There is a dead raccoon in the middle of my street. I once believed that my neighborhood was safe. Now murder runs rampant, everyone is a suspect.
My street is a short cul-de-sac. Beyond the road kill, there are only ten driveways. Each of these houses are occupied by couples with children are not yet old enough to drive. Which means, of the eighteen drivers that call themselves my neighbors, one of them is a raccoon murderer. Nineteen if you count my wife. Twenty, if you think I should be a suspect too.
Did you know that cul-de-sac is Swedish for “no-way-out”? Use that fact the next time you’re looking to impress someone with your sophisticated knowledge base.
My wife is out of town this weekend. The lifeless carcass was discovered shortly after her departure. What if the slaughterer-of-Rocky is actually the woman I call my wife?
Did you know that cul-de-sac translated in old English actually means “raccoon-death-trail”?
Now, I have to look at my neighbors in a completely different light. All of their behavior seems suspicious to me. Was that my neighbor’s garage door that I heard in the middle of the night? It could have been. I think it was.
Did you know that Native Americans used the term cul-de-sac as a way of saying “you-hit-it-you-clean-it-up”?
It seems to me that everyone on my street has reduced the time it takes to get their car into the garage as quickly as possible. Was that a little patch of fur on your front bumper?
Did you know that when using American Sign Language to convey the word “cul-de-sac” it is a common mistake to interpret the hand motions to mean “would-someone-please-clean-that-crap-up-already”?
Somewhere out there in the nine houses surrounding mine, is a cold blooded killer pushed over the edge by the crazed nocturnal beast with an appetite for household garbage. If only their garbage can lids snapped shut with a resounding click.
Did you know that if you use the term cul-de-sac in Western Australia, you might be mistaken for saying “someone-needs-to-push-it-into-the-sewer-before-it-starts-to-stink”?
Rest in peace, my little night dwelling consumer of household garbage. May your afterlife be one big gigantic landfill.