Sweet Revenge - Weedwacker Style

So...

I come home from work, and my much better half arrives shortly after, and begins opening the mail. Amongst the garbage is a letter from the city. As it turns out, our not so lovely neighbors behind us have decided that they no longer appreciate our weed collection growing in the back yard. Mind you, these are legal weeds, not the more preferable kind. Dandelions on steroids, ivy, and some mysterious variety that makes little fuzzy balls that like to stick to Linus, my Maine Coon.

You see, our back yard is, well, a miniature version of the Amazon. All it's missing is flowing water stocked with piranha. Maybe out back at the new house. Anyway, the problem is that because there is so much debris and flack out there, its a real pain to keep maintained, if not even dangerous to attempt to do so. Amongst the various foliage, there are also chunks of cinder block, broken limbs from dead trees (one of which fell on the fence that separates our yard from another neighbor), odd and end pieces of metal of various shapes and sizes, all arranged haphazardly in harmony with one another. The story is that the landlord (yes, I'm renting at the moment) tried to use construction wastes of various kinds as a bulk landfill material, and then filled in the rest with dirt. This is great and all, except he didnt block off the runoff path, so the dirt all washed away. Dumbass.

So here I am, stuck with a yard that I cant do much with, so we just avoid utilizing it. I've tried weedwackers, foliage killer, and on and on. Nothing really works very well for any length of time. The concept this season was to ignore it totally, since soon, it will not be our problem any more. We're moving!

Now, to add a little pepper to this story before I really get down to what transpired, I must tell you about an irritating little nuisance we have been dealing with for almost two years straight now. It's one of those little kickin' and peein' dogs. You know, the kind that pee when you kick 'em? The neighbor with a distaste for man-size puff-ball generators (ok, so that's an exaggeration, more like kid-size) has one of these things. I've been listening to it yip at me from 75 feet away every time I would go out back to have a smoke for what seems an eternity now. Aside from silently plotting various means to abruptly end it's yipping career, I haven't so much as uttered a peep about the damn thing. Until last night.

Knowing the local noise curfew laws from being an occasionally obnoxious teenager (who, me?), I recalled of a number resembling 11PM. Perfect. It was currently 10PM. The wild hair between the cheeks grew rapidly and I dug out my mega-LED flashlight, a roll of electrical tape, and proceeded to head out the back door. On my way out there, it just so happens that as I was testing the flashlight, one of my targets appeared on the radar, and I couldn't help myself. From all the way across my back yard and partly across his, I nailed him in the face with a bucket of photons, and just began giggling. The look in his eye was priceless. The only thing that could have made it better was if I was closer to get a better look. He looked so puzzled. Hah!

So, as I continued my evil giggle spree, I headed for the shed, where I proceeded to pull out the weedeater. It was full of gas, as I had (ironically) started to trim the yard just a week earlier. As I strapped the flashlight to the shaft of my aural weapon, I turned around and made one last peek before pulling the rope. All was clear. Nobody in that house had a clue. Nice warm summer evening, every window in the house open, the occasional cool breeze? Excellent, Smithers.


A couple presses of the primer, a few tugs on the rope. WaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAH! She came to life. Lets rock.

I made my presence more than known very early in the demonstration. I went directly to the point in the fence where I could get maximum annoyance factor, turned around so the sweet sound emanating from the tailpipe had peak transmission power, and wailed on the throttle, you know, just to warm up the engine.

I could almost feel them stirring in the house, wondering what in the hell I was doing. I began slashing and thrashing about, cutting anything and everything that got in the way of the rotating head. After about 30 seconds or so, the bodies began appearing outside the domicile. I turned and looked one of them dead in the eye, dropped the throttle, and raised the shaft up so they could get another face full of light, and just growled out a phrase that wont leave them for a little while... "Where's that fucking dog at?"

After about 3 seconds of watching the blood drain from her face, I lowered the head back to the ground, pulled the trigger in for round two, and gave it a quick tap on the ground to ensure I was fully loaded with string for my rampage.

It took me about 45 minutes to chop up the entire back yard, and they came and went outside as if concerned what my next move might involve, but no clue what to do about it. It was amusing. Truly amusing.

As my fun came to an end, I spouted off a few lines about the dog and made sure to notify them that their deed did not go un-noticed, and recommended that they explain to the other neighbors just how this night came about. My apologies will go to the unfortunates that were caught in the cross fire; its a shame that they also had to experience my belligerence, but where I come from, how does it go... Oh yeah, Homey Don't Play That!


Of course, I likely would not have done this if I expected to further be here for any significant amount of time, as it's not good karma to wage war with a neighbor. But damnit, they pissed me off!