next to our across-the-street neighbors,
we've got a bunch of fucking psychos.
for the first 16 years of my life, i didn't know their real last name. it turned out to be stillerman, but we all got so used to calling them the screamers we forgot that.
screaming all the time, they live up to their name mucho.
our across-the-street neighbors have called the police not once, but twice, because they thought someone was being murdered there. both times.
we've never spoken to them, in 23 years of living across from them; before my sister and i were born.
when my mom passed away, they gave us a plate of chocolate chip cookies. and they tasted disgustingly salty.
oh. i almost forgot. one night during a blizzard, mr screamer came home from work to find himself locked out. instead of knocking the door and asking politely, "honey, why am i locked out? it's snowing very hard out here," he parked his car facing the house, turned his high beams on, and after honking very loudly on his horn, he stood on the roof of his car and started yelling and swearing at the top of his lungs.
this went on for hours.
i don't know what happened, but i guess she let him in eventually.
that's it.
no apology for length.
(USER No: 21515...FUCK YOU TO FUCK YOU FU see profile for limited time offer., Thu 1 Sep 2005, 19:54, Reply)