My Life

An Open Letter to the Idiot with the Chainsaw

Dearest Neighbor,

How are you this fine morning? I trust that you realize it is morning. Quite early in the morning, as a matter of fact. Were you aware of this? Perhaps not. Maybe you’re one of those people who leap out of bed without any concept of time, and then race outside to pull the ripcord on gas-powered devices that don’t have any “inside voice” settings. As such, there are a few things which we need to discuss.

First, there are actually some people who don’t live quite the same lifestyle that you have chosen for yourself. These other people have rich and meaningful lives which they pursue with relish, lives that sometimes include activities which require them to stay up late on a Saturday night. When this late-night activity takes place, it is customary for these happy, satisfied people to not arise from their slumber at the butt crack of dawn. They instead prefer to sleep in a bit, and then have a nice brunch where mimosas are served and people have conversations in hushed, soothing tones.

I have thoughtfully laid out the details of this alternate manner of living as I am well aware that such a relaxed pursuit of life may not be familiar to you and the other people that grew up in whatever horrid little hell-spot from whence you came. Does this help you see how your tawdry obsession with the usage of fossil fuel-depleting implements, before the newspapers have even been delivered, might cause some consternation among folks who are still in their bed chambers when you attempt to jump-start the Apocalypse in your backyard?

Second, what do you possibly have in that backyard which requires such vicious mechanical savagery? I know you don’t have any trees back there, as you wiped all those out the very day you purchased that Antichrist of a chainsaw, trying to prove something that did not need proving. Were you perhaps attempting to remove part of your house that you didn’t find particularly pleasing? Were you trying to instill some terror-based life-lesson into your children who refused to stop smacking their gum? (Oh, wait. You don’t have any of those, either. I seem to recall your offspring being removed from your possession some years ago. Those little urchins of yours were weeping with joy as they clamored into the police van.)

And just to make sure you understand the impact of your recent actions, let me share with you exactly how it transpired that I became aware of your grievous hooliganism at such an early hour. I was in the midst of a very pleasing dream, wherein Ryan Reynolds had done something or other which required that he take a shower in my house. Being the gracious host that I am, I was standing nearby, wearing something revealing (translation: nothing), in case he should need assistance of any kind.

Things were going splendidly when, to my utter shock, Ryan apparently let loose with the most resounding instance of flatulence that mankind had known up to that point. My infatuation with Ryan dimmed briefly, then I decided that some things could be overlooked in the name of lust. Then it happened again, with the shower door nearly being blown off its hinges. This was becoming entirely too much.

Then my dream began to blur as bits of me became conscious, and I eventually surmised that the ass noises were apparently something else entirely. And the noises seemed to be coming from above my head. I slowly cracked open one sleep-encrusted eye, and the window above the bed came into view. By the dim light filtering in, I could tell that dawn had barely broken. Even the roosters were still hitting the snooze button.

And yet, some idiot was using a chainsaw next door.

I tried to ignore your heinous activity, flopping about in the bed and attempting to cover my head with various pillows and startled pets. But it was right at that moment that you, in your treacherous agenda, encountered an obstinate section of whatever it was that you were hacking to death. This inspired you to begin revving your wretched machine until a noise filled the air that could make grown men crumple into a fetal postion. And you KEPT doing it.

  This reminded me of Thanksgiving days as a youngster, when our grandfather, bless him, didn’t really understand the anatomy of a turkey. Despite his ineptitude with avian biology, he was the head of the gathered household and therefore responsible for carving the turkey once Granny presented it to him at the dining table. Family tradition required that, despite being nearly faint with hunger, we must all wait for PeePaw to decimate the bird completely before anyone could take the smallest nibble of anything.

And it always played out that PeePaw, slashing around with the fancy electric carving knife that some fool had purchased for him, would encounter the skeleton of this year’s creature, and he would once again fail to understand that he should NOT cut through it. When he ran up against something solid, he would simply increase the speed of the knife until Tom Turkey would start to disintegrate and fly about, creating a mushroom cloud of death and poultry, with little bits of bone and stuffing raining down on the upturned faces of the assembled and terrified grandchildren. To this day, the mere sight of an electric carving knife makes me wet myself.

So, neighbor of mine that I really can’t stand, do you see how your crimes of the early morning might have set me off a bit? Not only were you stupidly sawing at something that obviously didn’t need your intervention, but you kept revving. It was the revving that forced me to take pen and paper in hand and jot off this missive of passionate dissatisfaction with your very existence.

In summary, should you ever again take it upon yourself to do anything with a gas-powered yard tool at 7am on a Sunday morning, I will not hesitate to immediately march to your house, even if I’m currently nude because that’s how I roll when I sleep, and beat the hell out of you with that freakin’ chainsaw. Because nothing comes between me and Ryan Reynolds. Nothing.

Thank you for your time,



Previously published in “The Sound and the Fury” and “Bonnywood Manor”. Slight changes made for this post.

Story behind the photo: Just a random shot of a toy cow that I own. We don’t really need to go into the details of why I have it or why I feel compelled to take pictures of such.


45 replies »

    • Since you brought it up, there WAS a wee bit of a wee problem in my formative years. But we’ll get into that some other time, because there’s a lot of detail and personal horror involved in the matter. As such, the saga deserves a multi-part mini-series…

      But yes, we called my maternal (well, at least “legally” maternal, long story) grandfather PeePaw. I don’t know the reasoning behind the appellation, I was just following orders, as one does when one is young and has no voting rights…

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Well, if you are prepared to angrily confront a man with a chainsaw, nude, after dreaming about Ryan Reynolds, well… well, it’s very brave Brian, is all I can say. One might say outstanding bravery.

    Liked by 1 person

    • First, I must apologize if you noticed a response that briefly appeared under your comment. It was not intended for you but rather belonged to Lynette’s comment above. My internet signal is amazingly lethargic tonight and some wicked mishaps have been occurring.

      Second, yes, it would have been outstanding bravery, should it have actually happened. I have no problem with being outstanding, so to speak, but the neighbor in question moved shortly after “the incident”, and I was not able to carry through with my free-swinging revenge….

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I loved reading this one. Reminds me of the guy in my building, the one with the dogs. They always seemed to know exactly when I was getting ready to record something for a big client, a new client, or a favorite client. Freakin’ uncanny!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. You live in Texas, so perhaps you have never had the opportunity to appreciate true horror: our 187-year-old neighbor Claude, at 0:dark-thirty, deciding to use his snowblower to clear every flake of snow from his sidewalk. Then our sidewalk, the sidewalks of innocent neighbors (despite the NSF-family howls projected in his direction), and finally both our driveways.

    Cut to our bedroom, currently heaving with sobbing children and various livestock, as the Hub physically restrained me, preventing my completely rational objective of burying Claude in a snowbank so deep his corpsickle wouldn’t emerge until at least July. The Hub kept blathering on about how I wasn’t going to get a nice restful prison stay while he was left with kids and aforementioned livestock. But I was pretty sure, I told him, that it would be considered justifiable homicide.

    Luckily, before law enforcement was involved, Claude went to a better place where there were unlimited power tools for eternity, and neighbors almost never had to scream pre-dawn questions regarding your mother’s virtue. A wonderful family with very few power tools moved next door, and life was perfect.

    My moral? Sometimes the best neighborhood improvement program is a funeral.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Oh, how well you get me. We have the same reactions to people with no social skills or morality whatsoever. I want to hurt them, even though I know I won’t. But I can dream, and in such a state, the world is made better by some mildly heroic deed I undertake that improves the planet. (For the record, the “sobbing children and various livestock” bit made my re-sharing of this post worth all the effort. “Corpsickle” takes second place in my eternal admiration.)

      But your last line? That’s an Erma Bombeck book that she never bothered to write. Perhaps we should collaborate and rectify her negligence…

      Liked by 1 person

  4. ….and then there’s the juvenile delinquents (actually, usually scraggly-bearded, pony-tailed men) who rev up their Harley’s for ten minutes in the morning before roaring off to wherever cretins roar off to spend their time before congregating at some biker watering hole to commiserate. Some of them may even roar off to jobs, probably of a physical nature….which is fine, because I’d hate to think of such types in positions of power, such as right-wing politician or even head of state.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Agreed. There are several variations on aural misbehavior in the morning, and none of them are acceptable. There really should be a law that, unless you find yourself in an urgent medical situation, you shouldn’t be allowed to make yourself noticed before noon.


  5. Well, you showed your neighbour, if he can read, and has the internet, and you send him your blog. If not, then at least we got a chuckle, meanwhile you may have inspired me to write a note to the senior who drives the big boat of a cadillac, making turns at 3 kilometres an hour but still needs to weave out in the outer lane in order to make the corner. ooops, I digress. How is the neighbour on the other side?

    Liked by 2 people

    • My neighborhood is filled with seniors. Ergo, my neighborhood is also filled with Cadillac boats losing their moorings and washing ashore in all the wrong places. But I actually prefer that situation over the youngsters in the 20s and 30s who feel compelled to race down the streets at enormous speeds, with the velocity peeling the paints off the houses as they go.

      The neighbor on the other side is close to perfection. She has parties every so often on the holidays, to which she invites everyone in her apparently very-extended family, and things can get a bit rambunctious. But then, we’re doing the same at my house, so our decibel-levels cancel each other out. Other than those few events, I never hear a sound from that house…


  6. I know we visited this one before, but danged if I remember what I said…all I’m hoping for really is not to commit the same foot in mouth faux pas that I did with Cyd and Fred/Gene 😐 I have a new neighbor, who moved in at the end of summer/early Fall. Initially this individual would sit in his big SUV and rev the %$#!@ engine. At o’TOO DAMNED EARLY o’clock. This is a retirement community down this end, and nobody who doesn’t absolutely have to (there’s always those perky types who are out walking and looking vaguely superior of course) isn’t awake before 8 a.m. earliest. So tuning one’s engine (while legal) at 6 a.m., is guaranteed to gain one a lot of enemies. I actually went out and yelled at the idiot, to which he childishly replied “I can if I WANT TO.” Fucktard. I sent him a visit by Karma who ensured he was paid back and in spades. It turns out the house that he bought is sinking. We all knew that, but apparently the slicky willy-ess of a former owner didn’t tell f-tard primo about that fact. And there were visible gaps in the place between the ceiling and the walls. I admit to laughing heartily (silently of course) when I heard that was a problem f-tard & company had to deal with. Don’t poke Karma. She’s a wicked bitch…

    Liked by 2 people

    • First, the f-tard must be taken out. I’ll make a few phone calls.

      Second, we have the early walkers in this neighborhood as well. Actually, walking/jogging the neighborhood is apparently all the rage, as I see them constantly throughout the day, all ages and types. In fact, when I take a good book and relax in the front room, on the purple couch which is one of my favorites, said position has me facing one of the floor-to-ceiling windows which front the street. I am not kidding when I say that SOMEBODY waltzes by every five minutes. Senior citizens, people with 2% body fat, moms with strollers, entire families with strollers, and tons of people escorting their dogs and toting a roll of plastic bags to deal with what dogs do.

      Does this cavalcade inspire me to be healthy like them? Of course not… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  7. We usually have an idiot with the lawnmower here but if you want we can join forces, so : if you successfully confront the guy with the chainsaw and managed to take it away from him I can then use it on the early morning lawnmower guy😎

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Diggin the cow.
    Is this the same stupid neighbor who has been waking you for several years now? I recall a post maybe three years ago with regards to to the asswhipe (azz-WEE-pay) next door without the common sense to STFU with his power tool at 7 am. I’d probably have kindly done something with which if caught the cancer card would be whipped out along with my identification.
    Some people have no courtesy for anyone but themselves. He probably cheats on his right hand with his left hand and has to make a lame excuse to righty if he’s been away too long with lefty. He’s aware that his forearms are recognizably different sizes by several inches in circumference: he’s weed whacking through the tracks of his lonely tears. Sad. So sad.

    (Oh I thought of a song title – there’s lyrics too which I will not share here but it’s Elton Johns “Don’t Let Your Son Go Down on Me”)

    Liked by 1 person

    • Okay, as I was reading your comment, I was tentatively composing a response in my head, as I always do. But then all thoughts of pre-composition flew out of my head when I hit the last bit. That song title is wonderful and terrible at the same time.

      Where was I?

      Oh, right, the bastard neighbor. Yes, it’s essentially the same guy that I’ve been whining about for years, though I must confess that I have been a bit creative with his biographical details, modifying them somewhat just so he would work better in my little stories. (Don’t we all do that? Thought so.) Still, he’s a pain in the ass, and he deserves my powerless wrath.

      Although, now that I think about it, I haven’t seen him in a couple months. Granted, I haven’t seen a LOT of people in the last couple months, what with the lockdown, but still, he should have done something to annoy me by now. Has something happened? Hmm. Maybe I need to pull a Nancy Drew and peek in his window. I’ll keep you posted…

      Liked by 1 person

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