Hey, look. Our new neighbors came to welcome us, even my pansy former son and his stink-dick boyfriend.
I guess the city must've made good on their threat to condemn our old house. That or the meth lab caught fire again.
Well, what are they doing here, though?
Terry's been banging the lady who owns this place for a couple of years. Calls it his plan B.
Mrs. McCurdy? She's, like, 90.
Gotta do what you gotta do, man.
Ugh. What's that smell?
That's the stench of abject poverty, son.
Sickening, isn't it?
Actually, I think it might be those chickens.
Oh, no, those ain't chickens. Those are cocks. Like, for cockfighting?
Fighting chickens?
They like it. If they don't die. It's natural for 'em. You know, it's fun.
We have to move. I don't wanna be the reason for the next Black Lives Matter march. I'll get Trayvon Martin-ed for sure if we stay here.
[A man is randomly firing off a kalashnikov assault rifle] Jesus!
Ow!
Why's he shooting random shit?
[Laughs] Aw... He's playing "I Spy, You shoot."
"I Spy, You shoot"?
It's a kids' game. Yeah, kid says, "I spy with my little eye that red stop sign," or whatever, and then the adult... shoot the stop sign. Get off your fucking high horses. Anybody here feel like they're the product of good parenting, raise your hand.
Okay, I don't have time for this shit. I gotta get Franny ready. Where is Franny?
Fuck it, just dump the used motor oil in the yard.
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