I am so fed up with the trashy neighbours I have in my trailer park; they are the most despicable, Christmas-hating bunch around! It isn’t easy being a welfare mom in this economy, and I just want to make sure that my kids have a good Christmas, but it isn’t easy with this bunch, let me tell ya!
For instance, Mrs. Clarkson is all up in arms because my 16 year-old, Britney Sue, was in the back of her husband’s pickup kissing said husband. There was MISTLETOE in the truck bed, for cryin’ out loud! You would think that Mrs. Clarkson would understand this, and besides, if her husband chose to give my daughter fifty bucks towards her massage-therapist college fund in the middle of her french-kissing him, what business is it of hers? She seems to want to paint my daughter as some sort of “bad girl” or something. Get a life, lady!
My twins, Buford and Buford #2, have caught hell from these Scrooges, too. How in the hell are they supposed to understand that Santa didn’t decide to leave their presents under the Garcia’s Christmas tree? It makes sense, given that there really isn’t room for presents under our beer can tree. Besides, they are just kids! They don’t know any better! By the way, I do NOT appreciate Mr. Garcia telling them there is no such thing as Santa; their poor, 14 year-old hearts are broken! I am going to check out if I can sue Mr. Garcia for mental stress–I’ve had to binge on the malt liquor since this mess began. Maybe I can use the religious angle and play up that my civil rights were violated; who’s to say we don’t worship St. Nicholas? As far as I’m concerned, baby Jesus rode to heaven in a sleigh pulled by reindeer!
Beyond this, I STILL haven’t gotten my pay-off check from my slip-and-fall at WalMart last week. Seems that they think it looks suspicious to have this happen every year at the same time four years running. You would think that one of my neighbours would step forward to vouch for my character, but no one is putting themselves out. I guess they are all upset over my roast possum feast from last year, like it’s my fault that that stupid possum had rabies. How was I to know? It looked healthy when my station wagon backed over it, and no one complained when they were eating it, but the minute Sissy Ellen Roundhouser starts foaming at the mouth, they all start calling for my head. If you ask me, all those shots in the stomach at the hospital added to their Christmas last year; not one of those bastards turned down the free hospital pudding, I noticed.
Anyway, you can see that I’m in a bad situation with such grinches as these for neighbours. What can I do to survive this holiday season and not end up bare-knuckling it on the steps of the church with a few of them like happened at the Christmas Eve service in 2006? I’d really appreciate any advice; despite having my Christmas lights on the trailer since Labour Day weekend, I just don’t feel in the holiday spirit. :(
Louis, there are no misspellings–I use the King’s English–and the paragraphs are fine.
