We can’t officially say that Todd the Hobo wrote this post, because you all know how he likes his privacy. He also likes taking long, cold baths in his shack, eating Cool Ranch Doritos, and pretending to take leisurely drives in rusted out old cars. That being said, Todd is trying to make sense of the new Meatbagz Workshop hours just like the rest of us, and we can only hope that the old boy sticks with us because darn it, we like his invisible company.
I have to admit, I’m not a fan. The noise, the comings and goings of all those cars, all those people, all those tools…noisy, messy, and I could do without ’em. I moved into my little shed to get away from all that crap, and I don’t appreciate it being in my front yard. Granted, I usually keep away from the red house when there are people down there, and to be fair, it used to be pretty easy. Mornings were off limits, the occasional afternoon, then those people would clear out, and I could sneak down to see what changes they had made. (They always made changes.)
Then things started to get loud. Really loud. Before I knew it there were a couple cars that were there on a regular basis, and there’d be obnoxious music blaring out the windows. Lots of guitar. “Singing” (and I use that term loosely) along, too. I did not appreciate it.
But just as I started to get used to it, the schedule got all mucked up again. I don’t like change. Have I mentioned that? Little kids running around, throwing rocks, messing things up, and I never knew when it was safe to come down and check things out anymore. They didn’t even play their obnoxious music all the time, either. How’s a man supposed to know when the red house is occupied if he doesn’t hear their stupid “singing”? That’s what it boils down to-just flat out lack of consideration for others.
But sometimes, every once in awhile, things are like the good old days. I wake up in the morning to the tear of tires up the gravel driveway, the slam of doors, and then the blare of music starts in. I sneak down from the field and see two cars parked next to the red house, and I hear singing. And darn it if I can’t help but sneak a peek and see what they’re up to. Lucky for me they never know I’m around.
I mean, I’m still not a fan, and they’re still really obnoxious, but, well…I’m kinda glad they’re around.