My ex stepmother, her name is Agnes but we'll call her Nag'ass, could talk in hour-long sentences. My sisters would literally set the phone down, get dinner started, and come back to an uninterrupted stream of useless voice."Mysister'shusbanddiedandshewantedtocashinallhisbondsbutherkidswouldn'tletherandwellpeoplesinhellwanticewaterandIcalledhertosetherstraightsoItellsheryouhavetoworkwiththekidsoryouwontgetadimeandbabbathisandbabbathatandyadayadayadaand"For an hour.I have a crazy neighbor, named Andy. He checks his mail about 14 times a day. Poor guy, must be about 80, walks to the mailbox with his hands clasped behind his back, and opens the box, bends his knees, and looks waaaaaaaaaaaaay into the back of the box. As if looking for a mail carrying ship, way off on the horizon. But that's not good enough so he takes his hand and puts it inside, and feels every sqaure inche of the metal. Satisfied, he shuts the door and turns around.But by the time he gets back to the middle of the street he's crossing, he forgets that he just checked his mail. He turns around in the middle of the street, walks back to the box, and repeats his performance.Other times I am driving down the street and want to pull up to my box which is on the same row as his. I have to pull over down the street for several minutes, waiting for him to complete his molestation of his mailbox.Sometimes he cusses at the box. Sometimes I'm there at the same time as him. Of course, once a day, there actually is mail in his box. But he puts it in his pocket and still forgets that he's already retrieved his mail. The other day, when I encountered him at the box, he said he's on a quest for his mail and he's not sure where it is. I told him, in a nice way, "Oh, look, there it is, in your pocket."Poor guy. Tall, lanky, coke-bottle glasses. Sometimes kids tease him when he's on his large three wheel bicycle in front of his house. He'll do circles in the middle of the street, raising his fist in the air, shouting at the top of his lungs: "Galdamkids! I'll knock your heads off!"And he probably could. He's very feisty, and knarly-boned.When my dog barks, so does he. Aroor Roor Roor! He barks back, like crazy man.I make my dog shut up but Andy doesn't.Yesterday, and in front of the very religious neighbors, I almost found myself yelling at Andy: "Andy, NO BARK! No bark boy! Good boy no bark! Fortunately, I didn't want to offend the neighbors so I kept my mouth shut.Poor guy.He does have some nice old-man antiques in his garage though. Maybe the one day I don't see him come to the mailbox anymore, I'll wander over there, see what he has. Wait, wouldn't that make me a ghoul, robbing the dead and all?I can't STAND to hear dogs bark, just like most of us can't stand to hear someone go on and on and on with their mouth. When Andy barks, I am so tempted to tell him to shut up just like I do the "other" neighborhood dogs.He gets on his bike (he also rides a two wheeler) and neighbors say that sometimes they see him up to 15 miles away! I'm afraid that one day he'll get lost so I've been thinking of taking my dogs collar and putting it and the tags around his neck. Then if he's ever found, they can at least contact me or the dog pound.Paul T.
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