Yokels

Five old men are playing basketball in the driveway below my balcony. The net is only eight feet off the ground, because it's a kid's court. The second fattest old man decided that playing HORSE was beneath him, and instead of taking a shot he decided to knock a dude over, completely forget about dribbling, and dunk with so much force that he ended up on the ground right next to the hoop. He knocked over the hoop. Good for him.

Second-fatty left the court, holding his arm, but the rest of the old men decided to stage a slam dunk contest. The best part was when Mr. Newshoes got pushed into the bushes. He looked up at the ladies watching the game and asked someone (Mrs. Newshoes?): "Are my kids watching television?"

The game is over now. As I write this, there is a kid spraying a hose on the driveway. I'd like to think that he'll avoid the whole competitive thing. Get into Soduku and Jane Eyre and whatnot. But he's kinking the hose, unkinking, and letting the stream shoot right onto the garage door. And now he's doing it again. Dude doesn't even have a nutsack yet.

I'm very close to saying that being a jerk is hardwired in our Y chromosomes.

I bet I can totally hit that kid in the head with my neighbor's umbrella.