime, but when I woke up they had managed to get both vehicles* stuck in the backyard swamp and now there are quite the assortment of skinny men in stained wife beaters lurking around my backyard and they were all wielding planks and boards and revving engines and spinning tires and chewing tobaccco and spitting juice everywhere and swearing at each other and I thought maybe they were having an impromptu monster truck rally and I didn't think it was possible to get those permits during the course of naptime** but what do I know, I'm not a judge. So now there are tires spinning everywhere and the bodies are seriously hitting the floor and everyone is swearing and I close my eyes and wonder if this is what a Tourettes convention would be like, and then I realized they probably don't have conventions because if you thought the Monster Truck Rally permits were hard to get imagine thousands of people wandering around looking at displays and calling each other "filthy ass fucker pussy SHIT!". The keynote address alone would be cause for a police action.
So the neighbor comes over and he's covered in mud and grass that should be part of our lawn and not hanging out of the corner of his lip and he asks me if I "got a towin' chain" and I have to inform him that I don't and he looks at me like I'm stupid because of course, every family should have a "towin' chain" for when company comes over and apparently Miss Manners hasn't taught me a goddamn thing and also how dare I wear a shirt with sleeves. And then I feel bad for not having a "towin' chain" and I think maybe I'll have to pick one up next time I'm out and then I remember that I'm not retarded and don't drive my car in the lawn. And then I think about moving again for the infinityeth time, and then I go back to watching "Shaun of the Dead" on the couch and I ask her to pass me that fish stick if she isn't going to eat it.
* I hate calling cars "vehicles" because it makes me sound like a cop and believe me they hate when you impersonate them, especially just to get some free donuts, but what the hell donuts are delicious and you can't blame me for trying. That's the judge's job.
** In Mexico, the traditional time of rest after lunch is called a "siesta". Aren't foreign words fun? I like how they tickle my lips. Oh no. Wait. That's just the depression beard.