Friday nights are Hell around here and God knows I’ve never been too high on abortions – but if it meant I would get one peaceful Friday night, I would have aborted every one of THOSE DAMN KIDS in the third trimester with the head sticking out!
Me and Mrs. Aldrich get back from Denny’s about 4:45 every Friday night (tonight was no exception). I like to have me a LaBatt’s or three to sort of wind down from the week of staring at the floor and wondering when I’ll just die.
Then the sun goes down and it all starts.
First comes the blaring of car horns and the high-pitch screaming as they pass by.
Do these stupid kids want the whole neighborhood to think they’re idiots?
Dick suckers so high on pot they can’t even drive straight!
About an hour later, when they think I’m asleep, comes the TP.
If those little squirts knew how scarce that stuff was during the war and what we had to use to wipe our butts, they’d think twice about throwing roll after roll all over my 100-year-old elm tree.
Then it’s shaving cream and flaming manure time.
Like clockwork, those sissymarys write unmentionable sayings all over my driveway and lawn then set a bag of shit on fire.
The retards then ring the bell to let me know what they’ve done.
I GODDAMNED KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE! YOU’VE RUINED MY GODDAMNED LAWN AND MY FRIDAY NIGHT IS WHAT YOU’VE DONE!
I swear to Jesus Christ, next time I’m calling the cops and bomb sniffing dogs! I’ve had it.
And every Saturday it takes Mrs. Aldrich half the day just clean all that crap up.
I’ll talk at you next week…
Lester Aldrich – Those Damn Kids
