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posted August 23, 2013 @12:22p
My neighbor doesn't own pants.
Or at least he doesn't WEAR pants. I can't be certain he doesn't have pants in his possession.
Speaking of pants-less wonders, by the way... if they're intelligent enough to band together, escape from the farm, find their way to the interstate - and even commandeer equipment to be able to reach the catwalk on billboards - wouldn't you think those Chick-Fil-A cows would be better spellers?
Anyway… so a habit of one of my next-door neighbors - probably the most tolerable habit - is spending an extended period of time in his boat. He spends hours and hours on end, enjoying his boat. He spends hours and hours – several days a week, mind you – in his boat, which is parked in front of his house, in the driveway, directly in front of the garage.
And he seems to most enjoy his boat sans pants.
Although Captain Underpants and his boat are just 20 or so feet from my property, I haven’t been able to quite work out exactly what he's doing on his dry dock. But he seems hard at work, underwear waving in the breeze.
What I DO know is that “Bebe,” his tiny, mis-shaven Maltese dog guards his leg-exposed master and boat in a fierce, sneaky, heart-shaking manner. She comes out of nowhere when you least expect her, and she’s always lurking. She hates you, and anybody you’ve ever met.
On my birthday, and I have but one special birthday wish: for my neighbor to put on some pants.
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