The Randomest Shit From The Randomest Neighbor

A very strange neighbor crashes a family gathering, unleashing destruction, peddling junk, hollering nonsense and leaving everyone in attendance to wonder if she was on drugs, mentally unstable or just bizarre.

The Rolomite | Daily Girth


Daily Girth staffers Death Dealer and The Rolomite joined me at a family function at my aunt’s house. I recognized the usual folks — aunts, uncles, cousins — but an unusual face appeared after a couple of hours.

She was my aunt’s next door neighbor. Odd, I had never seen this girl and I’ve been to plenty of family parties here. From this point forward the neighbor, whose name I still never got, shall be referred to as Crazy, because she was fucking nuts.

Death Dealer, The Rolomite and I were drinking beers when Crazy approached us with the weirdest first impression. She thought we could help her … to take the bumper off her car.

“What’s wrong, is it so messed up that it drags when you drive?” I asked.

“No,” Crazy said. “I just need it off. Can you guys help me cut it off?”

Crazy claimed that she was a video game supplier and had a website for T-shirts and vinyl stickers. She noticed our Daily Girth T-shirts and asked if we were a band. A bunch of video games were in the house, perhaps the kids (my younger cousins) would like to buy them, she said. My sources (my younger cousins) said they were just DVDs.

Money seemed to be tight for Crazy. She really pushed buying her bullshit. The previous week, she and her friends went to Applebee’s and none of them had any money to pay the bill. So she snuck out, sold some video games to the local GameStop and Toys “R” Us, then returned with cash. It barely covered the bill. Who does that shit?

One of her products was a “Galaxy Angel” boxset stashed away in an anime bag. “Galaxy Angel” is one of those anime series that would be OK to watch, but it’s not one of those must-see productions. I still don’t know what was in the “Galaxy Angel” boxset. However, it did have one of those signs at the corner of the box that said it was compatible with Windows 98. Windows fucking 98, how old was this thing and did it even have worth anymore? According to my sources, there was nothing in the “Galaxy Angel” boxset.

Still, Crazy sold the importance of it very well. She said it was a “no touch” item. Crazy also brought shoe boxes and comic books. Hopefully, there were actual shoes in the box and drawn pages in the comic books.

Crazy helped herself to a beer, prompting The Rolomite to get up, lean two feet and grab one of his own from the cooler. In the second it took him to do that, Crazy slithered into the previously occupied seat, exclaiming, “seat sniper!” Had they been buddies it might have been funny, but since this was a stranger, it seemed random as fuck.

With more merchandise (junk) left to sell, Crazy grabbed a chair to help her climb over the wall separating her place and my aunt’s property. Why didn’t she just walk around? One of her junk items was a “Super Mario Bros.” tin mushroom that used to have breathmints, but now it housed Tylenol.

After a couple of minutes, Crazy showed up behind her wall with a somewhat faded anime wall scroll and a couple of other things. She threw what looked like a jacket over the wall. Unfortunately, the jacket landed on some stretched-out lights (you know, for night parties), busting three bulbs. The bulbs crashed to the ground, making that unmistakable glass shattering sound. The whole party went silent, turning around to see what was happening. All they saw was broken glass and Crazy with a genuine “fuck-I-can’t-believe-that-happened” face.

My aunt didn’t appear mad, she quietly got up and broomed the shards of glass. But we could tell she was holding her anger in.

The ‘Gran Torino’ Moment Begins

Remember the 2008 film “Gran Torino” starring Clint Eastwood as a cranky old fucker who loved to insult Asian people? Actually, he insulted all ethnicities. In the movie, Eastwood’s character drives away some gang members with the threat of blasting them with his rifle. The Hmong neighbors show their gratitude by leaving food and plants on his porch.

Crazy had no gratitude to show, but did have a lot to atone for. She showed up with pho and white boxes of noodles and beef. She forced a bowl of pho on Death Dealer. He tried eating it, but ate just a couple of spoonfuls. The food wasn’t bad, it was the source we were all concerned about. This was nice that she was trying to make up for her fuck-up, but completely unnecessary; we had eaten a shitload of food and were so stuffed, our breathing became labored.

With my cousins hypnotized by her shiny bike, Crazy led them to the front yard and, like a cult, promised them something incredible. Their reward was a turtle, which fascinated the kids, but, Crazy warned, ‘don’t touch them because they have neurotoxins.’


This was clearly pho that she was trying to stuff in our faces. Yet she continually called it menudo. Death Dealer thought it strange that Crazy was eating from the same bowl of pho he was eating from. Exact same bowl and spoon. Didn’t she know Death Dealer ate from the same “menudo,” which looks and tastes nothing like pho? Maybe she didn’t care? Maybe she didn’t understand the concept the same way an animal would be dumbfounded trying to read a dictionary.

In addition to the excess food, Crazy frantically cleaned up the stray paper plates and red cups on the tables. She cleaned a little too fast. Her hands were full, yet decided to stop and chat with The Rolomite. Proving that she couldn’t clean and talk at the same time, as she said her first word she dropped a red cup, spilling beer all over The Rolomite.

“That’s OK,” The Rolomite said, yet his face said “aw, fuck.” The Rolomite couldn’t say “aw, fuck” and get mad at her, how can you reason with insanity?

Realizing she fucked up again, Crazy went back to her place. Minutes later she left a small stack of DVDs on the wall, which was five feet tall. This was another offering. She waved to Death Dealer to take the DVDs. He didn’t, but he did jump the wall to check out more of her worthless merchandise.

Death Dealer was shown a scrapbook of places Crazy had visited. Other countries and places she’s visited. Crazy said she had had a boyfriend, but apparently, things went sour. Maybe the guy realized she was a fucking nut. She had a lot more junk, Death Dealer said. Nothing to make you reach for your wallet and snap up though.

After Death Dealer told us about his encounter with Crazy, we indulged in some more beers, yet she hovered behind the wall, pretending to trim the bushes. The wall was five feet tall, we could easily see her bullshit trimming technique, her zany eyes staring back at us. Those DVDs remained on the wall for somebody, any member of the family, to take. I guess this was more of her penance.

Time To Get Toxic

Crazy made a return trip by riding her BMX bike into the backyard, hogging all the attention from my little cousins. Why didn’t she just walk?

My uncle came home, parked in the driveway, then recognized the troublesome girl on his property. After a long day at work, he didn’t want to deal with this. My uncle rushed into the house and found my aunt in the hallway.

“What’s that crazy bitch doing in our backyard?” he yelled, loud enough for Crazy to possibly hear.

My aunt motioned for my uncle to talk in one of the rooms. So they did, some more yelling took place — I couldn’t tell what they were saying — and my uncle emerged still perturbed. He saw Death Dealer and I in the house then leaned toward the two of us.

“I’m going to have to coldcock that bitch if she doesn’t get out of here,” he said.

Death Dealer revealed that Crazy had to punch somebody before and one time, she actually coldcocked herself. If you’ve coldcocked yourself, you’re fucking crazy or Steve-O on “Jackass.” Either way, you’re a loon.

Here’s a random video of Steve-O fucking shit up:



With my cousins hypnotized by her shiny bike, Crazy led them to the front yard and, like a cult, promised them something incredible. Their reward was a turtle, which fascinated the kids, but, Crazy warned, “don’t touch them because they have neurotoxins.”

I don’t know what those kids thought, but I wouldn’t want to play with an animal that contains deadly neurotoxins. Hell, I’m an adult and I don’t want to mess with that shit.

Now that the kids were sufficiently afraid of deadly turtles, Crazy informed us that she was planning a party. It was cool with her parents, she said, she could play loud music and invite friends over. In addition to her party, Crazy was interested in shooting a bow and arrow like Katniss in “The Hunger Games.” What the fuck did shooting a bow and arrow have to do with throwing a party?

Strangely, she said she had to leave because she hadn’t eaten all day. Maybe get some boba tea as well. What in the fuck was she doing all day? There was so much food at the party and she even brought fucking food, how did she forget to eat? Crazy handed my uncle DVDs of “Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl” and “Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children.” She took off after leaving the DVDs.

About two hours later, Crazy returned, proclaiming that she had written a song. We couldn’t hear it though because her shitty iPod Mini wasn’t charged. I guess she also performed and recorded that song as well.

In more “Gran Torino” news, she gave my aunt a $10 gift card to UCLA. Crazy was a busy girl, she had just Western Unioned friends some gas money. Her party was still being planned … at 7 p.m. She needed people to play music. Crazy asked everybody in the back yard, about 10 of us, if we could play any musical instruments. The Rolomite was sitting right next to her, shrugged his shoulders and answered, “nope, can’t help you there.” He’s a kick-ass guitar player.

Finally, in an exact repeat from two hours prior, Crazy said she was hungry and needed to get some food, maybe some noodles. She also noticed we were drinking beers and said she was down with that.

“I’ll probably get a 40 ounce. Maybe a 50 or 60 ounce.”

No, you won’t get a 50- or 60-ounce beer, you crazy bitch. They don’t fucking make those. After that final asinine statement, Crazy left. I would like to say I hoped to never see her again, but she was too damn amusing. Stay bonkers, Crazy or don’t take your meds, whichever keeps you screwy.

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