Front Porch: Better Than Couch (Humorous)

By Daniel Taverne

I don’t know how many evenings I've sat, on my front porch, sipping on my gourmet coffee observing my neighbor’s as they accomplished a myriad of domestic duties. Although dog walking, lawn mowing, secretively tinkering in a work shop like Doctor Frankenstein and overtly tending to flower beds like Martha Stewart, are a few of the more popular activities, performing car repairs and doing yard cleaning are also popular. Watching my neighbors perform these activities is never a bore since, at least one of them always seems to be doing something memorable, and this watching has become my favorite past time.

There is Bob for instance. He's not, as they say 'the sharpest tool in the shed'. He has what I've termed, beer attachment disorder (B.A.D.) Characterized by his pathological need to have a can of beer attached to at least one of his hands at all times. In fact, he cannot be separated from a can of beer for more than 15.23 minutes or he will suffer from another condition I've termed, Alcohol detachment syndrome (ADS). This characterized by the victim’s belief that if another beer is not consumed immediately his head will implode. Fortunately for me, Bad, when mixed with low levels of common sense, combine synergistically intensifying his lack of common sense, and increases the subsequent comical antics I witness in his yard on a regular basis.

Most recently, although Bob's two young children produce allot of diapers. Bob never feels the need to take his trash to the dump like the two other people on our street who don't pay for trash pick-up. He, instead, prefers to stink up the neighborhood by burning his trash in a 55-gallon drum. One day last week, he decided to burn a bunch of soiled, balled up diapers in that drum but since it rained that day he couldn't get the fire started without some help. So, what did he do? Thinking he was being slick, he went to his shed and retrieved a large jug of gasoline from which he poured half into that drum which was half full of diapers.

He then, as I sat on my porch watching (anticipating what would happen next) gave me a confident watch-this-wink-and-nod, as he triumphantly lit a match and dropped it into the barrel. Adding to Bob's frustration, this first match went out before it lit the fuel so he impatiently and angrily lit a second and quickly dropped it in. What I saw and heard next happened almost simultaneously: I heard a sudden and very loud Whoosh! Then I saw a huge orange fireball launch from the can into the air, immediately followed by an earth-shaking BOOM! At that point, what looked to me like somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 flaming diaper balls were flying strait up in the air!

Amazingly, they went up so high that it took no less than five full seconds to rain back down on bob while he ducked with his arms over his head as if he were on a battle field. With beer can still in hand, he was hollering, "Ow! Oh!" as his beer sloshed out of the can onto his head. Seeing that Bob wasn't hurt, I had no problem laughing. In fact I busted a gut as I pointed at him. So you see, neighbors can be a great source of entertainment.

Bill, my buddy from across the street does some things that make me angry. For one, he's always asking to borrow my stuff. Then, if and when I get my stuff back it's broken or damaged in some way as to require either repair or a good tossing into the dump. Occasionally however, he also does things that entertain me. For example, last month Bill borrowed my lawn mower, which he claimed, wouldn't start when he finally got around to using it. He said he thought the mower needed a new spark plug so he rummaged around his garage till he found an old one that would screw into the motor. This would have been all well and good except; the spark plug he put in wasn't the right size. In fact, the threaded portion was a fraction too narrow as well as too long. So, when the mower engine ran the piston was smacking the bottom of the plug making the neighborhood sound as if it was under machine gun attack.

Again, I was sitting on my front porch when the plug’s threads failed., and it suddenly shot out of the motor, and flew through the air, like a missile. Understandably, it came as a shock to everyone who witnessed this when the projectile finally imbedded itself in the windshield of a police car as it patrolled through the neighborhood. I think the policeman was just a little jumpy, because he leaped from his still moving car crouching, and ducking with gun drawn as if he were being shot at. Alarmingly, the police car continued down the street, coming to rest over a (now broken and spraying) fire hydrant.Another neighbor is Mrs. Dolittle.

Another neighbor, the one who lives across the street has a way of both humoring and frightening me, simultaneously. . Tim, a self-proclaimed inventor is always, according to him, "one step from a million dollar patent." I say he's always one step away from sending either himself, or someone else, to the hospital with his quirky ideas. The sad thing is, he's risking lives in the hopes that he will get a patent that he doesn't realize in most cases, already exists. One time in particular, he somehow put a chainsaw motor on his son's skateboard. Laughing, he called it an out-board motor. It was last Monday, about five o'clock in the afternoon when I watched his 12-year-old son try to take it for a test drive. He foolishly stood on the board while Jerry, the dad, pulled on the starter chord.

After about 20 pulls and allot of tinkering the motor finally puttered to bare existence. Then, a moment later it unexpectedly roared to life and took off! It quickly shot out from under the poor kids feet, up-ending him! He landed on his dad who was knocked to the ground, and they both lie in a heap in the middle of the street. They were fine with just a few bruises, but the 'motor-board' was still going. I figure it must have been doing about 50 miles per hour when it turned up Main Street then veered from the street into 'Corner Cut's Beauty Salon' causing Mrs. Johnson to have a large hunk of her hair inadvertently hacked out by the startled beautician. The 'motor-board' finally came to rest when it imbedded it's self in the salon's back wall.

Another thing Jerry tried was kind of like parasailing but he utilized an old army parachute and once again a skateboard upon which he engineered a binding to secure both feet. I, again on my porch, watched him slip his feet into the binding. Then he put his back to the wind carefully and positioned the chute pack on his chest. He pulled the chord and let the chute fall to his feet where he bent, grabbed it and tossed it into the gusty-stormy day's wind.

It wasn't long before he was being dragged uncontrollably up the street toward the busy Main street intersection. There was absolutely nothing he could do but scream like a little girl, as the 'chute lines got caught on a corner of a dump truck bed as it headed up main street. Tim told me later that he was dragged at least 5 blocks on his (now road rashed fanny) before he managed to free himself. I faked sympathy, but was busy laughing inside.


Mrs. Dolittle is the neighbor that all the rest of us try to stay away from because she always seems to be sticking her nose in other peoples business. Then when she gets air of some good gossip, She spreads what she learns around like a bad cold. I had a laugh one afternoon, not too long ago, when I observed Mrs. Dolittle tending to her flowerbeds. She was hunkered down on all fours, paying hard attention to what she was doing when Bruno, Tim's high strung black-lab came bounding up the sidewalk.

Mrs. Dolittle didn't have time to react. I heard a loud, surprised "Oh!" as Bruno ran over to her and planted his nose in her behind. As Bruno continued his unwelcome 'planting', Mrs. Doolittle lurched forward, flat on her belly. Finally, Bruno, looking victorious placed his front paw on her back and stood there panting. This incident will never be forgotten by any of us who witnessed it, nor by those where told about it.

It should be obvious that sitting at home in front of the -boob tube' isn't the most exciting thing on can do. Why not trek to a spot where live observations can be unexpectedly more entertaining. If you do this, then soon you may find yourself out and about getting to know your neighbors instead of just catching brief glimpses of them as you dart to and from your car. . Life is too short anyway to spend it transfixed on that idiot box, so live a little but do it away from the couch.