And People I Want To Punch In The Mouth

My lofty view from The HQ penthouse allows me to view things both near and far. For example, from my vantage point, I can easily watch the young bikini-clad Swedish tourists cavorting in the pool at the Guest Lodge across the road from me.

“Why are you always standing at that window with a tumbler of whiskey in your hand?” The Girlfriend will ask suspiciously.

“I keep telling you woman, I am scanning the streets below for any suspicious characters, thus preventing crime,” I will answer defensively.

“Yes, but why is your other hand down your pants?” she will retort in a menacing manner, before making me wash both our cars wearing yellow cheeky shorts and using nothing but an old rag as a punishment for my indiscretions.

It was again whilst doing my bit to prevent crime, that I noticed that we now have new neighbours. They hadn’t moved in to the building itself however, but seemed quite content to live near the garage outside. A young couple, similar to The Girlfriend and I, except that whilst we enjoyed fine dining, taking long romantic walks, and general playful banter; they instead preferred injecting foreign substances into their arms.

We picked this up after watching them scratch and pick at sores on their arms, and also noticed the pockmarks on their faces that crack heads seem to get. Being the non-confrontational types (although they were white, they had a bit of a hardness about them, which made them a little scary) we merely “tut tutted” under our breath whenever we saw them, and left their eviction down to the company who manages the property. Unfortunately, they have again proven themselves to be as useful as the weird growth between my legs (no, not my winky before you think you’re being clever, I actually have a weird nipple like growth on my left thigh, we call him “Boris”). So much so that, seeing as they have received a relatively warm welcome, our neighbours have now gone and invited friends to come and live with them.

So now we are faced with up to 6 homeless crack heads sleeping in the little bricked off section where the washing lines are. Obviously this is not ideal, as I now cannot hang my various underpants there to dry, as heroin addicts are well know for their thievery, especially when it involves underpants.

Being crack addicts, they are also fond of wandering off during the day, so it’s hard to call the cops in to move them out, as they don’t tend to keep regular hours, and their time keeping is thus decidedly unreliable (the addicts, not the cops, I think the cops are awesome) so I’m currently facing a bit of dilemma.

How does one get rid of a bunch of heroin addicts?

Should I hire a couple of thugs to chase them away?

Do I scare them off with food? (Crack heads don’t eat apparently)

I obviously need to come up with a plan that will not have them identifying me and possibly damaging my car in the future. My car is the fastest car in Cape Town after all, and that would just be sad.

Any ideas?

Oakes signing off.

Shaun Oakes

This was written by the hulking mass of manliness known as Shaun Oakes. If you enjoyed what he had to say, you owe it to yourself to follow him on Twitter at @shaunoakes. Do it now.

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