Saturday, June 10, 2006

Nilsson to the left of me, Slutzes to the Right...stuck in the middle with eeeew!

Not an actual picture of the Slutz family.

Sorry I couldn't find a picture of real, live Slutzes...Oh, I tried. I Googled like hell, and they are nowhere to be found in the Googleverse...and yes, that was their name....but this picture comes close.

You have already met Mrs. Nilsson. It is time to meet the New Neighbors on the block. The Slutzes. There's Big Jim, Truck driving patriarch of the group, and the Missus, Ethel, or as Big Jim calls her: "woman". Then there is the chip off'n the ole block. Son number one. Jim Junior, or as they say in Southern: Bubba. Bubba's a Marine, and he can kick your attttttthhhhhh....just ask Becky. She is at the end of the line. Next in line is Phillip. Phillip has acne. Dreadful acne, and greasy hair, and a lisp. He desperately wants to grope me. Eeeeeeww. Then comes Pamela. She has acne, and greasy hair and a lisp. And then comes Tim. Tim has no acne. His hair is soft and dry and blonde. Tanned. Short, but no lisp.Tim is cute. I wouldn't mind too terribly much being groped by Tim. And then Danny. Not bad, either. Not as cute as Tim, though. Danny has a lisp, and he is slightly pudgy, but his voice is deepening, so it will cover a multitude of sins. Last, but not least is Becky. She will have acne soon enough, and her hair is stringy and greasy. Poor child. And, of course, the ubiquitous lisp. Becky is the first person I meet. Before we continue, let's meet the former occupants of the Little White Bungalow of North Fourth Street:

The family who had previously lived next door to us were interesting. The father was Jewish, named Abramovitz. He and his Filipina wife were pot-smoking hippies. They had two daughters. The Abramovitzes were known for their wild parties. Drug addicts came from all over to celebrate their stupidity at the never-ending party circuit that was the Abramovitz bungalow. Once, a deranged party goer mistakenly staggered into our house, and not realizing that this was not where the party was, he proceeded to put a five dollar bill down on the piano where I was practicing, and requested that I play "The Yellow Rose of Texas." It was lucky for me that I knew the song, due to my father's fastidious education of us into Stan Freberg's song parody records. My brother went next door to alert the revelers that one of their own had wandered off the reservation, and soon Mrs. Hippy Abramovitz came in and pulled the demanding music aficionado back to his smokefilled den of iniquity. Yes, the Abramovitzes fit into our block well, that is, until the police raided their house and they disappeared. The house was barely empty when the Ultra Loud Okies moved in.

I am not sure how eight people managed to get into that tiny house, but I guess, if they can do it in Russia, they can do it here, too.

So we meet Becky, who proudly announces that her big brother is a Marine, and he can kick our Aaaaaaaatttttthhhh!
"So, whats yer name, little girl?" I ask.
"Becky Thlutth", she spat.
"Well. Isn't that nice! " I said. "Becky Sluts, S-L-U-T-S....hmm. Really, kid?" I smiled. A gift from the gods! And then I laughed hysterically.

Becky was not amused, and at first, I was worried that she might go in and get her Big Brother, who is a Marine and he might just come out and actually kick my Aaaaaatttttthh.

But all she did was throw her glass of lime Kool-Aid on me. I responded by going and turning on our hose and spraying her. She was soaked, and went in bawling.
Suddenly, from out of the house came five of six angry Slutzes....minus Bubba, who's a Marine, and can kick your aaaaaatttthhh! and the War of the Water Hoses began.

Since it was summer, we actually enjoyed getting wet. And we got very wet. They got wet, and we got wet....and since we both had fruit trees: ours was apricot and theirs was plum we had even more weapons at our disposal. Soon, the air was flying with rancid rotting fruit from under our tree, and we nailed them and their stupid little house.

Not willing to be outdone in weaponry, they went and gathered the rotting fruit from under their tree and did likewise, and soon, our white houses were now white, with either orange smelly spots, or white, with purple smelly spots. This was our first encounter.

After we had spent ourselves in a frenzy of mashed fruit flingage and water wastage, we introduced ourselves:

"Our name is spelled S-L-U-T-Z....." They waited for us to laugh again. None of us said anything. We were too tired to fight anymore. So we all agreed it was okay to be a Slutz, and we didn't have too many fights after that.

Next Episode with the Slutzes: Big Jim grills his steak at 3 am, and get me mah beer, woman!

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