border dispute

Dear i+i:
My neighbor and I have a long-standing dispute about our property line. He contends that the fence we put in FOUR YEARS ago is on his property and wants us to tear it down and move it. I say if he wants us to incur that kind of expense, HE has to pay for a new survey of both properties to help us figure this out. Can you help? - Fences Make Good Neighbors

Sure thing, FMGN.

Property rights are pretty central to the Constitution, and the Founders obviously put great stock in protecting the rights of individuals against the incursions and curtailments of the State. But that's not what I'm seeing in this case. What I'm seeing is two white people. Unhappy about other things. Afraid to fight each other.

To you, the letters"FMGN" stands for "Fences Make Good Neighbors". To me, they stand for "Fucking Motherfucking Goddamn Nontroversy". I'm betting you both wear fucking sweaters draped over your shoulders in that little fucking cashmere bitch-cape you fucking shitbirds are so fond of. I bet I could get on the roof of your house and throw a rock in any direction and hit a golf course, am I right?

Bet you're a big golfer, aren't you Skid Mark? Except you say "avid". You describe yourself publicly as "an avid golfer". Which is the rough equivalent of saying to a black person: "Yeah, you know something? My share of your reparations for slavery? You know where that's going? Green fees. And I realize I'm wearing all pastels on the outside, but my boxer-briefs? Confederate flag." Your life has all the fucking authenticity of Elvis fucking Presley singing "In the Ghetto." In fact, I'm pretty sure that your continued prosperity constitutes a hate crime. Against fucking everybody. We could bring you up on seven billion counts of being an oppressor douche-face. If every man, woman, and child on the planet took say 8 seconds to punch you in your hypocrite face - and believe me, we all want to - it would take over 1,700 years. So plant your feet, dickhead - here it comes.

I know. You're cowering behind "my family loves me." This is a ridiculous thing for you to say. Because of the model you have provided, your daughter will date an unbroken string of date rapist bro-ham assholes. She is cutting herself as I write this, and at the back of her spacious closet, she has eleven shoeboxes lined with Target bags that she's filled with sour bulemic puke. LOOK at her, you fucking swine - she makes Britney Murphy look zaftig. Go look up "zaftig", shit-for-brains. Now go look up "Britney Murphy". Your fucking HOUSEKEEPER knows about this, but she a) has no fucking idea how to cope with these white people problems, and b) is afraid you get INS on her if she says anything - so she leaves the puke-filled boxes as a rank little shrine to your epic shittiness.

And that wife of yours? Doesn't fucking MATTER what she thinks, because lemme tell you something: I could fire an arrow in her left ear and it would come whipping out her right without hitting a goddamn thing in between. She may look like Shannon Tweed a little bit, if the light is poor, and you've had like 13 drinks, and you don't have your contacts in. But, shit, dude - is it worth squinting at the off brand star of White Cargo and The Dark Dancer when every fucking syllable out of that collagen mouth is more bone-crushingly stupid than the last? Are fake tits honestly that appealing, even where they are attached to the Grand Marshall of the Irritating Retard Parade?

And the reason your son is pissing away his Tufts tuition on an Art History degree is just to spite you. He has no real interest in art or its history - he just wants his fucking might-as-well-be-printed-on-Charmin BA to serve as a $200K dick-slap to your face on graduation day.

And your partners down at the firm like you well enough. Except that they define "like" as "find you so hopeless and stupid that they're stealing from the company like crazy." You're a fucking chump and they hate you for it.

You are so fully horrible, I don't even know where to begin. Your anchorman hair white as cocaine? Your giant red scotch face? That fucking shoulder sweater? Seriously, dude. The bitch-cape cunty epaulets look has got to go. Like yesterday. I'm not like super-butch or anything, but even I know that any individual wearing a motherfucking duckling-yellow cardigan tossed over his shoulders has relegated his manhood to the dustbin of history. You would need a radio telescope to pick up the ghostly signal of your manhood, you arid little turd. That fucking sweater cape is a shroud for the sad, puckered corpse of your manhood, son. You are a little bitchbird and those limp sleeves are your flightless fucking wings.

And here's the real trouble: your neighbor is every bit as insufferable as you are. He's every bit the vein-ruptured drunk you are, exactly the same kind of sweater-shouldered limpdick, precisely the same form of smug and disengaged trauma-peddler to everybody around him. The fact that both of you douchebags drive Audis* speaks fucking volumes.


* Studies confirm that it's uniformly the biggest dickstains under the fucking sun that drive Audis. It's science. If you drive an Audi, then I am sorry to report that that fuckface staring back at you out of the mirror is a weapons-grade asshole.

So here's your answer: my solution involves a bulldozer. But the fence will stay intact. The bulldozer will be used to crush you and your worthless neighbor into a long red streak on the street out front of your houses. And here's your legacy, dickwad: 6 months after you're both squeegeed up off the asphalt, you'll have faded so completely in their memories, one of the assholes down the way will be watering his lawn one day, and some other shithead will be taking out the trash. And they'll gaze out at the spot where you died and go:

"Man. That was a such a shame about… Greg and… Todd, was it?"

"Ken, I think. And… I wanna say, Doug, maybe?"

And they won't think about it too hard, because they don't give a rat's ass about you, or your neighbor what's-his-name. Or about anything else.

And the way you can tell there's no God is that a gas main doesn't explode and incinerate everyone on what was once your cul-de-sac in this gated little slice of hell on earth. For if there was any justice and you people got anything like the fiery retribution you deserve, the ONLY thing left standing in the aftermath of the just desserts that cause you each to be reduced to a charcoal fucking briquette should be the fucking fence you douches were arguing about in the first place.