I Just Love My Homeowner's Association

My Homeowner's Association's Proposed Warning Sign:

Notice: 

The majority of the guys who live in this neighborhood are military and ex-military, many with advanced training in combat arms, hand to hand combat and reconnaissance. We also have a couple of trained snipers and one old boy from East Texas who sleeps with his 30-06 and can pick the head off a pissant at 1500 yards on a blustery day.

You should also note that we are armed to the teeth and practice often. At last count, the guys out here have 75 confirmed kills in Iraq, Afghanistan, Vietnam and some places they still can't talk about. That number is probably a little low because they don't count them if they can't find enough pieces. At night, the Vietnam vet guy likes to sit in a tree in a Ghillie suit with an infrared scope. Something about 'perimeter security'. We gave him a mugshot book of the neighborhood residents and told him he had to verify the identity of the intruder before making the shot. When in doubt, he has instructions to "get close and use the knife".

We are very fond of our wives and kids and get really perturbed if you mess with them. You should know that our subdivision is surrounded by an ecologically balanced and therefore very thick wetlands preservation boundary that already smells pretty bad in some places where the brush is particularly dense. It's not likely they'll find you anytime soon and I understand that our local racoons and buzzards like to nibble things.

Our homeowner's association president worked for many years in a mental facility training orderlies and personally handling the very large violent-type lunatics. He used to take down three hundred pounders and place them in restraints seven or eight times a day on average. He knows the precise words to use when calling 911 so that they'll be sure and send a couple of burly, but efficient, orderlies along with a generous supply of tasers for the police officers. He also knows just what to say on the police report to get you some pretty significant time in a padded cell in some sort of protective gear - one of those heavy canvas strappy things with the shiny steel buckles.

A lot of our guys really take this neighborhood watch thing seriously. Our recon guy has all manner of cameras, still and video, and will make certain there's a proper head shot of you for the BOLO. And you probably shouldn't mention the words "head shot" around our sniper guys or Bubba.

We also love our dogs around here. We have a pit bull, two German Shepherds, a Great Dane, an assortment of Rottweilers, all manner of Labrador Retrievers and a border collie mix named Daisy who runs so fast it makes greyhounds cry and who can reduce a hard rubber chew toy to shreds in under two minutes with her bare teeth. If you disguise yourself as a postman, UPS guy or utility service worker it makes her particularly unhappy. The crotch grab is her specialty. Besides that, most of the guys out here do five to ten miles of daily PT at the base, so PLEASE make a run for it. The Youtube video should be just hilarious.

If you're having some sort of problem with authority or you're an anarchist, this might not be the best place to work out those issues in any sort of public way. The wives told us the last time they weren't going to be responsible for EVER cleaning up that much blood again.  But Rick, our neighborhood tool guy, just took delivery of two new power-washers last week and we haven't had anything to try them out on yet. The guys are anxious to see how they work, so, we can probably accommodate you if you're just looking for an early exit strategy......from breathing.

Welcome to Edgewater. A safe and happy place for growing families.

(c) 2011 by Tom King

Roman Herman and the Big Fat Berry

I made the mistake of taking along a plastic grocery bag on my walk with Daisy this morning (in case there was a pooping incident). We passed the berry bushes and they were just loaded with big fat juicy berries.  I couldn't resist picking them even though I'd promised my wife I'd lay off the berry picking for a while. At any rate the bag was used for berry gathering this time instead of its less dignified use. The size of the berries reminded me of a Flip Wilson story. This is a story about a Roman. His name was Herman.


His name was Roman Herman. 

It seems that the latest fad in Rome back then was berries. People started collecting berries and displaying them, showing them off and entering them in fairs and pie making contests and such. Berries became THE status symbol for the upwardly mobile Roman.

Well, one day, while Roman Herman was roaming the outskirts of Rome, he spied this ginormous berry. It was beautiful. It was the most beautiful berry Roman Herman had ever seen - all fat and juicy and plump. So, anyway, he picked the berry, tucked it under his toga and brought it home to his wife.  The woman squealed when she saw that berry. She praised it cause she knew the girls down at the bath house was gonna be just green with envy..

She put her hands on her hips and said "That's an awful nice berry you got there Herman!"

It didn't take long for word to get around about the berry. Pretty soon people were coming from all over Rome to see the berry, and to praise it.  Roman Herman took the berry to the Roman county fair and he won first prize. He took his trophy and his berry home and put it up on the mantel so people could see the berry when they came by for a visit and they could praise the berry right there in the living room.

Well, one dark night, there was a knock on the door. It was late, but Mr. and Mrs Herman were getting used to all the fuss because of the berry, so Roman Herman opened up the door.

There standing in the doorway were three Roman Senators, Brutus, Cassius and Mark. They elected for Mark to speak for them and he stepped forward.

"Friend, Roman and Countryman," Mark announced. "We have heard of your magnificent berry and come representing the senate of Rome."

"Hoo, boy," said Herman feeling kind of flattered.  "Have you come to praise my berry?" he asked.

Without warning the senators drew out long knives and Senator Mark, he held his knife right up against poor Roman Herman's belly.  "Why don't you see," Senator Mark scowled menacingly, "We come to seize your berry, not to praise it!"*


*The only way you'll get that joke is if you had to memorize Mark Anthony's funeral oration in Shakespeare's play, Julius Caesar, when you were in 9th grade lit class. This joke slays 'em at writer's groups and gatherings of unemployed English majors. I'm sorry, but there are so few really good jokes about berries......