Derek Bird is the tobacco-chewing, foul-smelling, shit-spewing anti-Christ

...And I'm running up and down the road and through the woods with my dog, two cow-bells, an empty coffee can, and a set of drumsticks - playing a marching beat just to piss of the drunk hillbilly in my woods holding a gun.

So, maybe it's not the smartest plan...but it sure is a thrill. Especially when whiny little Derek gets so pissed that he runs to my grandpa and cries to him about how he's a good guy who comes up here and helps thin the deer herd and spends money - SO SPEND IT ON A FREAKING CAMPSITE!

And my mom is so hormonal. First, she's agreeing with me that the hillbilly needs to go, and that he's a danger and a liability and tells me I should write to the county board because it's illegal for his trailer to be parked there for more than 9 months out of the year. Then, I bring it up in front of the sissy-girl landowner who bends over and spreads his cheeks for Derek, and it's all "YOU NEED TO FIND SOMEPLACE ELSE TO LIVE!"

So anyways, it's to bed early again tonight so I can get up early and play some flute solo's under the tree-stand, and yodel like a frosty Tibetan monkey and see if I can piss him off just enough that he'll leave and take his rusty piece of shit trailer with him....

Or, you know, shoot me so that everyone feels really bad about letting him walk all over them for so long - and then they can sue him for my wrongful death and live it up while I wait for him in Hell.

Things are a little...uncomfortable

Well, the hillbillies definitely noticed that I cut off their electric. They made unnecessary amounts of noise during the day, tore their big truck up and down the driveway, and finally just ran an extension cord to the other side of the house.

Derek came to our house later that evening and took on this whiny, cry-baby tone. He said to my mom "I apologize, we blew a fuse. I've never had a problem on that fuse before. I plugged into the other side, but I wanted to make sure that wouldn't damage anything in the house..." blah blah blah. It was all a blatant lie, right to my mom's face. I was walking back and forth on the property all day, I sat outside and played my flute for awhile - they knew I was there. If they were so worried about damaging something in the house, why didn't they just come have me flip the other fuse???

Because they knew that I turned it off, and they were fishing for a confession. My mom was just all smiles and polite, even though she knew they hadn't blown a fuse - I had turned it off. So my mom told my grandfather that she didn't want them on the property anymore, and that their antics posed a danger to my little sisters. And what did my grandfather do about it? Jack-diddly-squat, that's what. Because he's too much of a sissy to confront them and tell them to leave. So again, I've taken it upon myself to be so unbearable as to make them leave. Which is basically what I've been doing, except now it's come to another level; now it's all consuming.

More to come soon, I'm sure....

Hillbilles - The Epic Continues

Well, today the hillbillies managed to evoke the wrath of my mother - by joy-riding their ATV up and down our driveway. She yelled, and it was all really quite scary and stressful, and told them absolutely NOT to ride the ATV on the property. So then, the head-honcho hillbilly came over to apologize ON THE ATV.

My mother proceeded to tell them that the constant revving of the motor upsets the dog, and that the lawnmower he runs EVERY DAY doesn’t help either. So he left, and not 10 minutes later, HE STARTED MOWING THE LAWN.

So now that they have proven themselves to be dim-witted, I have no problem publishing their names to the world. The head-honcho hillbilly is none other than Dereck Bird of Janesville, accompanied by his trashy, overweight girlfriend Pam, and her entire brood of progeny.

So, I have finally overcome my inhibitions and flipped the circuit breaker that supplies them with power. It’s not like they’re paying for it, so who are they to complain? I’ll likely get in trouble for interfering, but my grandfather won’t get rid of them and it’s causing the rest of my family stress. As if my poor mother doesn’t have enough on her plate with ME, she has my delinquent sister, Mel and the two little spoiled brats to contend with. The hillbillies think they have their own private little campground, well then, they don’t get to have electricity too. Let them go somewhere where they’re actually paying to park their asses if they want that kind of luxury.

Besides, if you have electricity, it’s not really camping, is it?

The hillbillies are back. This means WAR.

Right, so since this is the first time I’ve been online in MONTHS and nobody cared about my dumb blog before anyway, I doubt anyone will remember my rants about the hillbillies. (This is where you should go back through my previous entries and become acquainted with them.)

Having read said past entry, you now know about the clan of vulgar, dimwitted drunks camping in my backyard (well, technically it’s not MY backyard, it’s my grandfathers, but our houses are on the same piece of property) And they’re back. I had one blissful, quiet winter and the only trace of the hillbillies was the rusty old camper...and the woodsplitter...and the ATV...and the lawnmower sitting in the backyard. But now there’s people to go along with those inanimate objects. And I’m not so good with people.

It’s not like I don’t have a reason for loathing them - they make a ton of noise that upsets the dog and the ducks, and they plow their ATV over all the precious plant life in the woods around my house. My dog, who has major anxiety issues (just like me) is so nervous when they’re around that I had to schedule a vet appointment today to go get her sedatives. Because of the hillbillies. Because they’re here.

My grandfather, who gave them permission to squat in the yard, free of charge, is out of town. He doesn’t mind them being here because he never notices their presence one way or the other, and the thought that it may interrupt my or my mother’s life doesn’t occur to him at all. If he won’t tell them to leave - I am going to MAKE them leave…and take their ugly trailer with them, too.

The trouble is that I’m very passive-aggressive. I can’t bring myself to walk up to them and bring into light the fact that they are dirty, freeloading, dense hillbillies - call me a wimp, call me too polite, whatever. I just can’t do it. Instead, I set my alarm clock and race into the woods behind their trailer, screaming, at 3 o’clock in the morning, and glare evilly at them when I walk by during the day. So far, it’s been extremely ineffective - they’re too drunk for my screaming to wake them up, and they don’t care if a strange girl looks at them funny; they’re hillbillies after all, I expect they’re used to it.

I was going to go flip the fuse that supplies them with electricity tonight, and deprive them of their lights and air-conditioning - surely that would get their attention. But, I can’t figure out which fuse it is, and I’m afraid I’ll somehow electrocute myself in the process…

So for now, I’m stuck here, reflecting and planning. They’re NOT going to be coming here every weekend all summer - I WILL put an end to it. I’m just not quite sure how...yet. But I’m working on it.