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This is the neighborhood where you live.
You have some neighbours.
That would be Percy.
You love your neighbour Percy.
Percy is the best neighbour anyone could ask for. He’s quiet. Minds his own business. Always asks your permission to leave his home. Always asks your permission to enter his house.
Percy’s generosity knows no bounds.
To welcome you to the neighborhood, he gave you his wife’s smudge on the waiting list for a lung transplanting, without even asking.
He doesn’t complain if you call the officers on him when his mail is accidentally delivered to your home.
Hell, he even lets you acquire his mailbox to utilization it as a big hammer for smashing wasp burrows around your property.
He never sues you. He never snows on you. And not even once has he been passed out on your driveway when you needed to ballpark there.
You’ve gotten to know Percy pretty well over the years.
His background, his pastimes, his responsibility as an IT manager at a Fortune 500 embalming fluid busines, all his water park-related humiliations, etc.
For instance, you know that Percy adores to loosen on his computer.
And when Percy loosen on his computer, he never, ever presses the Hate Speech button that now comes pre-installed on all MacBooks.
Like a saint, he tried getting it removed, but where reference is called Apple, customer services told him no. He took the high-pitched street and “ve told them”, “Okay, sorry, I am going to use the bathroom now.”
Still, Percy perseveres, relaxing on his computer for upwards of 19 hours a day and not even considering pressing the Hate Speech button the entire occasion.
By not pressing it, he has made your vicinity a better place.
If that isn’t a true sign of reference , nothing is.
Sadly, Percy is moving to Tampa, where he will work for a charity that surgically adds more legs to shelter bird-dogs with only four legs.
Percy’s departure will be a huge blow to the neighborhood. Everyone adoration Percy. He’s the keystone to the whole community. Without him, there’d be no detail in living on your street.
Frankly, all your other neighbors kind of suck ass compared to Percy. They’re always asking to borrow your home’s corroborate editorial but never give them back, never picking up after their puppies when they expire on your lawn, etc. Stuff like that.
Percy is shedding a going-away its participation in his backyard today, and everyone on the block is invited.
Normally, you hate going to vicinity parts, but because it’s one of the last times you’ll look Percy, you are obligated to go.
Jesus. Every last one of the neighbors you’d love to see a sinkhole ingest is there.
You’d genuinely love to see Percy. At the same time, you’d rather have a steamroll drop you from the paws up so your internal organ squeeze out of your lip like toothpaste rather than hang out with mediocre neighbors.
Are you gonna exit?
You were so repulsed by the idea of having to make small talk with your neighbors that you opted to get squashed by building machine instead.
Not even the chance of getting to hang with your pal Percy could stop you from praying the foreman at a creation site to alter you into a human Go-Gurt if it necessitated so much as building see contact with the non-Percys who also live on your street. As your innards ostracize from your mouth, sees, and ears like wild cherry Slurpee out of a dispensing nozzle, you exhale a final breather of succour that you didn’t have to force-out discussion with the neighbours you don’t like as much.
You failed to get fucked up on gin and build a gazebo for your neighbor. Try again.
You suck it up and head to Percy’s party. After all that Percy’s done to move living near him a great pleasure, putting up with all the dipshits who live on your street is the least you can do.
You look around the party for Percy.
Hmm. He doesn’t seem to be here at the moment. Better dominated yourself until he’s here.
You want to get your gin on, and who can blamed you? You look out your window and notice that your dear neighbor Percy is having a going-away party for himself. You’ll miss Percy when he leaves, but right now you’ve get gin on the judgment and want to ask Percy where he keeps the good stuff.
You head next door and look around the party for Percy.
Hmm. He doesn’t seem to be here at the moment. Better occupied yourself until he’s here.
You approach your adult neighbours. They are wondering out loud why Percy is MIA at his own going-away party.
Before any of them react, your heinous neighbour Morticia interrupts, leaping in front of you with a digital camera.
She still hasn’t taken the American flag on her porch down even though July 4th was months ago. Yeah. One of those neighbors.
“Look who it is! So sad that Percy’s moving, yes? Anyway, “weve all” merely positively spurting over what my oldest son’s been up to, ” lies Morticia. “The one who works as a Representative for the Union of Drunken Masseuses? You’ve satisfied him, yes? ”
“Well, he’s been missing for over a year now! We couldn’t be happier for him. Come take a look at the last known photos of him before he strayed off course in that corn labyrinth and never came out.”
Everyone meets around the camera.
All right, you’re going to have to act interested in this woman’s standing family life.
All the adult neighbours run “ooh” and “ahh” and offer congratulates about how lost her son has grown up to be.
It is thriving impossible for you to maintain even the slightest interest in this.
“Here it is, the last known photo of my son, ” proudly utters Morticia. Everyone claps.
Jesus, this is a drag. The only happen you’re get out of the drunken masseuse depicts is the advocate to have a strong drink.
You approach the neighborhood minors. They are playing a game of Exploitative Labor, which involves professionally landscaping Percy’s yard while chanting 😛 TAGEND
Toil! Drudgery! Work the territory! With blistered and arthritic hands! Our backs will separate, this lawn we’ll rake Two dollars a day, the wage we’ll see ! i>
The girls play this on your lawn every day. Although women impedes your property beautifully landscaped, you will lose your mind if you hear them sing this one more time. It drives you nuts.
Your curmudgeonly ass is going to need a drink to make all this thing tolerable.
You go to the drink cool.
It’s largely filled with chilled bottles of embalming fluid.
Percy must have brought some samples from his office.
You pop open a bottle of embalming fluid.
You pour it in a glass and smelling it.
Hmm. Hoppy. A hint of citrus. Observes of coriander. Overwhelming formaldehyde.
You take a long mouthful, nearly finishing it.
It’s not very good.
–the embalming fluid hittings your organisation. It is fucking you up good, all right.
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You wake up in Percy’s backyard, naked and coughing up embalming fluid all over yourself. Damn, that nonsense fucked you up.
As you come to, you realize that you built him an above-ground puddle.
Wow. Could you have constructed anything more pointless?
He didn’t ask for this. What drove you to do this to his backyard? Kind of an inconsiderate occasion to be done in order to a neighbor.
You is absolutely not handle your embalming fluid like you could in college.
You find gin. Now we’re talking. Gin is your beverage. This is good gin, too. Of course Percy would be a human of refined taste.
You make a gin and tonic.
You slam that gin and tonic in no time. You clutch your stomach and shake it around to make sure the gin robs all your guts, as gin is meant to be consumed.
Immediately, “youre feeling” a little looser, a little less uptight.
A buzz is on its path, but you’re not there yet.
You pour a shot. Then two more, polishing off what’s left in the bottle.
Whoo boy, that felt nice. The gin’s coursing through your system, making itself known.
Your liver radiates in gratitude.
Damn, that’s hitting the place.
Congratulations! You have a solid buzz going.
You put your lip on the bottle, lean back, and take a long pull of gin, polishing off what’s left in the bottle.