| Straight
from the holler.
by "Buck" November 7, 2006 I’ve got to find a new neighborhood. Since moving to suburbia, my doorstep is darkened with all forms of scum and money grubbers. When we first moved here, I had an endless parade of preachers ringing the doorbell and asking for a deposit on my soul. I have all of that worked out, but that doesn’t seem to sit well with them. They are insistent on coming into the house, even when they aren’t invited and are told as much. One time I opened the door to find an oriental guy holding a tin of popcorn and telling me he’d like to “creen my cah-pet”. Through his broken English I was able to determine he was an upstart carpet cleaning guy and was offering “free samples.” Apparently he would clean a six-by-six square…in the middle of your living room…and then charge a fee to do the rest, if you liked his work. I’ll give him credit, who wants a clean square in the middle of the filth? We’d also get the tin of stale popcorn if we took him up on the offer. I have to admit, the caramel corn was tempting, but my better judgment came out and I told him to get bent and closed the door. We never had this problem growing up. When I was a kid we lived on a farm in the middle of Bum Fuck Egypt. Nobody EVER came to our door step, except for the Jehovah’s Witnesses. The only reason they showed up was because my long dead aunt was a member of their flock about 40-years ago and they were hoping some of the genetics of insanity had filtered down to one or more of us. We did once have a guy come to sell vacuum cleaners. Daddy was willing to listen to his pitch since we got a free Smithfield Ham if we were willing to endure the demonstration. When he finally got to the end, my dad told him, “No thanks, but put the ham on the counter.” This didn’t sit well with the guy and he refused to leave the ham, claiming that wasn’t the deal. It’s the first time I ever saw my dad ready to whip somebody’s ass—and it would have happened had the pussy vacuum cleaner salesman not backed down. We got the ham, and he got the hell out of there—never to return. Forgive me, I’m getting a little misty eyed over that one. I think however, I may have finally found the ultimate deterrent to this problem. Over the weekend, my neighbor killed a deer and asked if I wanted the meat. I accepted the offer, hung the carcass in the garage, and went to work with the skinning knife. I was about halfway into this affair when the doorbell rang. I didn’t think much about it, but walked around the house to see who was there. It was some shithead wanting me to vote for him. I can only imagine the horror of seeing a man with fresh blood on his shirt, his face, and all the way up to his elbows holding a skinning knife. He literally jumped off the porch and backed to his car without breaking stride. Incredibly the same thing happened about 15-minutes later when two Mormons wanted to discuss the 10 Commandments. I said… “Sure, come on in….I’m just cleaning up—but have plenty more to do.” For the first time in history—they declined the offer and walked swiftly down the street. Fantastic! I’ve tried this approach on several occasions with telemarketers. One of them called one time and I told her to call 911, I just shot my wife and was about to kill myself. I had a gun and actually fired it out the window and dropped the phone. She apparently hung up. I hate being bothered by people like that. I’ll make an exception if its some kid selling pecan logs for the track team or whatnot….I usually give them a five spot and enjoy a nutty treat…but adults pulling this bullshit are a different story. There was one other time I’ve been the subject of a shakedown attempt. A retard comes to the house with some key chain or homemade article. He can’t speak a lick of English, so he hands me a card that explains he and his family are starving and he’s trying to raise money to buy formula for the baby. Go fuck yourself pal. This also happened once in a McDonalds when some guy came in and started tossing the key chains with the message on everybody’s table, then returned after giving one to everybody in the restaurant with his hand out wanting money. Yeah right, I’m working on a McRib here pal—go grab an application and make me another one. Buck Out |
