Y'all. My neighbors. Seriously.
Okay, so I wish my neighbors were at least entertaining in a backwoods, your father's your uncle, "Hank, GIMME MY CIGARETTES," white trash kind of way. It would be fabulous if they bungee corded Mary's Grotto to their mailbox or had a homemade dug a hole and stuck the kids' wading pool in it duck pond in their front yard. I'd be happy with a damned mullet. It would explain so much!
But there are no mullets, none of them smoke, the Virgin Mother is not accepting bills, and the kids' wading pool is properly deflated and stored out of sight after each use. Their yard is immaculate. The mister bears an uncanny if not slightly less buff resemblance to David Boreanaz and the missus very closely resembles Tatum O'Neal. Only with a cuter nose and no addiction to cocaine (although, if she were? It would explain SO MUCH!). In short, there is NOTHING to explain how two such beautiful people created this, this, this, and this.
No. You don't understand. Their children are MONSTERS. M to the O to the Pain to the Ass! Someday, when I have more energy, I'll post just how criminally insane these infant thru 9 year olds are. But now I have to go buff out the scratches those little rascals left on my van hood when they were climbing on it to shoot baskets in MY basketball hoop when they have a perfectly good hoop and mini-van in their own damn driveway.
