This was about two years ago, while I was home sick.
We have no mower, or weed eater, or even a sling blade. We need our lawn mowed pretty badly. My brother said he would, but we never got anything for him to mow it with. Then the Jason across the street told Shy he'd get the side of the house for an extra $5. She paid and he did nothing. This pissed me off. I don't care if the guy is a little retarded, you don't tell me you are going to do something and then not do it.
So now we have people randomly stop by to ask if they can mow it. Which happened before, but Shy swears it is because it needs it now (we've had people stop by the day after it was cut).
So this drunk crackhead just stopped by (not Skeet. I think Skeet is in jail or something).
This was our conversation:
The CrackHead's voice should be read as the stereotypical voice you'd expect from a black, 40 to 50 something, toothless crackhead drinking tall can of Old English 1800. Mine should be read as an over excited stoner.
CH: Hey man! Just stopping by to see if you still wanted yo yard cut!
CH: Yeah, man. You still want it cut?
Me: Where'd the still come from? I never wanted it cut. How am I supposed to hide the midgets with short grass?!
CH: Midgets? What the--
Me: Yeah man! The midgets! I am going to have a midget paintball field! I'm going to make so much scratch!
CH: Hell yeah you will! Hey you think I can--
Me: Hell no! I said midgets! You have to be this tall (this is where I pointed at my penis) to play in the field. Otherwise you'd get your goddamn head blown off.
CH: I'd what? What do--
Me: You don't know many midgets, do you? Man! They are fucking ruthless! If you can't hide behind something, they'll kill you! They're like tiny little demons on meth, man! They will fuck you up!
CH: I heard that, man! My sister dated a midget--
Me: Oh dear! Bless her heart, man. Bless her little heart. I hope he didn't hurt her too bad. I know how terrible it can be.
CH: No, he just--
Me: I hope I didn't make you late, man. You have fun with those kids, dude.
CH: The what--
Me: Yeah, man. I wish I could go, but you know how it is. Can't stop the rockin' with the bam da bam diggy and a up jump those boogy and beats, you know what I'm saying? Yeah, you know.
CH: (Look of confusion) Yeah...
Me: You take care now. Keep it real.
It made up for not feeling well enough to talk with the Church ladies that stopped by the day before.