by Ben Small
I’ve come to a decision: My neighbor needs to go.
Sorry, but I’m tired of the guy. Don’t like his looks; can’t stand his accent, and his dog poops in my yard. No, I haven’t actually met him yet, just seen him over the fence and heard him talking on his cell phone. But so what? I can still hate him. Plenty of people hate me. Why can’t I hate back? Everybody’s gotta hate somebody, after all. If not, there’d be no politics. And then what would we talk about?
So I choose my neighbor. I've got dibs on 'im.
And when I decide to hate, I plot to murder. Sometimes just pretend-murder; you know scenarios I play out in my head. Like sneaking over at dusk and hiding behind a saguaro, and then when what’s-his-name gets outta his car, I jump out and garrote him with my bolo tie. Jus’ slip the braided leather cord around his pencil neck, slide that polished Turquoise cabochon up, and hold on like I was riding a bull. Um… Okay, maybe a calf... He’s a little guy.
But the bolo-tie-murder scenario isn’t practical this time. Have to save that one for when I won’t have to carry the body someplace else. With the pool guy my wife murdered two weeks ago still rotting in the ground next to my neighbor’s driveway, I’m better off catching the guy somewhere else. Besides, I like my bolo tie. I don’t want the cord stretched out. The cabochon might bounce off my Bluto-bling belt buckle, and how could I sneak up on anybody if I was clanging like a cowbell?
So, two tips so far:
Don’t murder your neighbor close to other bodies you’ve put in his yard.
Don’t use a bolo tie you want to wear again.
More ideas, more problems. But they’ve yielded more tips:
Don’t attempt to drown your neighbor when you can’t swim.
Don’t use the claw-head side of a hammer. Don’t ask why. Trust me on this one.
Don’t hit your neighbor with a Smart Car. For that matter, don’t hit a rabbit or even a rodent with a Smart Car.
Don’t use a throwing knife if you throw like a girl.
Don’t throw a Molotov Cocktail when the wind’s blowing your way.
Don’t take out Hit Man Wanted ads in Soldier of Fortune. Your HOA may not approve a larger mail box.
Don’t put a taser in a tight pants pocket. Ooooh. And while we’re on the subject of Erectile Dysfunction, I should mention that switchblades do not belong in the front pocket of your jeans.
Don’t put a rattlesnake in your neighbor’s mailbox unless your hand’s much quicker than mine. Anti-venom costs about thirty-five grand. And, oh yeah, if it turns out you don’t know the difference between a rattler and a bull snake, you become the poster child for Stupid. Every time I go by that hospital, I still hear the laughter.
All right, I’ve had enough; I’ve got to give this a rest. Too many blind alleys. I’m not going to tell you which of these tips came from my imagination and which came from actual attempts. Bottom line: I’m too busy to deal with my neighbor now. My HOA is threatening an injunction, my burned head needs salve and I’ve got to change some bandages.
Besides, I’ve got a better idea. My wife dispatched the pool guy so effectively, I’ll just ask her to do it. “Oh honey, can you come here a moment?”
* * *
One last tip for today:
Don’t ask your wife to murder your neighbor if he looks like Matthew McConaughey, owns a cat, drives a Beamer convertible, and has lots of money and a southern accent. Better yet, keep that woman chained up and away from doors, windows and weapons of any kind.