The Block Party: Part 1

Strapping Young Lad—“The New Black”

MoTW—“Night at the Golden Eagle”

So there was a block party this past Saturday. Seemingly everyone was
invited, even people on other blocks, which made it more of a
neighborhood party.

Guess I’m not part of the neighborhood or block since I wasn’t invited.

No big thing really, but I didn’t like it too much when they stared at
me as I drove by the tent on the street making my weekly trip to the
grocery store.

I also didn’t like it when they stared at me when I was returning from
my trip, especially from the guy who’s brain must have short-circuited
that morning pushing forward the idea that wearing a tan duster and
cowboy hat would look really, really cool.

I considered clipping him with the car but decided that I didn’t have
time to wait around for the coppers to arrive and fill out the necessary
forms since I had perishables in the car.

After puttering around the inside of the house I went outside to have a
smoke and to check on the five foot plant growing in the front of the

I heard cheering and laughing as I went outside and found a majority of
the party-goers grouped at the end of the street watching an egg
throwing contest, which I thought had been outlawed when “Leave it to
Beaver” was cancelled.

One of the kids tried to catch the egg, but missed. The egg smashed into
his chest, breaking open. And the crowd laughed.

The kids ran down the street in an ultra-hyper sort of way as I checked
out the plant, deciding whether it was plant or weed.

With no more party-goers to show his messy shirt, the kid spotted me and
decided to show one more person how he couldn’t master the simple art of
catching an object.

“I missed the egg and IT SMASHED INTO ME AND BROKE!” he said in that
ultra-hyper way.

“That’s just great,” I said as I decided it was weed. “It’s just too bad
that it’s probably infected with that bird virus and you’re going to die
a painful death really, really soon.”

He seemed to suddenly stop breathing as he stared at me. Then the
hyperactivity kicked in and he was off running down the street again.

Soon I heard a commotion down the street but figured it was Cowboy Bob
and that that thar street wasn’t big enough for the both of them and
there would be a shoot out, calf roping or some other macho cowboy
bullshit brought on by one too many Budweisers.

I grabbed onto the weed and pulled. It didn’t want to leave it’s spot of
earth but with one great yank it finally came up and I found myself
falling backwards, only to be caught by my little corner of planet

I closed my eyes to rest for a moment. When I opened them I could only
see white.

“Holy shit! I’m blind! I’m fucking blind!”

The white split in two and I could see blue sky between the now two
white pillars. I looked further upwards and found myself looking at a
woman glaring down at me, her hands wedged firmly in her wide, doughy,
soccer mom-type hips.

“Damn, those are the whitest legs….”

“Excuse me,” she interrupted while still glaring down at me. “Did you
tell my son he was going to die soon?”

“No ma’am,” I replied as I got to my feet. “What I told him was that
with those Mongloidian facial features he has that it would be smart if
he wore a helmet on that misshapen head of his so that he……”

I didn’t see the slap coming but sure felt it.

COMING NEXT: The Block Party: Part Deux

Stephen Johnson

The idea of building a website with Bob came from Stephen in the days of message boards and chat rooms. We settled on the name and the rest is history. Retired since he hit the ripe age of 25, he spends most his time doing odd-jobs around the house and digging thru trash bins for "stuff that's still good." Stephen has contributed several short stories and hosted the "Lunatic Ravings" column since the beginning (1999). The idea of writing weekly columns came from Stephen before blogs or blog sites ever existed. So, I guess that makes him THE FIRST BLOGGER IN THE WORLD!!!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.