Jackass Soapbox is a super cool blog written by super cool dudes.

Last week I got new neighbors. Their arrival nearly blindsided me. I literally came home from work one day and they were just there, practically fully moved in. Having neighbors is a part of life. If you aren’t lucky or wealthy enough to live on a large piece of property shielded from the surrounding populace, you’re probably going to have neighbors.

I live in the middle of town, so my neighbors are especially close; in fact we share a driveway.

To most people having neighbors at a house is apparently different than having neighbors in an apartment. In an apartment people tend to come and go quite often and the population density is exceedingly higher. In a house there seems to be a sense of permanence and you tend to only have 2 or maybe three immediate neighbors within spitting distance. This is opposed to the apartment situation where you literally have 6 or more families side by side and stacked on top of you, all within the distance that you can flip a booger. These phenomena results in the desire of most home owners to know thy neighbor.

Since having the new neighbors some of my friends and family have asked me questions like, “Have you introduced yourself?” or even lamer, “You should bake them a pie!” or even more lame, “You should have them over for dinner, or maybe cook out and invite them to the neighborhood!”

What do you people think this is? Life isn’t like a rerun of some feel good sitcom from the 1960′s. People don’t do that anymore, in fact I’d bet those shows were all anti-communist propaganda. That world never existed! Instead of having the new neighbors over, why don’t I just give them an inventory of everything in my house and put a sign on the front door that says “Please Rob Me!”

I’m so anti-neighbor; I don’t even want them to know my name. The more info they have, the easier it is for the neighbors to mooch off me. For example:

Scenario #1: Neighbor knows my name and has been to my house to eat dinner. Because the neighbor has this information they are quick to A. ask to borrow something. B. ask to eat my food and C. offer to play my video games for me.

“Hey Peavey, can I borrow your water hose? Oh, and the wife wants to know when you’re having another one of those awesome cookouts. She loves your wife’s potato salad! Wanna play some Wii or Playstation later?”

No! No! No! Don’t bother me. I have friends who I’ve hand picked to do these things with me.

Scenario #2: Neighbor knows my name but has never been to my house. Because they know my name, they still aren’t afraid to ask to borrow things.

“Hey Peavey, I feel horrible asking but we’re in a tight jam this week. Think I could borrow $50 until next Friday?”

No! No! No! If I had extra money to just give away, I’d live somewhere where I don’t have to share a driveway with assholes like you.

Scenario #3: Neighbor doesn’t know my name or anything about me but still gets the impression that I’m a nice guy because I wave at him occasionally. Even now, I still get bugged.

“Hey neighbor, wanna get a 12 pack of beer this weekend and hang out?”

Let me guess, I’m buying the beer. No! No! No! How about I buy my own 12 pack, you buy yours and we’ll get drunk alone on our own couches in our own houses.

Scenario #4: In this ideal scenario, I never look at my neighbor, I shoot their dog with the BB gun when it pisses and shits in my 5′ by 5′ patch of grass I call a yard and when I’m getting my mail and they attempt to say hello I pretended I don’t hear them and rush into the house.

“Hey neighbor… go to hell.”

Yes! Now that’s more like it.

Fact of the matter is, if someone is bleeding to death I want to be the last person whose door gets knocked on. My mom and mother-in-law both embrace the neighborly love idea and both annoy the hell out of me. All the women on both their streets have this system of borrowing and lending their stuff to each other. And they’re all always in each others business. I say to hell with that.

Leave me alone neighbor.

My boss is a staunch Republican. But even more so, he’s a staunch Hillary Clinton hater! About 6 months ago I signed him up to receive Hillary Clinton text messages on his company cell phone.

For the past 6 months, at least once a day I hear the boss pronounce, “If Hillary Clinton sends me one more text message…” then he adds an exclamation of anger!

Today this prank just got a bit funnier. In addition to signing my boss up, I also signed up my father in law, mother in law, mom, sister in law and a ton of other people for the text messages. Sadly, none of these people ever mentioned being annoyed by these messages. Obviously they used the option to opt out of receiving the messages right after getting the first of them.

So for the past 6 months, my boss has been complaining every day about the text messages. I’ve always wondered, “Why doesn’t he just opt out?” But I never asked because it’s so entertaining to hear him complain. I honest to God figured the idea just never occurred to him. Then today he broke the news with his complaint I heard from his office 2 doors down from mine!

“Damn it! If Hillary Clinton doesn’t stop sending me text messages! I can only receive text messages on this damn phone, I can’t send them, so I’m just stuck getting this trash 2 and 3 times a day, every DAY!”

This is officially one of the best pranks I played in a long time. What a nice surprise I never anticipated. Being able to receive but not send text messages! Totally awesome!

Sign up your friends for Clinton text messages here!

This morning while I was sitting at a red light on my way to work I noticed a fat little chub of a kid sitting in the backseat of the car beside me. In his hands was what appeared to be a gigantic bacon, egg and cheese biscuit. The little porker was tearing into it like a great white shark tears into the flesh of a blubbery seal. I nearly threw up in my mouth at the site of the little piglet eating his grub.

In the front seat was the porker’s mom. Somehow she was managing to woof down a biscuit of her own, sip on a soda and drive all at the same time. Her overly rosy chubby cheeks almost seemed to be bulging out from her skull like a pair of infected goiters and her plump lips were swathed in a mixture of biscuit crumbs and thick red lipstick. It was almost as if she were a living, breathing caricature, a perfected stereotype of morbidly obese women everywhere.

This family wasn’t simply overweight, they were massive. They were the type of fat people who you could only ever imagine as being fat. The type of people who even if they lost 200 pounds, they’d still have that big over sized melon of a head with the rosy chubby cheeks and the plump tootsie roll lips! If you ever watched the original Willie Wonka movie with Gene Wilder and you think back to the character Augustus Gloop then you know the type of person I’m talking about. I’m referring to the die hard glutton.

I hate these people but even more so, I hate their kids. These are the type of people who herd around the buffet, packing down plate after plate and stuffing their faces to the point that they’re vomiting and in extreme pain. Then they pass their pathetic habits on to their children. These are the type of people who always eat an appetizer, never pass on dessert then wash it all down with a milk shake. When I used to wait tables I had to deal with fatties like these all the time. While they make me sick what really causes the nausea is the fat little piglets they spawn!

The average morbidly obese porker kid is a selfish, whiny ass brat with a bottomless pit for a stomach. They always have their little grubby hands in something, they always want to drink chocolate milk with everything and they always eat ALL their food! The parent enables this pathetic behavior, actually they reinforce it.

These chubs are generally lazy, non-motivated and pathetic. They tend to grow up to have poor work ethic and they care only about where their next meal or snack is coming from.

How do I know this? It’s because I used to be one. I used to have the attitude. As a child I remember always reaching for the cookies jar. I remember eating entire pizzas on my own as a 12 year old. I remember not being able to run because the friction between my jiggly thighs caused rug burn near my groin. I was so pitiable, I used to time out my meals! My mom let me eat ever 4 hours, so every 4 hours I made myself a snack NO MATTER WHAT! I used to eat bologna sandwiches with potato chips on them for God’s sake. I’d eat entire bags of Oreos dipped in cool aid. My God, I’m surprised I wasn’t snorting Pixie sticks I was so addicted to food.

But one day I left all that behind. I quit being a whiny, lazy, sorry fat ass! Today I’m still a little chubby but at least I hit the gym regularly and get out and actually live life. I’m not one of these sorry fat-souls who won’t even take the stairs or walk to the end of the drive way to get their own mail. (Yes, I’ve known fat asses that would actually drive their car to the end of the drive way to get their mail.)

These people make me sick. I knew one fat ass once that wouldn’t go to the second floor of our local mall because the escalator was broken. He actually refused to walk up the stairs. I never talked to him again after that day. These are the same chunky bitches that ride the motorized carts around in the stores and always fight for the closest parking spots! Why not walk a few feet for God’s sake? What, your knees hurt? That’s cause you weigh 500 pounds you pathetic piece of shit!

If you want to be a super chunk, fine. But please, quit letting your children follow in your footsteps! Every time I see one of the mini-chunks I have a quick day dream about kicking him/her over the top of a large hill and watching them roll down it! Damn that’s one funny ass day dream! I wish I could live it just one time!