Write me:
skot AT izzlepfaff DOT com

Tuesday, 29 May
Death By Water

I gaze out my back window
Out to the deck,
The pool

Calm cerulean blue
(I watch "The X-Files," you see)
And I catch my reflection in
The still water

(So beautiful)

But not beautiful
For I am scowling

Because some assholes are about to
Jump into you,
Calm blue pool
And yell
Stupid things


That guy has a
of Pabst
And he yells

He is an asshole.
Stupid Pabst.

(I drank you when I too was young
And stupid
But God help me . . . )

There are others.
You, lady, drag the chaise
Lounges into odd configurations
And it bothers me
For reasons that are hard to
Put into words

I would prefer a harmonious deck.

You, sir, fall asleep in the sun
Face up
(I do not like your washed-out t-shirt)
And then, later,
You leave the cover off the
Gas grill.

I would prefer a harmonious deck.

There is another--perhaps gone? Perhaps?
You know who you are. You have
A tattoo that encircles your bicep
Summers past
You would fuck your girlfriend
At night
In the pool.

Perhaps you are gone. We heard
Your trust fund ran out
And if so
If so . . .


I would prefer a harmonious deck.

I see you all. I have little choice.
I watch because
You are right there
Yes, you, my dear
You with the baby
It screams
From the carriage
Parked on the baking concrete
It screams!
You are eating nuts.

I would prefer a harmonious deck.

You surely cry--
Ashes of bitterness
Fall from my mouth.


But might there be an else married
To this perception of
And uncharitable
Gripely words?

An else which opens you
An origami
(Sometimes I rhyme, sort of!
Which I think is pretty rad)
And I can pull out your lungs
If I want
Because, dude, don't fuck your girlfriend
In the pool
Right outside.

Don't drink Pabst.
I am begging you.

Don't wear that t-shirt.
I am begging you.

Don't you want to drown your baby?
I am begging you.

"Good fences make good neighbors"
Someone once said
I think it was Prince--

But I would prefer a harmonious deck.

Note: Comments are closed on old entries.


Sing, O muse, the anger of whatshisname's son Skot, and its devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon the deck-littering white trash.

I believe Homer first wrote of your woe. Also, don't ever blame the Pabst for one person's assholesque behavior. First comes the asshole; then comes the Pabst.

Comment number: 014088   Posted by: You can call me. 'Sir' on May 30, 2007 07:00 AM from IP:

Found a link to you from Suzanne's site (plus, your wife has stuffed envelopes for MSC at my house!) and browsed a bit.
I�m tagging you to participate in a little meme action -
Also, we are always looking for new bloggers to participate in our weekly Roundtable, and you seem to have a some relevant thoughts and writings to share. Please consider pulling up a chair!

Comment number: 014089   Posted by: Carol on May 30, 2007 08:31 AM from IP:

...this perception of
And uncharitable
Gripely words...

So, you needed a new tagline for the blog?

Comment number: 014090   Posted by: Elsa on May 30, 2007 10:24 AM from IP:

there isn't a fence sufficient enough to stop the drunk mexican karaoke that envelopes my house from the dwelling on the other side of the 6 foot wall. And in this case you can blame the tecate. Silence and the police make for the best neighbors.

Comment number: 014092   Posted by: btroffded on May 30, 2007 08:44 PM from IP:

Don't worry, Skot. I'll explain to Carol how you're even more misanthropic than I am and how you don't do memes or join groups.

Unless for some ungodly reason you decide to surprise me and prove me wrong.

But I'm not holding my breath...

Comment number: 014110   Posted by: Suzanne on June 1, 2007 05:58 PM from IP:

The boy stood on the inharmonious deck,
Whence all but he did yell,
The lamebrains that split the Pabst half rack,
Into the crystal waters fell.

He called aloud – say Dude say,
That t-shirt makes be puke,
He knew not that the chieftain lay,
Unconscious of his rebuke.

Last summer there came a thundering sound,
From the pool..oh goodness me,
Tattooed grunts echoing far around,
Why can’t they screw in the sea?

The baby screamed on - he would not stop,
Without his mother’s word,
That Mother, with i-Pod volume high,
His voice no longer heard.

With springboard, shower and plastic chair,
That well had borne their part,-
The thing that suffer’d the hardest wear,
Was that young but stressed out heart.

Comment number: 014124   Posted by: Lung the Younger on June 4, 2007 03:15 PM from IP:

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