by Andy the security guy in space #68

What a long, strange month it's been. December is supposed to be all full of joy, what with Christmas and presents and Santa and all the flashy decorations and whatnot. December in Tinbox Acres was anything but joyful, at least for us folks who lives downstream from space #62. Me and my girlfriend Lulu and our baby Damian all live right next door to space #62, AKA ground zero.

Yep, that's right. Them two tweeking knuckleheads, Eddie and Arliss, live right next door to me. Lulu and I could smell this sulfur-and-sewage scent emitting all the way from space #62, across our yard that's two trailer spaces wide, into our quintuple-wide, and we could smell it clear over on the other side. I mean our trailer was permeated with STINK.

The next day, the sump pump quit working. Day after that, the toilet backed up and the source of that sulfur-and-sewage scent boiled over and covered the floor of the bathroom three inches deep in it. It was uglier than that time the sump pump exploded all over me.

My glorious quintuple-wide castle could only be described as a biohazard. Lulu and Damian had to temporily move in with Doralee and Doobie across the street in space #61, and I've been staying with Maddog Monson in space #91.

Everyone from my trailer on down has had to move in with some other trailerpark resident that's either upstream or across the driveway from "ground zero" space #62. We all been shifting around here, squeezing into each other's trailers, sleeping on couches and recliners and floors, waiting for the sewage lines to get replaced.

One good thing did come out of this whole mess. I'm having a total blast with Maddog. Instead of changing diapers and cow-towing to a postpartum-depressed Lulu, I'm drinking beer and watching ESPN with Maddog. The only hollering that goes on in space #91 is when points are scored or a racecar wrecks. Instead of losing sleep to a baby crying, I'm losing sleep to staying up late and having a blast. Life is good. Life's REAL good.

Lulu ain't doing too shabby her ownself. She's up there in space #61 with Doralee and her baby Delilah or Doobie or whatever the fuck they call that kid. They been helping each other out by one of them watching both kids for a while and shit like that. I ain't interested in that. I'm interested in beer and sports and bets and dares and other real entertainment like what goes on in Maddog's trailer.

Take the other night, for instance. Maddog and I wasn't hammered yet, but we was getting there. We must have been somewhat buzzed, 'cause we started lighting our farts on fire. Nobody's guts exploded and we didn't burn down the trailer. We just had a shitload of guy-fun.

Maddog's trailer is surrounded by empty trailer spaces, so after we was all giggly-drunk, we stumbled outside and built us a bonfire in a couple of them trailer spaces. It was a BIG fucker, too, and it attracted all the trailerpark pyromaniacs like, well, like moths to a flame. More like pyromaniacs to a flame. Ronnie Dorque, that little firebug from space #24, showed up first.

One thing I discovered is it's actually FUN to stand around a bonfire with a bunch of trailerpark pyromaniacs. There must have been about a dozen of us out there, but I can't remember who all it was, 'cause I ended up hammered flat on Tequila and cheap beer. Anyways, everyone ended up shoving sticks into the bonfire and running around with flaming sticks, which turned out to be way, WAY funner than Roman candles, and they last longer to boot.

Wanna know the best part of the whole thing? Lulu and Doralee and pretty much all the womenfolk stayed the fuck inside with the kids and left all of us pyromaniacal menfolk alone.

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