BOBBY!!!

Across the street from us, there lives a couple with two ancient, mangy dogs and about a zillion cats. (Or, they used to have a zillion cats, until local animal control came and took most of them away.) They're pretty much the biggest assholes ever: When we first moved in, Lady Sweatpants (so-called because I've never seen her wear anything, ever, other than a pair of blue sweatpants) was outside and I waved across the street to her, a gesture to which she responded with, "What are you looking at?"

Our next-door neighbor has an ongoing feud with Sir Grumpyhead (the etymology of which I'll assume is self-evident) and Lady Sweatpants, which most recently resulted in his asking them to (and offering to help them) clean up the metrick fuckton of junk spilling out of a dilapidated and collapsing out-building on their property, which was not just an eyesore and a public hazard, but had also become a breeding ground for feral cats. When rudely rebuffed and told to fuck off, our neighbor reported them to the city. It's clean now!

So, anyway, Lady Sweatpants hangs around outside all day with one of the ancient, mangy dogs, who barks incessantly and likes to wander off a bit. Both of these things—the barking and the wandering—prompt Lady Sweatpants to noisily smash together whatever random bits of crap she first puts her hands on (stick and a pipe, garbage can lid and a rollerskate) and scream at the top of her lungs: "BOBBY! SHADDUP! BOBBY! GET BACK OVER HERE! BOBBY! BOBBY! BOBBY! THAT'S ENOUGH! GET BACK OVER HERE! GODDAMMIT! BOBBY! BOBBY! BOBBY! YOU'RE GONNA GET IT! BOBBY!"

BAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHBBEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

Then the ancient, mangy dog waddles back to her, and Lady Sweatpants goes back to whatever haphazard puttering she's doing in the yard or the garage, paying no attention to the dog, who wanders off again. "BOBBY! SHADDUP! BOBBY! GET BACK OVER HERE! BOBBY! BOBBY! BOBBY! THAT'S ENOUGH! GET BACK OVER HERE! GODDAMMIT! BOBBY! BOBBY! BOBBY! YOU'RE GONNA GET IT! BOBBY!"

BAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHBBEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

Rinse and repeat.

All. Fucking. Day.

Kenny Blogginz was over here one Sunday afternoon when Lady Sweatpants started in with the screaming-at-the-dog routine. He looked at me like "What the fuck was that?!" Because she screams bloody goddamned murder. It's not like she's just yelling at the dog; she's screaming at it like an angry maniac. "BOBBY!!! ALL RIGHT!!! THAT'S ENOUGH!!! GET OVER HERE!!!"

Suffice it to say, this is more annoying than the barking ever is.

And it's just so hilariously unwarranted. The dog is all old and shit, and sort of limps back toward her all slow with its bum hip and it's like, "Wevs, dude. I was just on the other side of the yard. Damn."

Yet she screams at it like it might be contemplating robbing banks or splitting for China or something. The dog doesn't even leave the freaking yard.


I can't have my window open without listening to this shit on a loop. One of these days I'm going to snap: "PUT THAT DOG ON A FUCKING LEASH AND SHUT THE FUCK UP!"