An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

Here in the Three Two Three

Jon and I spent the entire day yesterday helping our neighbors move their two-bedroom apartment into a storage space, a storage space on the second floor of a winding storage building with elevators operational only with 10 digit access codes. What we thought was going to be a two-hour rush of heavy wooden objects and boxes turned into an eight-hour dust and pinball machine? and why-is-this-not-in-a-box? fest.

We love our neighbors and their wonderfully insane dog who happens to be Chuck’s best friend. Once, when Jon and I went out of town for the weekend they had to spell C-H-U-C-K whenever they talked about us, otherwise their dog would think Chuck was outside and he’d start doing that dog pacing thing, where the dog walks from window to window with a terribly worried wrinkle creasing his forehead, as if he’s got to decide whether or not to take Grandpa off life support.

So they’re gone, these neighbors, just up and gone, and it’s incredibly sad. Chuck counted on at least three play sessions a day with their dog, and I counted on at least three good gossip sessions with the dog’s mother, a publicist in the fashion industry who has given me delicious scoops on everyone from Ben Stiller (a total meany) to Christian Slater (a total worry wart) to Martin Sheen (who sings spiritedly! at Church on Sundays).

But they had to move, and the reason they had to move is good reason for us to move. You see, there’s this neighbor, and this neighbor is an evil neighbor, and this evil neighbor once told our lovely friends that if they didn’t watch out, he’d “fucking kill” their dog and cat.

This evil neighbor often used phrases like “you’re going to get what’s coming to you” and “watch your bitch or I’ll come after her” and “if that bitch does that again I’ll stick a fucking bullet in her head.”

And I’m sure the evil neighbor is really a lovely man who just has a few issues with, I don’t know, sanity. And maybe he just needs a hug or a really intense session of hopscotch, but if someone as large and thuggish as this evil neighbor were to threaten my dog, let alone my bitch, I wouldn’t stick around and try to kill him with kindness. That motherfucker would kill me with weapons.

And it’s not that I’m a coward, or that our friends are cowards either. They called the cops and they filed complaints with the proper authorities, and every law-enforcement official who heard their story said that unless the evil neighbor physically assaulted them, they couldn’t do a damn thing, except live in fear and horror and ongoing hell.

And I’m not one for the ongoing hell part of living. That part really sucks. So we gave our friends what we could give them, our backs and legs and Jon’s superbly anal box-arranging capabilities. And we’re thinking, yeah, it’s time to leave. Los Angeles isn’t the safe place it used to be.

  • exsouthern babtist

    Sounds like you need a Civil Harassment order dooce.

  • timbo

    When I lived in West Hollywood in the early 80’s I had a next door neighbor who slept on a cot in his backyard wearing his army fatigues. He also hung dolls from his clothesline using nooses and would bullwhip them until their clothes came off and then he would very carefully dress them and do it all again. He would put lighter fluid on the meat when he was grilling. I was pretty wary around him, but he wasn’t the reason I moved. I just hated Southern California.

  • After reading about some of these neighbors from hell, I feel a little protected in the area I live in. The worst I have to deal with is the annoying guy next door who keeps leaving me notes to cut my tree back.

    Where the heck are you people seeing all these freaks?!

  • whoah…today’s surfing led (in order) from dooce to our very own house8 weblog to to a link in textism’s comments…

    Deja vu?

  • bucci

    My dog Max, aka the Silver Hammer just died a month or so ago. He was 13 years, lumpy, nearly blind, just about deaf, had only 1 visible tooth, and stinky. Yes, but I loved him, loved him, loved him. And that night he wandered off into the rain I looked for him with a flash-light in bean field and never found him. And looked the next morning and the next day. But dammit, when a dog has to go off and die like that, the best thing is to have a nice big bean field of a few hundred acres or so to do it in. And if I ever thought my dog was at risk from a person, I reckon I’d do all sorts of things to prevent the harm. I wouldn’t even leave Max with my Mom for the weekend. So, do what you need to do for your sweet pup. And everyone raise a glass to the Silver Hammer.

  • newgirl

    First, many psycho pieces of worthless human flesh have threatened my animals, and one actually carried out the act. None of these were in LA, where I have lived for 16 years. In fact, they have all been nice little family towns with low populations and lots of “values.”

    Second, don’t forget this is LA. There are people, I’m not saying that I know exactly who they are, who will gladly make a total scumbag like that really sorry that such a thing was ever mentioned.

    I’m just sayin.

    You are right about the average cost of a backyard though. Ouch.

  • Yeah? Well my mother made several death threats to my dog and what do ya know, she actually killed the baby on Tuesday.

  • The Noticer

    Hey! There used to be another post here! History has been revised!!

  • where is the post about the muthafucker who stole your site?

    I ranted about it here:

  • pixelkitty’s still on the warpath. i’m thinking dooce figured to let it go. the brutal rants are all gone.

  • Rex

    What happened to the ‘motherfucker who stole my design’ post?

  • No matter how wrong it is to steal a site design, maybe it’s not worth fighting about it with someone who has cancer. I can imagine being too drained to come up with your own sh**. Dooce, you have a great site design and lots of lovely people visiting you daily – a cancer patient might want the same? Possibly just blog jealousy? Dooce, you were right to change the subject.

  • Methinks that Pixelkitty stole the idea of ranting about something they never took the time to really look into.

  • When I was a little we had a dog named Busch (yes, my dad named our dog after the infamous swill of beer) and a whacked gun-toting Lynrd Skynrd style neighbor threatened to shoot him, much the same as your evil neighbor. Thinly veiled aggression as compensation for erectile disfunction, or something of the sort. But Dad called his bluff, and the cops, we kept busch under closer surveillence, and nothing ever happened. But there’s always a fine line in calling a man’s bluff. Play more poker and maybe you’ll be able to tell.

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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