March 29, 2002
"Smoke on the water " - Blue Oyster Cult
And for today's lesson, children, we're going to learn about chainsaws. Chainsaws can be fun. Take for instance if your neighbor, that's right, the shit-eating, scum-licking, toilet-flushing, advantage-taking parasitic waste of earth, air, water & fire (but most of all water) lower life form that lives on the other side of the wall from you in your little shotgun shack with only one water heater between you, that's right, that guy, if he should push your patience to that Christopher Walken-mafioso wise guy homicidal bill collection with a bullet to the head.. POINT!, then a chainsaw can be your best friend! That's right. Why? Because a chainsaw can add that certain, special something to your pent-up tension-venting performance of "Requiem For A Water Bill-owing Neighbor." To demonstrate this, we have a special guest with us today. Class, say hello to Mr. Mildly Psychotic Gonzoman!
Whoa. Wrote that earlier tonight in something of a huff. My neighbor, you see, with whom I share both an adjoining wall and the same water & sewer bill (in my name because I am stupid), has put me in the very uncool position of having to ask him again and again for his cut of the water bill. Actually, I'm not even asking for his cut. I'm just asking for half! In truth, he has 700 children and grandchildren living with him, and I am a single person with bad personal hygiene living alone. Hell, I'm on the cowboy bath schedule. Twice a week, as needed. Anyway, he's using more than half the water, and he ain't given me one red cent toward the bill for going-on two months now.
So, last night was the last straw. Kindof. Technically, the bill isn't due til April 3rd, so I told him to pay up by the 1st. He in turn said he'd pay me a little here, little there, whenever he could. He hasn't done that, and I'll fall over in amazement if he actually comes through with $65 by Monday. So I called the water company today and told them to turn the water off on Tuesday. But not before giving him one last knock and a hello howdy-doo yesterday evening.
The man is old enough to be my father, so you can imagine my resentment at having to shake him down for cash. I hate it. So after he hemmed and hawed and gave me the run-around while I stood there on his steps feeling like a "Fucking Asshole," (the exact descriptive I gave him for how he was making me feel), I laid down the law.
"Here's how it's gonna work," I said. "Monday's gonna come, and when you don't have the $65 you owe, I'm not gonna knock on your door again. Instead, sometime Tuesday you or one of your many offspring are gonna be taking a shower or trying to flush the toilet, and the water's going to turn off."
My plan, you see, is to wait him out, to lay siege to his water-wastin' ass. And while his shit's piling up and he's startin' to grasp the gravity of a waterless world, I'm gonna fill up half a dozen gallons at a friend's house and pour one over my head now again when I need some scrubbin. And I'm gonna win the battle and the war, because, as I said earlier, I'm a single water-conservative person, and I'm crazy to boot. And the day the landlord told me either I had to put the water in my name or he'd raise the rent, I shoulda chose Door #2, cuz it just ain't fair what's come to pass.
"The water's gonna go off, and then you're gonna have to put it in your name," I told him. Then I walked the five paces back to my side of our adjoining wall, went inside and proceeded to grow more and more psychotic as I sat staring at our common wall wishing, wishing, wishing that I had grown up in a mafioso family and that I hadn't given old Idyllwild Bruce my giant Stihl chainsaw with the 3-foot-long blade and the razor-sharp teeth.