It's the same in my nabe. It's all okay as long as you can hear the yelling and screaming. It's when things get quiet you need to worry.

I give my neighbor lady things from my table and I know, no matter the love she professes for me, that she pitches it in the trash. Be we laugh together all the same.

Yankees....in Georgia????

nope just tree frogs and cicadas down here by Honeybee creek

and bluegrass

"brought four squad cars."

Fuck dat. Let me know when they bring four Apache attack helicopters and level the other side of the block.

I do loves me a good cat fight.

Gerard: heh. I almost sent my little helicopter over on to harass them but my skills are not great. It would have crashed at some point and I would have had to retrieve it. Under gunpoint, no doubt.

Already had the helicopters circle my back yard.

http://primordialslack.com/?p=2273

Sounds like here. Gated condos here, eleventy apts. there, a lot of Section eight.
We take bets that the sirens will turn into the apts. instead of the old folks place down the street.

Ah, I recognize that .. it's called Residing.

'Cause it sure as hell can't be called Living.

How the +(){# could anyone think you were a Yankee? Effin' Foghorn Leghorn maybe, but not you.

When I was a kid in Yakima, Warshington, we lived on a dirty little dead end street a few blocks away from the paper mill. Nasty white trash we all wuz.
Beaudry family was the loudest, meanest family, followed by us, the Couch family and the Slutz family.
One night, Mr. Beaudry drags his wailing wife out on to the front yard and beats her half to death, before the cops come and haul him away.
A minute later, her boyfriend shows up to comfort her in only the way a boyfriend can.
At least their boys are in jail, now.