SAYONARA SHITHEADS

This has to be quick because our community yard sale has been moved from its regular date in September up to THIS FREAKIN' SATURDAY because the Homeowner's Association President's friends wanted to do it THIS FREAKIN' SATURDAY and rather than be a good homeowners association president, this woman does what her friends tell her to do and now I have to spend the entire week on getting yard sale stuff together.

Which, essentially means that everyone was given five days to get a yard sale together.

Which, essentially means that very few families will be having yard sales in our community except for people like me who only work 15 hours a week.

Which, essentially means that people are pissed with the President and want her out.

Which, essentially means that if I decide to run against her, I should win by a landslide.

We'll see.

First off ... loved loved LOVED "The 4400" which debuted Sunday night on USA Network.

I know you didn't watch it, so I'll recap it for you briefly.

From 1938 until today, 4,400 people mysteriously disappeared in a ball of light.

Yesterday, that ball of light returned in the form of a comet and dropped off all 4,400 people near a lake.

None of the people had aged a day (including the first abductee, an 8 year old girl from 1938) and none of them have any recollection of what happened.

So they have to readjust to life now. A woman who had a wonderful husband and an 8 month old daughter in 1993 when she was abducted now has a 12 year old daughter. Problem is, her husband has long since remarried and forbids the woman to see her daughter and just wants her to go away. It's actually damned near heartbreaking.

So it's a bunch of stories like that.

Oh.

And now they have super powers. They can kill people by thinking about it and bring dead things back to life and stuff.

Cool show.

Sundays at 9/8 central on the USA Network.

I finally got to see the show last night because ... lo and behold ... the in-laws finally wore out their welcome and are staying with Grandma for the next few days until they head back to Texas.

Why the sudden shift in plans?

My son's mangled face for starters.

(Photo not included because he wouldn't let me take a picture yesterday and he's asleep right now facing the wall and I can't get a good angle on it)

Long story short ... Andrew has this battery-powered motorcycle that Dylan HAD to drive yesterday afternoon.

"Unnnngh! Unnnngh!" Dylan groaned while pointing at the motorcycle.

Fine, ya little hunchback. Ride the damned thing.

Meanwhile, Andrew was playing in this little circle of dirt and sand that sits in the corner of our lot.

Dylan guns the battery powered motor and goes flying at about 8 mph toward Andrew whose back is turned to Dylan.

Dylan runs over Andrew.

Runs him the fuck over.

On purpose.

This was no "mistake", in case the amateur child psychologists want to brush it off.

The kid got on the motorcycle, spotted Andrew and gunned it, hitting Andrew square in the back, knocking him face first to the ground and then running the big wheels over his 30 lb. body.

Understandably, everyone freaked out except Dylan who is "just a baby" and "just wanted to see what would happen when you run over somebody".

Bottom line, the kid's a fucking psycho who received zero prenatal care, was brought into this world by two lazy teenage parents who have nothing to do with him and is being raised by his grandparents and teenage uncles while the parents spend their time playing video games.

Yes, I feel sorry for the kid.

When he's not writing on my walls or trying to kill my child.

Andrew's face was pretty scuffed up, having been smashed into the ground while being crushed by a 60-lb vehicle running over his skull.

It was at that point that my sister-in-law figured her kids and grandkid had done enough damage to my family and home and packed up their stuff to head to Grandma's to give us some peace and quiet.

I feel like God ... sacrificing my only son for peace.

I neglected to mention in yesterday's post about Mark, the 19 year-old nephew.

While a good kid with a good head on his shoulders, the kid's just bad luck personified.

Susie's brother (the no-good, Coke-swilling $6,500 owing bastard) previously held the record for breaking stuff in our house. It was comical at one point, every time he came to our house, he'd break something. A clock, computer, lawn mower, television, VCR recliner ... he broke them all. It was a running joke for Susie and I whose punchline wasn't always that amusing.

Anyway, Mark has the title for the time being.

Last Friday afternoon, I'm in my office cleaning up.

Mark comes in, sits down at my computer desk chair and proceeds to lean back as far as he can in it.

While the chair is a nice chair, it's not built for gangly teens to just try to see how much pressure they can put on it until it snaps.

Within ten seconds of sitting in the chair, the base of the chair snaps and Mark goes tumbling backwards out of the chair.

We (Susie and I ... Mark had moved on to the den) tried to fix it by screwing the base into the chair. And while you can sit in it like I'm doing now, you have to be very careful now.

Thanks Mark.

Here comes the irony.

That night at dinner, at our dining room table, Mark once again decides that he wants to lean back in his chair.

So he pushes himself back off the floor onto the two hind legs of the chair.

"Mark, don't do ..." his Mom says.

*SNAP*

Mark goes tumbling backwards out of the chair while the right hind leg of the chair splinters in half.

These are NICE chairs, people. Dining room chairs that aren't used unless we have company over.

No apologies from Mark. But man ... did the family get a kick out of that one!

They were hootin' and hollerin' like they had just stumbled across a lost episode of "Hee Haw".

So in the course of about four hours, the kid broke two chairs in the house because he likes to look cool while he's sitting down.

Tomorrow's his 20th birthday and he asked me yesterday what I was getting him.

I should just hand him the broken dining room chair.

Happy birthday you clumsy fuck.