How to Get Evicted: The New and Improved Way

Every one knows there are many fantastic ways to get yourself extricated from your place of living. Some are more effective than others, and tend to work at varying speeds. All in all, there are multiple paths to eviction.

I chose the pedophiliac child abuser method. 

It all started as I came home from a work get together at my manager's house. We had some fantastic dinner and then a fun game night, but after a long day at work and having to get up in the morning, I just wanted to go to bed. That's all I wanted.
Is that too much to ask?

Apparently the little assholes that live across the street think so. 

I went upstairs and after taking a shower and brushing my teeth it was about ten till 11 o'clock. I had to be up in about six hours so I figured how was an excellent time to crash out. I laid down and closed my eyes, at about that time I started hearing running steps outside my window. Along with the most annoying screams. 

They kinda sounded like a balloon that's being held with the opening stretched taut. 

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!" 

In simple terms.

I'm a reasonable human being, I want to work things out with those who impose on my way of living. I mean I can't always have my way. I wanted to see what was going on- they could have been being hacked to bits by some mass murderer or something. I didn't want to miss out on that show. I wanted to make sure they were alright.

I poked my head out my window and saw two young children, a boy and a girl, running between the cars parked right outside my townhouse. Mine was included. Since there really was no reason for these two children to be doing this at eleven at night on a weekday, I let them know.

"Excuse me, could you two please quiet down a tad? I'm trying to sleep and I have to be up for work in a few hours. Your screaming is keeping me awake."

"Shut up, you're stupid!!!!" was my received response. 

The two shit heads continued to weave in and out of the cars, running behind one then making their way to run in front of another. All while screaming their lungs out. 

Challenge accepted.

I watched them weave around the cars and run around the complex one more time before walking downstairs and going outside. I climbed into my truck and turned off all the lights after shutting the door. 

I waited.

I listened.

There they are, running behind the car next to me.

Making their way to the front of my truck.

aaaaaaaaaand now.

I flashed the brights and laid on my horn right as they crossed in front of my headlights.

I got two reactions from the kids. The girl screamed and backed up and tripped into my garbage cans. The boy tried to make a run for it straight into the Suburban parked next to me. The two kids got up and ran crying back to their house across the street. I walked back into my house and went to bed.

I got up and went to work the next day all was well. I really enjoyed work, it was monotonous, as usual. When I got home I noticed a shitty hand written note taped to my door. I plucked it off and read,

"I'd apreciate if you would leave my kids alone. You are a bully. Where do you get off scaring kids anyway?"

Word for word, she spelled appreciate wrong, yes.

 I stared at the note for a while and thought, "What would Jesus do?"

Well Jesus would tell her what he felt of course, to ease her fear and end her suffering. 

I went inside and wrote down on an index card,

"Ma'am, I get off on a lot of things involving children- but scaring them isn't one."

Then I taped it to her door.

If I get evicted I'm blaming this.

Why Our Younger Generation is Losing

People spend thousands of hours and millions of dollars studying the various problems and hang ups of our younger generations. Why are they struggling so much? It's given quite the thought, and so many people know the answer but don't want to say it for fear of hurt feelings.

Here let me help you: They are struggling because we're handing them everything, except their asses. 
Don't get it? Here let me elaborate.

Have you been to a public school lately? Fuck I remember being in middle school, high school, and even some of elementary school. When I was in elementary school there was this thing called "Failing Grades." They occurred quite frequently when you couldn't get your shit together. Now there are no such things in many schools.

The concept of making kids accept the fact they suck isn't really used anymore. Instead they give the kids as many tries as they want, letting them redo the same paper 50 times to get that C. Or they just let them fly through the year without doing anything and the get a D.
D's for degrees! BITCHES.
What the fuck?

I understand the concept of letting them "try again to help them learn." but that is ridiculous. 
Your boss will never say, "Oh it's okay that you left half of our important statistics out of that quarterly report. Just do it again, it's alright." 
No- they aren't going to fucking say that, here's more a more realistic rendition:
"Hey, Jack, it seems you have fucked up the quarterly report for the second time in a row. I'm going to have to let you go."
Jack's boss doesn't care about Jack's feelings in the slightest. 

The real world doesn't care about satisfying your tickly-happy bits or stroking your ego. The real world is mean, and kids really just don't get that. My generation doesn't even understand that. They think it's all pickles and ponies and Wonder bread. A good hunk of my class didn't even graduate and many of them still live at home- not going to college, playing video games all day, complaining about how hard life is.

Go fuck yourselves, you whiny pricks.

For some reason many people I know felt like they'd get out of high school and would be handed a nice job, a great car, and a trophy wife/husband. No- that's now how it works. There are people out there that have worked their entire lives, trying to make their way up the chain, that still don't have the little things you take for granted.

Like food,
Shelter,
Clean water,
Education,
Freedom.

I should be a teacher, because then when a student turns in stupid shit to me, I'd get out my red pen and circle everything that sucks and clearly write:

This is shit.
Take this out.
What the fuck?
F- for "Fuck this paper."

Kudos to Mel, who is a great teacher and is still nice about it. 
 

Why I Hate Kids

So here we are, all gathered around at my blog, reading the cynical bullshit I once again have to say.
Did I mention how much we all love it?

So here's the thing: I hate kids.
As all you intelligent people that read the title of this blog noticed.


A lot of people ask me, "Well what's wrong with kids?"
What the fuck ISN'T wrong with kids? Really.

No, but seriously.
It's the parents, most likely.


Okay, so I've been told since square one that I will grow up and have a nice husband and kids. Maybe two or three kids and I'd make a great mother. I'll be living in some suburban neighborhood in a cookie-cutter house with a nice lawn and a decent vehicle. You know, I wouldn't mind all of that. Except the kid part. Fuck kids. 

Kids are noisy.
I'd be sitting there, trying to read my book and little Timmy would be in the corner going, "Mom...mom....MOM...MOOOOOOOOOOOM." and I'd be like, 

"What, Timmy? What the fuck could you possibly want that is more important than this book I'm trying to read? You better fucking be on fire when I look up after finishing this paragraph."

I'd look up and Timmy would most certainly NOT be on fire (much to my dismay) and instead he'd probably have pooped his pants or peed in his bed. Since that's all kids do. 

Cost money.
Breathe.
Make messes.
Eat.
Shit.

Then I'd tell Timmy to change out of his underwear, throw the poop filled ones away, and take a shower. 

Then, out of sheer defiance, Timmy would proceed to pull down his shorts and sit on the carpet. Dragging his ass along using nothing but his feet, he'd make a face not unlike a goat that has put its head through a fence and gotten stuck- and is now having its ass devoured by coyotes. 

Okay I don't know about that but I'm sure Timmy would do something I didn't like.


Kids are expensive.
Timmy would start school, and I'd get this huge fucking list of things I'd have to buy him to make sure his school experience is excellent.
Because we all know that meager wage they pay teachers really incites the fire inside them to provide excellent education to a room full of inconsiderate pricks.
We'd be at the store looking at the list and I'd say,
"What the fuck do you need a calculator for? You're in the FIRST GRADE. You have to do math that's like, 2 + 2 and shit. You don't need a fucking calculator. You also don't need pens. You need pencils, as you're going to be making a lot of mistakes. Pen is permanent, Timmy, just like when I didn't use a condom. That shit in life is permanent, Timmy, life doesn't come with an eraser...LIKE PENCILS."

Timmy and I would continue shopping and it's likely Timmy would spot something he really wanted, a toy car, perhaps. 

"MOM CAN I HAVE THIS?" would be the first fucking question out of his mouth. 

No, you can't have that, Timmy. 

"BUT I WANT IT! WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!" 
 This is when I would kindly remind Timmy that we're inside the store, and that there are other patrons shopping, he should be quiet. Seeing as how that never works, Timmy would continue screaming for a good two minutes while I stared at him. 

Finally, I would kneel down so that we were eye to eye...

"Timmy, mommy loves you very much. She wishes she could give you everything you wanted, but there is no way that my 12 dollar-an-hour job could pay for all the frivolous things you desire. I think it's great that you have such high expectations out of life...but you just can't have this for now, maybe next time, okay?"
Of course, being logical with a child isn't going to work...soooo-

 "BUT I WANT IT! WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!! I HATE YOU!" 

I would look at him and gently take the car from his tiny hands and wipe the tears from his eyes. I would smile and start to put the car into the cart with the rest of his stuff. Of course, Timmy's eyes would brighten and that's when

I'd fucking huck the car across the store and then continue pushing my cart.

I would proceed to buy him pencils and some notepads. So two out of the list of about 42 things I was supposed to buy my damn kid. I would send him to school the next day with his two items.

After school I would promptly receive a letter from his teacher,

"Dear Mrs. Smith,
I noticed today that Timmy did not have a pencil box. It is imperative that all students have a pencil box, as without proper containment, the writing utensils they have get unruly inside their desks. I appreciate your cooperation in this matter, and I expect that Timmy will have a pencil box by tomorrow morning.

Best wishes,
Mrs. Doodlebopper."


In order to compensate for my neglect to buy Timmy a pencil box, I'd send him to school the next day with a whiskey bottle full of his pencils. 
Don't fucking drop that bottle Timmy, it's my favorite.


Kids break shit.
I'd be in the kitchen washing the dishes, when I'd hear a huge crash and I'd walk briskly into the front room to find the 15" television, the largest one I could buy, broken on the fake linoleum. Of course, there'd magically be no Timmy to be seen.

Primal Hunting Mode Activated.

I'd walk up the stairs looking for Timmy, saying lies like, "Timmy, where are you? Mommy just wants to make sure you're okay." and "Timmy, I won't be angry, just come out here." we all know that these things are lies, because our parents used them on us.
Timmy doesn't know that yet, because he's fresh-out-of-the-vag.

After finding Timmy cowering under his bed at the very back near the wall, I'd coo softly for him to come out from under the bed. He'd of course, say no. So I'd do what any other loving mother would do. 

I'd climb on the bed and threaten to step on where he's hiding, and when he still screamed, "NO!!!!" I'd start putting pressure on that spot until he crawled out from under the bed. 
Like that's normal, right?

At that point we'd have a nice long conversation about why he's an asshole for kicking over the television when I only bought it so he could watch Mr. Rogers, who obviously isn't teaching him anything as he calls our next door neighbor names, and that definitely makes it "Not so great to be our neighbor."

Kids don't fucking listen.
Prime example is when I was at work the other day, we have this kid-based summer camp where they practically take an entire elementary school and put them in the hands of college students. My counselor was like, "This sounds like a great idea for you!" I was like, "Bitch please." I was on break, and decided that right then was a good time to go pee, seeing as though I had to go and I was on break...
Logic I say.
Well I went in there and there were these four little girls playing around in the bathroom not even using the facility. They were playing with the automatic soap dispensers and paper towel dispensers. I honestly less than gave a fuck so I walked in a stall and sat down. Two seconds into my peeing experience I had the joy of one little fucker looking under the stall door at me. 

I'm like, "Yeah? Excuse me."

She goes, "Do you know where my friends are?" not even aware that maybe I'm uncomfortable with some strange little girl watching me pee. I just gave her a look like, "Really?" 

"No I don't, can you please go away now? What you're doing is extremely rude."

She keeps staring at me, and asks again where her friends are, because she really needs to find them. If I could have kicked her in the face I would have. I said, "They all left you while you were busy watching me relieve myself." She gasped and ran out, I heard her scream,

"YOU GUYS!! AHHHHHHHWAAAAAAAH!"
I hoped she fell down while running.  

Kids take the fun out of life.
I'd be changing Timmy's clothes after his bath, and my friend Seanna would call, being like,

"So Mel, Jenn, Kala, and I are going to the bar, wanna go?"  
In my head I'd be like, oh fuck yeah. 
In reality there's no way I could go because I don't have a baby sitter to watch Timmy, and it's like nine at night so it's not like I can just whip one out of nowhere. 

I could try the "hide Timmy under my shirt like he's unborn" trick but then they wouldn't serve me beer anyway. 

FUCK IT.

I'd end up going to jail for child endangerment after telling Timmy to get the toast out of the toaster using a fork, and telling him to make sure the toaster was plugged in.

I'd end up going to jail for child endangerment after telling Timmy, "Let's play speed bump!"  

Timmy would end up in a foster home after I'd told him we're playing hide and seek in the mall, and then leaving him there.

All this being said...

All respect to mothers out there.
I could never be one.  
That requires more effort than I'm willing to put forward. 

People tell me, "Oh one day you'll change your mind, you'll want kids."

I say, "Yeah, that's what my crazy ex said too, 'Oh you'll change your mind, you'll want this spork in your eye.'"

Rednecks and Couches

DISCLAIMER:  
I'm gonna rag on a redneck, and a couch. If you happen to love rednecks (or really, stereotypical rednecks) and couches, this blog may not be for you.

So it all started with a Facebook post, by my favourite local animal rescue, Heartland Humane Society. I love that place, I go volunteer and play with the puppies and donate dog food when I have money to buy it, and generally I just support and love everything they do. They are a great cause.

Speaking of, if you happen to love puppies, kittens, badgers, gerbils, turkeys, rabbits, fish, mice, rats, hamsters, guinea pigs, space ships, or breathing- please donate here: Heartland Humane

Okay, now that I'm done whoring myself out for puppies, back to my story.

This lovely organization and I are friends on Facebook, and they posted this:

Heartland Humane Society
Friday
Heartland is looking for a gently used love seat or small sofa (no more than 6 feet long) for our newly remodeled staff lounge. We would love if it is of a material that is easy to clean. Your donation is 100% tax deductable...

Hot DAMN I can do that! I want to help! Me! 

Little did I know my whimsicle fuckery reflex when it comes to puppies could and would put me into an awkward situation. I figured it was worth it, I'd seen some nice loveseats on Craigslist, many free, and I had a pick up truck.
What could go wrong? :D !

I looked on Craigslist and found a really nice one and I called the people asking if they still had it. They did, and they really wanted it gone, so I told them I'd come pick it up today if they'd let me. They were ecstatic, it was apparently on their porch because they had gotten a new one. I called Heartland and let them know I had one and was bringing it to them. They were also really excited- this seemed to be really nice for everyone!

 I picked up my friend Fari and we were off, driving to their house to pick up this couch. We followed the directions the couple had given us to get to their house. Which were really great, by the way.

Go past the hospital, turn left and then we're in a mobile community.

   Okay, fucktards- unless that mobile community is RIGHT off the fucking highway, and you have a huge flashing sign that says,
COUCH IS HERE!!!

Those are SHITTY directions, and I will not find you.  

 I kindly asked for a street name, and they gave me one and we were better off. 

I drove to the street and turned off and followed it quite a ways (thinking maybe we were wrong because he made it sound like we were going to drive through their trailer as soon as we turned off). After we got to a lumber yard, I saw a garage sale sign. He had said something about garage signs so I turned there. We went up and viola..

TRAILER PARK!

 

We were instructed to text him when we got to the park, so I had Fari text him and say we were in the park, and ask him where to go.
2 minutes: No response.
5 minutes: No response.
8 minutes: No response.
10 minutes: There's more signs, let's just go to that mobile home.
20 minutes: Sitting outside his fucking place with no response.

 His child was in the front yard, playing on the swingset and noticed we were parked outside calling their father. She came over and said, "Are you here to get the couch?" and I politely said yes. I then asked her if her parents were home. She said yes then went back to playing. I heard more voices...so I walked closer to the fence.

1...2.....3....6?
What the fuck what are they running a child smuggling ring? 

 

After two unsuccessful calls to their parents and feeling tired of standing around, I asked one of the children if they could perhaps get their father for me. I would have just gone and knocked on the door, but I would have had to wade through the four feet of trash that they had lying in front of their house. 

I got lost on the way to the dump the other day, I just should have come here and thrown the mattress in their yard. They wouldn't have noticed.

 

 Finally I got fed up with standing there listening to them scream and laugh and generally be annoying as fuck and walked through the gate to find a dog. 

 

The dog looked up and started barking and growling wildly.
It charged after me, and I was so scared I ran back through the gate and it followed me, barking loudly. I screamed and yelled to Fari to get back in the truck. The dog was gaining on me, snarling and barking.
I was pretty sure that fucker was going to get me. He jumped and knocked me over and started biting my shoulder. I screamed and punched him in the face repeatedly trying to get away...

 

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LOLZ JK!

The dog actually looked like this, and did nothing but pee on the porch and lick my hands in excitement.

  I knocked on the door and a big guy with a hairy face and wife-beater came out to greet me.

 

"Are you here to get the couch?"  

No, actually I'm here to give you free sex, wash your dishes, and polish your guns. Of course I'm here to get the couch you dipshit, answer your fucking phone!

"Well it's over here." 

Thanks I can see that, could you please get the three tons of trash off of it? That wasn't in the picture you posted, and I don't really want it.

"Do you want help getting it out?" 

Actually that'd be great, think you could grab an end?

 

He walked down the stairs and stood at the bottom, staring at Fari and I. This signaled to me that his help was actually going to be standing there and watching. That really helps I've heard, really motivates you. I grabbed one end and Fari grabbed the other. It was only moderately heavy, but it was also awkward and there was nowhere to grab a hold of it. We struggled to get it off the ground, and then walked towards the stairs. 

This is where we realized, OH HEY- THE COUCH DOESN'T FIT BETWEEN THE TRAILER AND THE GARAGE THING THAT'S MAYBE FOUR FEET AWAY FROM IT! We attempted to maneuver it to get it down the stairs and Fari almost dropped her end, and I almost dropped mine from the weight shift.  

All the while, wife-beater over there stood around watching us like we were being tested.

"IF YOU CAN'T LIFT IT AND MANEUVER IT DOWN THE STAIRS, YOU CAN'T HAVE MY COUCH, OR THE DIRTY DIAPERS THAT ARE HIDING INSIDE THE CUSHIONS."

He kept watching us struggle and then he decided to actually take action...."Turn it." he says. 

Well thank you shit head, we're trying but conveniently it hasn't worked any way we've tried to turn it so maybe you should SHOW us.

"No, turn it." he says.

OH MY GOD, FUCKING GENIUS! I SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF THAT! God I'm an idiot. Good thing we're not struggling to hold onto this couch, or that'd be really hard.

After wife-beater was done picking his butt he decided to help. He came over and took Fari's end, and he and I flipped the couch over and got it down the stairs. He then took the couch away from me and turned it over on the ground. I'm so glad, because it didn't have enough shit on it- it really needed to be rolled in the dirt. He rolled it over two times before picking it up. He walked three steps then dropped it on the ground. I was just staring at him. What the fuck was he doing?

He then looked over at Fari and said, "Well? You gonna grab it 'er what?" and she ran and grabbed the end and they carried it to the truck. He shoved it in the back and as he did he said, "Now if you find one million dollars stashed in the cushions of this, make sure to call me." 

 

I was really tempted to say, "It's more likely we'll find a dead cat or a bag of feces but I'll spare you and just throw it away instead of calling- you obviously don't know how to answer your cell anyway. Hint: it's the green button, that looks like A PHONE." 

 

I walked back to his wife, who had just come outside and was heavily pregnant with their 18th child, and their probably two year old son.  I handed her the 10 dollars for the couch and thanked her and walked back to the truck. She was really sweet, and very pretty, I wasn't sure why she enjoyed living in squalor, maybe she likes the smell of poop. I hear that's a popular fetish.

 

Fari and I drove away with the couch and dropped it off at the Humane Society, which was overjoyed to have it. The couch itself didn't have that nasty poo smell, but the area around the trailer sure did.

 

I must defend his actions though, it was really thoughtful of him to think of the feminist agenda. He obviously thought Fari and I were hardcore feminists, and that if he helped us we would be offended because it would then be apparent he thought we "Were just weak women with no backbone that can't lift a couch and should be in the kitchen making him a sandwich." I know he was just making sure we knew he didn't think that...

 

Well, everything but the sandwich part.

 

How to Deal with Meth

You know, meth heads get a really bad wrap. I mean people attribute the jitters, stealing, insomnia, mood swings, depression, suicidal thoughts...all to meth! Why is that?

Because meth is related to all those things, dumbfuck.

 Anyway, there are a ton of great things that meth can provide you! You've been looking at meth through cloudy glasses my friend! Just take a peek at these:

It'll be like having a cat, without the cat!
Well the piss part. Your apartment will soon smell like cat piss, but you won't have to deal with a cat! Isn't that great? Think of the opportunities- you can invite all your meth head friends over and have parties, INCLUDING Dan, who is allergic to cats. You can fool them all into thinking you have a cat when you really don't!

Learn to speak in a British accent, and everyone will think you're from England!
You'll have the accent, and the teeth to go with it! 

Sorry that was kind of a racist remark. 

Oh la la I shall go paint a mustache on my douche canoe.

  

You'll make great friends with the local authorities. 

If you redistribute your white gold, you'll make them even faster! 

All jokes aside,

Meth is fucking dangerous. Stay away from it.

What I really wanted to write about in this blog, was my meth head neighbors. While they are really not "legally" living there, they hang with my neighbor and are constantly moving in and out. I'm pretty sure they are homeless, and they just bum cigarettes and a couch off my neighbor Dean. 

Living next to them, I've had a run in or two with them. It's always a party...

 A METH INDUCED COMA PARTY.

First, I'd like to introduce you to Steve. He is my meth head in shining armor. He protects my apartment and watches out for my belongings like my pick-up truck and the potting soil I have on the front porch. I met him in a less than desirable fashion, multiple times, actually. Although he didn't remember meeting me the first time when we ran into each other the third time. I'll get to that eventually.

Steve is a homeless man that is apparently friends with Dean. He's about 5 foot 8' and has no teeth. His hair is falling out and he reeks of ammonia. He's always really jittery and bouncing about, I don't think he's capable of sitting still. I tell people about Steve and they go, 

"Oh, but how do you know he's on meth?"

Just a hunch, really I just like blaming people's problems on meth when really it's our government's faulty leadership.

FIGHT THE POWER.

The first time we met, I was getting out of my truck, coming home from work, when he was walking up to Dean's house. I'm pretty sure Dean was gone at work, but he banged on the door for a good five minutes while I unloaded my truck. He turned to look at me and goes, 

"Do you know where Dean is?"

 Yeah, I have a chip planted on the cape of his neck under his skin. Let me pull out my iTrack app on my phone. 

I politely told him that I didn't, and that I assumed Dean was at work. 

"Do you know when he'll be home?"

Yeah, when he's done at work. 

Once again I broke the news that I have no idea what Dean's doing since I'm not my neighbors keeper. 

"What are you doing?"

Wishing I had seen you coming and drove one more block down and waited until you left. 

After explaining that I just got off work and was going inside to work on some school projects, he asked.

"Can I just hang out at your place waiting for Dean?"

...Yeah I was just thinking that would be a great idea. I've always wanted to get stabbed to death!

I declined, saying that I didn't feel comfortable having a stranger in my house.

"Why not? Is it because I'm ugly? Do you not like me?"

Ugly? What are you talking about? I'm fighting the urge to rip off your clothes and fuck you on my kitchen table.

I just stared at him and then asked if he was hungry.

THIS WAS A MISTAKE.

He nodded. I went inside and got him a few granola bars I had from Costco and gave them to him. I said I hoped he had a nice day and went inside. 

I didn't hear from Steve for a while, I didn't know his name was Steve at that point, I just remembered him as Dean's crazy friend. About two months later it was maybe early December and I was getting ready to leave for Arizona to go home. He was sitting in a lawn chair as I carried my suitcase outside to the curb, waiting for my friend to pick me up and take me to the Hut shuttle. Steve waved to me and asked where I was going. I didn't want to talk to him, as I was still uncomfortable with him being around. I am just too nice and so much of a sucker that I just said, "Hello, I'm headed to Arizona for winter break."

He asked me, "Who's going to take care of your plants!? What about your truck? What if someone steals it?" 


I stared at him and said, "My roommate Brian will be here to watch over things while I'm gone."


He goes, "You can't trust men with nothing."

Hey maybe meth does teach you something.

 I told him that Brian is a great guy and knows what he's doing. Steve then asked if Brian and I were married and I said no, and then he asked if we were dating and I said, no. He told me that he was waiting for Dean to get home from work. I just nodded and then asked him to watch my stuff. He didn't have a jacket and it was fucking freezing. I went inside and got him one of my dinky couch blankets that I didn't need since I had a lot of them, and two granola bars.

THIS WAS ALSO A MISTAKE.

I walked out and handed him the stuff and he refused my blanket but took the granola bars. He said that I was an angel but he didn't feel right taking my blanket. I told him I had like 50 of them and he looked cold. He shook his head and said he was hot. So I just gave him the granola bars and threw the blanket back on the couch. I started walking down to the corner to meet my friend and he called out,

"I'll watch over your truck, your man, and your house while you're gone!"

As long as you don't rape my man Brian in the back of my truck while my house is on fire, we're all good, Steve. 

I didn't realize what I had done by in a way, befriending Steve. I ended up forgetting about him because I didn't see him for months. Although I kept coming home and finding weird things on my porch. I found out this was Steve. Later though- after a weird night he was hopped up and angry about Norma Jean. 

 "You mother fucker you come open this door right now! I swear to god I'll break down this door and kick your ass. Get out here you coward pussy fuck!"

I'm sitting here on my couch writing a paper while some weird ass bangs on my door screaming profanities. 

 What would YOU do?

I did what any normal, logical person would do:

I opened the fucking door.

He kept screaming at me for a few minutes saying things like, "Where's Dean!? Get Dean out here now!"

I assured him that Dean did, in fact, not live here.

He accused me of lying, saying that I needed to quit hiding Dean and that if Dean didn't get his ass out there in like two seconds he was gonna come in. I pointed to the door next to me, where Dean actually lived, and told him that the man he was looking for was behind door number two. He stopped screaming. He then became really sad and apologized for causing me trouble. He introduced himself as Steve, and asked my name. I gave it (probably a mistake) and he shook my hand. He then took a sniff of the air (I was baking) and asked what I was making. I was making bread, but I didn't have any yet, so I went inside and got three scones I had made up and gave them to him. I told him to please stay out of trouble and to know which door he's banging on before he does it. 

He just looked at me with huge eyes and asked if I liked my stuff. 

Then it hit me. This was the guy leaving things on my porch. 

This made no sense to me at all. Meth is so weird. He was accusing me of hiding Dean when he knew I didn't live with Dean?  Did he just think that I lived with Dean? His brain is probably so messed up he didn't know what the fuck was going on. 

So far I'd gotten a weird rocking chair that smelled like corpses and a couch. He'd also left me a basket of dying mums he found somewhere. I didn't know who was leaving these things, and would text Brian a picture going, "What the fuck, is this yours?" Brian would send back, "O__o?"

If I didn't take them inside, within a few days they would disappear. I assumed it's because he realized I didn't want them. Anyway, now that we had been formally introduced, I knew who was leaving weird shit on my porch.

After meeting I got a few different items from Steve, he would ask for an exchange of food, his favorite being granola bars.  

He brought me a lawn chair, a green one, that he claimed matched my plants. He brought me a normal sitting chair without the padding on the back, and he found me some plastic pots that had been abandoned and thought I could use them. So by being nice to him, I think I've gained his respect. 

Oh dear lord, but what about when the meth heads decide to go through and ransack shit in search for money to buy more meth?

Ironically, we had someone go through and break the windows in the cars in my neighborhood a few months back. They stole things out of the cars, and I had the police knock on my door and talk to me. Yes, my truck had been out there, no, my truck was fine. Although my neighbors Suburban was broken into. Later I ran into Steve and he said something like, "I told them not to hurt you cause you were nice." 

I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about, but I'm equating it to that. Given that I had left my GPS in there and my iPod, had they ransacked my vehicle they would have taken them. I don't leave things in my car anymore. 

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Not so nice encounters of the meth-induced kind:

When they come knocking at your door and you answer and there's three weirdos you don't know bouncing around going,

"SWEET JESUS DO YOU HAVE A LIGHTER?!"

When you hear scary crashing sounds outside and are home alone, peek out your door and notice that they threw bicycles all over the place outside and kicked over Dean's garbage cans.

Numerous times I've been asked if I have a smoke, they can crash at my house, or the occasional "So I was hungry so I picked this rotting orange out of your garbage can and ate it is that okay?"

 Which always leads to me giving them more granola bars. I've also taken to leaving my cans outside in a paper bag for them to recycle and get money.

Moral of the story: Be nice to everyone, even if they are not the most socially acceptable. That way when their friends go through your neighborhood and break windows, they won't break yours.