Harm Aid
Out looking for a place to live, my wife and I happened upon a quaint little house in the city that we liked. There was a cyclone fence that wrapped around the backyard with an old-fashioned and weathered “beware of dog” sign on the gate. The front yard was grass.
We thought the yard and the fence would come in handy for those times when family stopped by with their dogs. In anticipation of the fun we’d have we even picked up a Chuckit and ball.
At no time were we advised there were plans to change anything about the house. The property management people treated us throughout the entire process like the rental scum that we were.
Finally it was moving day. We rolled into town in our U-haul and arrived at the property. It was so exciting. We hadn’t seen the house in two months.
Surprise. The fence was gone although the gate remained. It was no longer a place for dogs. The lawn had been replaced with raw dirt that would soon be the uber cool and trendy urban front-yard farm.
Sorry, dog. We’ve been victimized by bait-and-switch. There’s no place for a game of catch around here. But I do see a nice place where you can bury your bones. Please, feel free.
Lard Fail
Out in the street in front of our drive was a sawhorse festooned with a garish sign and, get this, a festive baby blue helium balloon dancing playfully in the air.
My wife knows how to throw a party.
“A balloon,” I said. “Where the hell did you get a helium balloon?”
“At the dollar store.”
“Huh. How much did it cost?”
Dripping with more sweat than Mike Rowe driving a Ford Truck, I had just muscled tons of our most useless crap out on the front lawn. My normally well-oiled brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.
Weird how it was that moment the heavens decided to deluge our asses and stuff. I welled up with despair as I watched the rain beating down against that little helium balloon. I’m proud to say it didn’t fight back much. Soon it lay there, on the ground, like a fresh chunk of roadkill.
It wasn’t a winner, but I knew how to handle that. I dashed out in the rain and pinned it with a “participant” ribbon taken from my trophy collection. It popped and was gone for good.
Our “yard sale” was officially underway.
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Where The Green Grass Lies
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s fucking deceitful grass. Especially when it lies like a snake in the … well, fuck it. You get the idea!
Advertising lies to us all day. We get it. We expect it. Show me a person who actually believes the messages contained in advertising and I’ll show you a poster child for brain bullet enemas.
We also expect it from people right to our face. Like strangers. No one’s surprised any more. Right? Certainly not me.
Even so, somehow, after I’ve been spoon fed the line of bullshit right to my face, sometimes even I still have the temerity to feign chagrin.
“Of course you need the layer of protectant sealant for the undercarriage coating.” This, and other members of the coatings family, are what eventually makes your car look like it has a peeling sunburn. And you paid extra for it. Ha ha ha!
“It only costs $5 per month to add a second line to your cell phone plan.” When the bill arrives, though, it’s $10 and when you call to point out their error, they call you the liar. That’s known as the icing on the cake. “Did you get it in writing?” they demand. I vowed that day that U.S. Cellular would eat my ass when my two years of indentured servitude were up and they still had the temerity to say, “How can we keep you as a customer?” when I called to cancel. Those are (almost) the moments that make life worth living.
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Guest Post – Hyppo and Critter: Thou Shall Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Bike
This Hyppo and Critter is also based on actual events of a most recent past. It all made sense to me when someone pointed out that our neighbor is actually a used car salesman!
Shouts from the Abyss 
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