There’s a bunch of god damn bums in my neighborhood and I’m about tired of it. This son of a bitch comes up to me today on the street.

“Got any spare change” he says.

Now think about this question. Honestly, when was the last time you had any extra money you just didn’t know what the hell to do with?

“Yeah man, I got two dollars more than I’m supposed to have right now, why don’t you take it you lazy god-damned son of a bitch. You can use it to buy yourself a nice bottle of Paul Masson brandy and get hammered and pass out in the flowers across the street like you do every night. Actually shithead, why don’t you take a couple twenty dollar bills that I have here and just drink yourself retarded. Then in the morning I can come by and piss on the back of your head while you’re asleep on the sidewalk.”

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I woke up this morning about 4:30 like I always do and would you believe some dumb son of a bitch kid is messing around in my shed? I got all my tools in there! These god damned kids these days ain’t got no respect for other people’s property. Well I called the police like a good citizen ought to do, and I get this.

“I’m sorry sir but all of our officers are very busy right now, we can have someone out there in 30 to 40 minutes.”

30 to 40 minutes?!?! It’s 4:30 in the morning on Tuesday and all your officers are busy? Pull that son of a bitch with the radar gun off the Thompson street bridge and tell him to come over here and bust a real criminal. Hell he’s only 10 minutes away even if he don’t use the sirens. So I tell the 911 bitch exactly that and she says no! I’m a taxpayer lady, get me a cop over here!

Well she didn’t like my attitude much and hung up on me, so I had to expedite the process a bit. I waited a couple minutes and gave em a ring back at the old 911 unit.Luckily the same bitch answered the phone.

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A new woman moved in to our building today, and she don’t look like she’s gonna be any easier to get along with than any of the other whack jobs. I actually defended her and she still got mad at me, just like women do. If I hadn’t done anything about this fella yelling at her she’d be mad about that instead. You can’t win. I don’t know how the hell you actually even talk to folks any more with most of em being so damn touchy. It drives a man to drink.

It started because she was hauling in a plant from her car that was parked out front. Now we got a “bike lane” that runs out front of the building between the sidewalk and the real street and she was parked in that lane, just like I usually do. I figure kids can ride their bikes in their own yards, but grown men don’t need no special lane takin’ up space in front of people’s buildings.

In fact let me tell you something about solving problems. If there is a simple and easy solution then just go ahead and do that motherfucker instead of trying to be all sneaky and over think every god-damned thing. If there’s too much traffic on a highway, you add in a lane and your problem is fixed. Don’t do a study on whether you should hire a bunch of hippies to put in a train that runs on solar power and fag juice at a cost of five hundred million dollars. Just add a fucking lane. Simple shit people.

The simple solution here is that if the hippies want a place to ride their bicycles then you tell em to buy some property and build themselves a little bicycle track. They can even build a tree house where they can meet up and do cross stitch and fuck each other in the butt. You don’t go ahead and build them a lane on the road where they’re just gonna sue people who hit em with their door as they are getting out of their car and claim that those people are doing it on purpose as the biker goes by because it’s happened four times in two weeks. Then the person who keeps “accidentally” hitting bikers with their car door can end up in court and having more fines to pay. I hate that shit. Keep your god-damned bikes off my road. Roads are for cars.

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Last night I got drunk with them idiots from the fraternity house down the road. Once in a while I see one of them on the street and they invite me down to have some brews with them. The fuckers can’t hold their liquor worth a damn, but their beer is free, and they buy it by the keg, so that makes them friends of mine, at least for the night. There’s only two problems with drinkin’ with them fratboys.

The first problem is that they want to play “drinkin’ games” with me. What the fuck kind of dumbshit idea is that? I drink cause I want to, and I don’t know why I ever need a game to help me decide when I want a drink. They want to drink when somebody says something on TV or when they make a ping pong ball in to a glass. I want to drink when I want to drink. Drinking games just slow me down. Here was the exchange where I helped them understand what real drinking is all about.

“Hey Willie!” jackass number one says to me “Let’s play a drinking game.”

“Okay, here’s the rules shithead.” I said “Everybody listen up, I want you all to remember the rules of Willie’s Favorite Drinking Game.” Now I had everybody’s attention.

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Oh you’re gonna like this one. So I was babysitting my dickweed nephew Jordan for the weekend. I haven’t seen the kid in six years, but his mom needs to get a huge growth removed from her back and she’s gonna be laid up, so I get to experience the joy of having a younger person in my home for a few days.

Let’s talk about Jordan a little bit.

First of all he doesn’t look like a 16 year old boy, he looks like a dead 14 year old girl. When I ask him what the fuck is wrong with his face and his clothes, he feeds me a line about being a metal gothic raver or some shit. He thinks he looks like a badass I guess, but I think he looks like a constipated geisha girl.

In my day if you wanted to pretend like you were evil you kicked a fucking dog, threw stones at the locomotive as it went by, and maybe pushed your little brother down a well. That was something to do when you were pissed off. This horse shit with the face paint and plastic axe is not gonna scare anybody. And then there’s his attitude problem. You can imagine how well I dealt with that. I’m widely known for being a patient and kind man, especially when dealing with little shitheads with attitude problems.

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I got me a new cane the other day, solid hickory and nice and gnarled and knotted like I wanted. The son of a bitch is hard as nails too, the heft in my hand feels real good. I could really bust a fella’s head with this thing. Now I’m armed everywhere I go, which is important in the crazy times we live in. Let me tell you about an example from just this week, right after I got Ol’ Hickory.

You see, I was walking down the street, minding my own business and watching folks go about their day, when a couple of them Mormons comes a walkin’ along and wants to talk to me. They was just kids, maybe 19 years old and not real streetwise because of their sheltered upbringing.

Well of course I felt threatened by them (I have to say that for legal reasons) right away. They was young and walking right up to me and I was scared (yeah right). They were hassling me and I was afraid for my safety(uh huh).  Anyway, they come walking up on me and start to ask me about my religious beliefs.

“My belief on religion is that I’m against it. Religion just makes folks kill each other and behave like damned idiots tryin’ to get in to other folks business.  So mark me down for “Against it” in your little poll there and go piss up a rope.”

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Willie’s nephew Chris here, and I just wanted to relay a conversation I overheard between uncle Willie and a police officer recently. Willie wasn’t really doing anything wrong, he was just having a few drinks at a picnic table and playing me in a game of checkers, but the park police don’t like him having a bottle of wine with him in the park and they stopped and asked him to put it away. The following conversation is word for word as I remember it.

“Willie, you know you can’t be drinking out here, we’ve talked about this enough times.”

Uncle Willie got a big smile on his face and replied with, “You’ve talked to me about it but it ain’t happened yet. I’ve talked to you about bangin’ your wife but that ain’t happened either, so I figure we’re even.”

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My nephew Steven came for a visit yesterday. I figured this was the only place I can talk about it because the son of a bitch is 8 years old and he still can’t read. His momma says he’s a “special needs” child…

I’ll tell you about his god damned special needs! That little bastard has a special need for me to go upside his head with a sock full of rocks is what he needs. Seems to me like “special needs” is the new-fangled term for idiot. If so then I live in a whole world of “special needs” folks. And I’m talking about you too, don’t think I ain’t. Sometimes I think my old mutt Scooter has more sense than most of the dumb ass folks that live in my building or those damned idiot kids hanging out across the street with their hats turned all funny askin’ me what I’m drinking today.

I got this crazy Puerto-Rican woman lives next door to me see? She comes out into the hallway when me and Steven are on our way to go get us some lunch and starts whoopin’ and hollerin’ and makin’ a fuss about how the son of a bitch is so damned cute. I hate when women folk get like that.

“Oh yeah, he’s a heckuva kid,” I says, figuring she’ll get close enough to him to get herself in trouble. Sure enough she walks right up to him and she gets what I call the “Steven Special” in short order.

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