The Mind of Spaz

*Before I begin the following atrocity, please click here if you care at all about helping those without enough drinking water.

My Dog has a second name.  I didn’t give it to her.  Her given name is Jinx, but according to the guy across the street, her real name is Mrs. Young.

My across the street neighbors are an older, retired couple.  He’s a loud, cranky old bastard that has a voice louder than all the prosti-tots screaming at a Hanna Montana concert.  He combines that loud, booming voice by going topless in the summer time, letting his old man boobs swing freely in the breeze.  His wife compliments his drunken antics by saying virtually nothing at all and keeping her boobs covered by ensuring she always wears pants.

Since they’re retired, they spend all day staring at my house.

“But Spaz”, you’re all thinking, “Aren’t you just being a paranoid screwball?”  Ordinarily I’d agree I was being a paranoid ass.  But this time, I’m not.  How do I know?  Because Mrs. Young was the last owner of this house.

My house was built in 1950.  I bought it in 2005.  And I’m the second owner.  That means that the original owner I bought it from was REALLY REALLY REALLY old.    According to the old loud guy, my dog Jinx stares out the window all day while I’m gone, which is what old Mrs. Young used to do when she had the house.  And to know that, the retiree’s have to sit in their house and stare back at my house all day.

Martha, this owner leaves the house. Get some dog treats to distract Mrs. Young and I'll steal his TV.

Now, you have to think that if you’ve owned a house for your entire adult life, you become attached to it.  Heck, I’m attached to this house and I’ve only been here for three and a half years.

I’m not one to believe in ghosts, but there was this one time, just once, that old Mrs. Young came back for a visit.

And she came back at the most inopportune time.

I had went into the computer room to watch some… ummm, internet videos and have some…. alone time with Pamela Handerson, if you catch my drift.  The door was closed because Jinx, the ever curious terrier might confuse my tan coloured love pole with her tan coloured raw hides.

That’s not cool.

I was in the middle of watching a really cool video of a VERY flexible big boobed Asian when I heard it. A voice, an old ladies voice, right outside the door where jinx was sitting. It said “Don’t worry little one, he’ll be out soon.”

I like watching him best when he's making dookie.

Now, I haven’t heard anything since then. Most likely it was the T.V., but if Mrs. Young is watching, could you please tell me if that thing on my ass is a boil or a zit?

Thanks.

Uncategorized dogs, dookie, ghosts, old people, Palmela Handerson