On All That is Good and Holy, I Swear This is True

Yesterday our neighbor pulled up in his van to chat with J while he mowed our front lawn. This is the neighbor whose family threw me into a panic after they moved into the house across our street, because:

• Even though the father is in a wheelchair (excuse me: souped-up Hover-round), he and his teenage children regularly have very public, violent, expletive-laced fights on their deck. Lawn chairs fly into the air. Things are shouted--horrible things--that would burn my grandmother's ear drums and make Deepak Chopra slip into a catatonic state.
• They are always sitting outside on their deck, welcoming a parade of strangers into their yard. Caseworkers? Bible study folks? Drug dealers? N'er do wells? Yes. All of the above, I suspect.
• The father told us he 'sketches our house' from his deck.
  
• Their 16 year-old daughter, who doesn't even know my name, stopped by to invite me to a "Passion Party." The mom nearly threw rocks at me when I declined to come over for a Mary Kay party.
• They put a floppy green snow fence up around their new pool.
• All the kids and their friends ride Dad's Hover-round through the streets, sometimes pulling one another on wheeled office chairs, sometimes holding a shovel in front to plow a sidewalk.
  
• They have three or four dogs who live on their deck and Never. Stop. Barking. They are wild, unruly mongrels, the Bumpus hounds reincarnate, full of diarrhea and bad manners.
  
• The city police, fire department, and/or EMTs are in the neighborhood? Guess whose house.

Here is the conversation between Neighbor and J last evening:

J: "Haven't seen you around much lately!"

Neighbor: "Yeah! I've been in the hospital for the last month. My colostomy bag got caught on something, yanked my catheter, and ripped my penis in half!"

J: *blink* "That had to hurt."

Neighbor: "Good thing I can't feel nothing down there, huh?"