The day started in one godawful manner. I was sleeping comfortably in my luxurious king-sized bed when my slumber was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a lawnmower. I tossed and turned a bit, but to no avail. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was only 8:30. 8:30! Someone was going to get a piece of my mind, that was certain.
“Who the hell mows their lawn this early?” asked Trixie, the whore who was in bed with me at the time.
“A very sorry individual, if I have anything to say about it,” I said. I threw on a robe and stormed out into the cruel light of day. My new neighbor, Greg Bendemix, was tearing it up like nobody’s business on the back of a high-powered riding lawnmower.
“Bendemix! Bendemix!!” I shouted, getting his attention. He shut down the mower and walked towards me.
“Morning Oz,” he said with an easy grin. “What’s cooking?”
“Cut the shit, Bendemix. What’s the big idea, mowing your lawn at 8:30 in the morning?”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry about that. Wanted to get it done before me and Marsha take the kids to church. You know, so I can watch the rest of the draft later.”
“Church?! Listen shithead, next time you inconvenience me so you can go bow to some pagan god, I’m dousing gasoline all over this lawn of yours, got it? Then I’m driving down to your stupid little church, taking a nice, fat dump on the altar, and using the run-off to sign your name to the deed. Do we have an understanding?!?”
I guess my message got through, ’cause Bendemix went white as a ghost and nodded. One of his kids had come outside to watch the exchange, and was now bawling in the doorway. I smiled.
“Besides, what kind of welfare recipient doesn’t have a lawn service in this day and age? Stop being so tightfisted and put some deserving Mexicans to work, you cheap bastard.”
With that, I went back inside and enjoyed a rigorous session with Trixie. Then, while Bendemix and his family were off at church, I severed the cable line leading to their house. Where’s his Jesus now, hmm? Where is his Jesus now?