...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.
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