E: "Ah, M, I see you're still looking like a million bucks; I always loved blonds."
H: "Hey, dumbass, she's a redhead."
E: "Well, I was looking at her with my bad eye. She looks blond." (Proceeds to move eye patch from left eye to right eye.)
E: "Oh, I see; yeah, she's a redhead."
M: "What was that eye surgery for again?"
E: "Cataracts, but it got botched up..."
Me: (Thinking "Wow, are they installing new color wheels in eyes now?") Me saying aloud, "Wow, are they installing new color wheels in eyes now?"
Sarcasm is completely lost on E.
E: "Yeah, it takes four to six months to get it right."
Maybe he had it done at Home Depot. Who knows?
We have a new "housie" here at Happy Acres. I have never, ever in my whole life met anyone so dyspeptic, unpleasant and vituperative... ever. In my whole life. He is the wart on the hog. He has systematically managed to piss off everyone in this place, which actually is not that hard to do. There are lots of folks here who are unbalanced mentally, usually for very significant reasons. When Mean Mr. first moved here, he came out on the porch without his shirt. There is a house rule regarding proper dress; shirt on at all times when outside. H tried to tell him nicely that he needed to go inside and put on a shirt. Mean Mr. acted like H had just called him a bad name and was going to soap his windows or something. Jerk.
My turn in the barrel came last week. There is a porch on the back of the house which the owners added. My room abuts this porch at the back. Every jack-leg, douchebag, blow hard, and/or babbling wino sits right on the other side of my bedroom, right where the head of my bed is situated. Last week, Mean Mr. etc, was on the porch, bellowing on his cell phone at about 6:30 am. Woken from a fairly sound sleep, I cranked my window open, and asked him to please be quiet, not once, but three times. I got very cranky at the old crank.
Mean Mr. completely ignored me and kept bellowing away. I had to get one of the "enforcers" to tell him to get the hell off the porch. Mean Mr. blah didn't take too kindly to that, but he left and went off somewhere else, to plague someone else's existence.
I found out later he has Parkinson's Disease. Now, I feel for anyone who has any type of physical affliction, but this does not give the sufferer a license to be an asshole. I asked him the other day if he contracted asshole-osis at the same time he developed Parkinson's. I have been singing "Mean Mr. Mustard Man" at the tops of my lungs every time he is within my vicinity. Heh. I'm pretty sure he hates me, but he already hates everyone else, too. I'm so going to Hell.
ACTUAL PICTURE OF MEAN MR. MUSTARD MAN