It's Raining Poop! Hallelujah!
Dear idiotic, alcoholic, unemployed, unkempt, rude new neighbors who think your back yard is a tavern: When you woke me up at 2:15 a.m. for the third time in five nights since you’ve moved in, I decided talking to you early in the morning just hadn’t worked. So, during the wee hours, while your crew drank up, I was scooping up my dog shit and sneaking behind your back fence. After I tossed the shit over the fence onto you and your boys, it was all I could do not to laugh and give my position away when I heard, “Dude, what the fuck—it’s raining dog turds.”
Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to “Hey, You!” c/o OC Weekly, 2975 Red Hill Ave., Ste. 150, Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or e-mail us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
This column appeared in print as "Shit Storm."
Get the This Week's Top Stories Newsletter
Every week we collect the latest news, music and arts stories — along with film and food reviews and the best things to do this week — so that you'll never miss OC Weekly's biggest stories. Every week we collect the latest news, music and arts