Jewels of denial.

Let's talk about my neighbors.

I know some of you picture me living in a cabin in the woods, and you probably expect that when I run out of Lucky Charms, I have to make a 3 day trip by horse and wagon to get another box, but that's not the case. I do, in fact, have neighbors. Granted, they are not of the "right-on-top-of-my-ass-all-the-time-can't-you-keep-your-kids-out-of-my-yard-for-a-single-goddamn-day" sort that I had in my last house, but they are there nonetheless.

Our nearest ones happen to be roughly 300 feet away. I can just about make out their house through the woods. My wife and I have lived here about 11 or so years now, and I've spoken to my neighbors literally dozens of times, so obviously we are very close friends.

The man of the house is an older gentleman, and quite the outdoorsman. As far as I can tell, he and his wife live alone in the house with a dog and/or cat. I'm not entirely sure.

I have two concrete reasons why I am comfortable with the outdoorsman label I have so nonchalantly slapped on him, and they are as follows: (1) The first time I met him, he was dressed in full camo, and (2) he regularly shoots guns off his back deck.

I am OK with that. I have been known to do a little plinking off the back deck myself, and since he does it, I know I am not bothering him when I do it. Win-win.

While I've heard some shooting recently, I am very thankful that I haven't heard the other thing. The thing that screams and howls at dusk. The half-mad piping of blind Azathoth, encircled by his flopping horde of mindless and amorphous subjects; charnel pit demons, feasting upon I-know-not-what.

Well, that's what I used to think it was anyway. Until I snuck through the woods one night and found out that he was trying to teach himself to play the fucking recorder. I imagine it sounds a lot like someone violating a goose. (I said "I imagine," so shut it.)

Anyway, that gives you a little background. It doesn't fully set the stage for this, because frankly, there are no words to describe what I am about to show you. While they are very nice, albeit slightly eccentric folk, their taste tends toward the um, gaudy end of the spectrum. Think: full-sized chainsaw bears and lots of whirligigs and lawn ornaments.

Two days ago, I drove past their house and I noticed there had been a subtle change to their mailbox. Whereas before it had been a normal, everyday, white mailbox with perhaps a few fake flowers hanging on it, it had been somehow altered.

I couldn't put my finger on it, but perhaps you guys can help me out. I took this picture for you:



p.s. - I promise I will take another picture in a few weeks when that stuff starts falling off in chunks.