whack-a-pedant

a trolls guide to fence post warfare

I loves me a love story.

My favorite love story?

Shrek.

It’s kinda similar to that of me and my wife except for the fact that though Shrek and Fiona were ogres, me and my squeeze are both trolls.

Laura is a nasty, nasty troll of a woman with the deadliest of deapans. I never seem to catch on when she’s fucking with me.

In addition to being the sexiest woman I know, she’s pretty damn good at hiding it when she’s fucking with people.

Today is a perfect example.

We’ve lowered the hostility with our neighbour by several degrees. This means that she will occasionally acknowledge his existence by saying hello and I’ve stopped flipping him the bird whenever he fails to not look at me.

Progress is a wonderful thing eh?

It’s kinda like that with Canada and ‘Merica these days. We’ve stopped booing the Rockets Dead Bear song but we’re still not coming for dinner.

But back to our suburban border war.

Our neighbour is a classic ‘Nosey Parker’. He loves volunteering his input and observations BEFORE they are asked for.

He is a Georgie Pordgie who mansplains more than Richard Pryor swears.

I was installing fence posts. Mr Bad Boundaries was out pouting and pulling at his plants like a teen boy with the lingerie section of the Sears Catalogue. He needed to be present to ‘supervise’ the change that was coming.

So, he was in the yard and well within earshot when the love of my life innocently asked What’s the difference between cement and concrete?

The fatman froze. His head, which had been dutifully supervising a particularly stubborn dandelion, snapped towards Laura. Then his gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly, towards me.

It was like a screen glitch.

I watched, fascinated, as his inner conflict played out on his fleshy face: the primal urge to assert his intellect, vs the memory of me tearing a massive strip off of his massive arse.

It was perfect moment

His urge to explain, to correct, was a palpable force. But his fear... his fear was stronger.

He looked like he was trying to choke back a cramping gut and the ensuing anal mudslide.

He was bursting to unleash his trapped knowledge, then, almost involuntarily, he bolted. He ran back into his house, slamming the screen door shut with a rattle and smack.

Laura stared at me blankly.

What?

We kept working on the fence boundary supports. A moment later, we heard the familiar rattle as his screen door cracked open.

His little muppet head poked out like a menah mena.

He cleared his throat. He was ready to say something, finally unleash the torrent.

I cleared my throat. He noticed me and with a quick, terrified dart of his eyes, he popped back into his house.

I smiled at Laura. It’s like playing whack-a-mole with pedants.

A few minutes later, he was back.

This time, he stepped onto his porch. He actually started to form words but midway through thought better of it and instead made some odd grunting guttural sounds. It’ was like he was clearing his throat or coughing the words ‘portland’ and ‘aggregate’

Each time though, he cut himself off with a clenched jaw and a sputtering sound like a dying outboard motor.

This time, after he left, the door glided shut with a defeated whisper.

It happened again.

And again.

Each time, he'd get a little closer, his face redder, his movements more agitated. I could hear the words rattling in his brain, getting more and more twisted, less accurate.

Knowing that he was listening, I started using intentionally wrong words like 'brick glue' or 'rock juice', to add fuel to his righteous compulsion to correct me.

He’d take a step out, then a glance at me, then a shuddering retreat, his head shaking as if trying to dislodge the words stuck in his skull.

Eventually, as the sun climbed higher, Laura leaned over to me, her voice a low murmur. "Did you mean to cause him to have a complete mental meltdown, you nasty, nasty troll?"

My reply?

You started it when you said you didn’t know the difference.

She just gave me that deadpan stare. The one that tells you absolutely nothing and everything all at once. The kind that makes you wonder if you're the victim of an even larger, more elaborate joke.

I don’t. I’m actually curious.

I still couldn’t tell if she was fucking with me or not.

Darlin’ I said, we trolls don't need to know the difference between cement and concrete as long as what goes into the ground holds up the fence posts.

Rember: Good fences are a great way to fuck with your neighbours.