Increasing The Hillbilly Quotient

Just when you think things next door can't get any trashier, Howard went and got himself a golf cart. Now, we don't live on a golf course. Not even near one. And Howard has never played golf. Never even tried it. Imagine lugging his 350 pounds around 18 holes. Definitely a need for a cart there, but that's not why he got it. And notice I said got, not bought. This particular golf cart was the property of the homeowners association, of which Howard is a member of the board. So he just procured it for his own personal use. He slapped a new coat of paint on the thing (quite obviously handpainted) so no one would recognize it. Of course, I pointed out it was the same color as the mule (kind of a golf cart on steroids.) This didn't bother him, because no one's going to see it. Except me.

That's because it now sits in his backyard, between the swing set nobody uses and the the plastic playhouse nobody uses. It will soon become the golf cart nobody uses. Especially if he leaves it in the elements. It is currently taking on about 12 inches of rain, which I expect will leave it the rustbucket I so very expect it to become.

But have no fear. Howard has a grand scheme to build a car port between our two houses in which to keep his golf cart. He's under the impression I'm really going to like it because who wouldn't want to look outside at a homemade cinderblock building inches from their guestroom window, where previously there was tropical flora providing privacy and shade?

I'm not too concerned. Before he gets to the cart port, Howard first has to finish the shower, which has been without walls for more than two years, clear out the back patio, which has never been cleared, clean out the garage, which he claims will only take a minute, move the back fence back, which he first proposed three years ago, and of course, take a number of vacations.

Which brings us to the reason he got the golf cart in the first place. To take to Disney World. Why must he have a golf cart at Disney World, you ask? I asked that too. Silly me.

"Cause Fort Wilderness is huge," he shouted. "There's like, 2000 camping spaces."

"And you can't walk?" I asked. "It's good excercise."

"Um...after walking around the parks for 12 hours? And then taking the boat back to the campground?"

I shrugged. "What about bikes?"

"Where are we gonna lock 'em up?" he asked. "They'll get stolen."

"Won't they steal your golf cart too?"

"Not if take the key." I could tell he was getting annoyed, so I pushed it.

"Just seems kinda silly," I said.

"Look, the place is just too big. They don't let you drive your car. There's buses all over the place."

"Buses?" I smiled. Solution found. "Okay. They've got buses."

He rolled his eyes and went inside.

I realize it would limit the blog fodder, but I'm so ready to move. Mrs. Sarcasm says not to rock the boat. We have to live next door to these people. But you know what? They have to live next door to me. And I did not by a house in Podunk. Still, no one should want to get on Moira's bad side.

So I came up with a plan this morning. My best ideas always occur to me in bed. Once the market turns around, we'll schedule an open house while Howard is on one of his many vacations. Then I'll clean up his yard. As it is now it would likely keep anyone from buying my house. If successful, we should be gone before they've recharged the cart.