[Hey, You!] Marco Poolo

My sons and I were about half a block away as we walked toward the community pool for some swimming and splashing around when we heard it—the beef-headed voice of a buffed, beer-bellied bozo brainlessly blaring "Marco!" over all other sounds. The screeching stentorian replies of "Polo!" from your hillbilly, future-felon kids/stepkids/abductees really worked with what you were doing. Yours was the cross-eyed stare of the nincompoop jocks that ruined punk rock many years ago. Anyway, Loser, your overly boisterous fun was at the expense of other pool-goers. You truly didn't seem to realize it, though, and it's a mystery how someone so fucking socially clueless can make enough money to live in a nice area. Your troglodyte ass must have inherited a house.

Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/o OC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Ste. 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701-7417, or e-mail us at letters@ocweekly.com.

 
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