I Am Hank Hill

I just got back from a three day raft trip on the lovely Deschutes River in Central Oregon. I was looking forward to continuing to my vacation by enjoying some relaxing sleeping in. I find nothing relaxes so much as sleeping. Unfortunately, my neighbor picked this morning to build some half-assed enclosure in his backyard using copious amounts of chicken wire and staples.

Now I understand that reasonable men (and women I suppose, but shouldn't they be in the kitchen or something?) could disagree about the earliest time it is acceptable to begin backyard projects. I have heard it advanced that 8 am is a reasonable time. With my perpetual fear of conflict (or contact) with the neighbors, I wait until 9:30 am on Monday through Saturday and have an 11 am start time for the Sunday sleepers.

Apparently the junior jackass behind me (physically in the neighborhood, not behind me in my bed, that would be awkward because he could see what I was typing), would advocate for a 6 am start time, for this is when I was first awoken to the steady popping sound of his staple gun alerting me that my slumber had come to an end.

I desperately want to go over there and say something about the block charter, but I don't believe we have one. No, what we have is a little common fucking courtesy around here. It's all we've ever needed. Until today, I guess. Also, if this is a chicken coop this man is building, and something in my soul tells me it is, all I have to say is "no got dang way."