Garbage day was today, one day late thanks to the holiday, and the raccoons that usually party at the end of our driveway at 3 a.m. missed their grub.
In response they pulled a Gary Busy on me and when I took the garbage out at 6 a.m. I found that they left me some gifts other than ripped open Chinese take out and half-eaten diapers.
They thought it would be funny to leave me a string of poop down the center of the driveway between the cars. Odd, yes, but I know they are trying send me a message for not making the black bag offering full of kiddie dinner scraps.
And to get even with me? They poop between the cars, knowing full well, that as soon as Elliot runs outside in the morning to go to school and hop in the car he will be blinded by it's shininess, run around like a mad man laughing and yelling about it. Then, when I need to bring him back to earth, I'll have to explain that it came from the crazy raccoons who are threatening us to extort our trash.
He won't believe me. He'll think I'm crazy and tell stories about me for the rest of his life about how his old man thought that the neighborhood animals had a Soprano-esque society that extended to roughing up their human counterparts.
It's true. I swear.
Well, maybe it's not, but damn. Why they gotta poop on the driveway and make me have to clean it up before I've checked my email?
|
subscribe
