Get Outta Here!

We have all heard the phrase, "no man is an island."

Well, baby, I am an island.

Are the closest thing to it.

I am a rock.

And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries.

Shielded in my armor. I have my poetry to protect me.

I touch no one and no one touches me!

I think maybe it's time that I count the average number of times a day every day I say loudly and angrily to myself: "Get out of here!"

I drive to work on Monday, and a guy who should produce his car pulls in front of me.

Get Outta Here!

Shot in a parking lot and parking just to the left, someone is there to talk to someone else.

Get Outta Here!

My neighbor, I scorn nicknamed "Dutch Boy"

He is an immigrant from Finland who speaks with an accent. Everything is walking his dog in front of my yard, laying off my dog barking. Dutch guy is retired and no value, so does no more than walking his dog, but only in front of my yard.

Get Outta Here!

My other neighbor, I nicknamed "Candy" (I have nicknames for all my neighbors) was told by his doctor to walk every day. Wearing a jogging suit with a little elf-like hat on his head and walking back and forth ... .. in front of my yard.

Get Outta Here!

Another neighbor, Justin the yuppie, is always on the phone, and once complained about the noise my dog barks, but does a lot of noise himself, always screaming at her child, "Antonio!"

His wife fertile (they have eight children) is twice as tall as him.

Puts red cones in the street, so his children can play there (do not have a yard) ... ... as if that makes it legal to block traffic.

When I try to pull up in my driveway, yelling, "Anthony! Attention to the car!"

Get Outta Here!

The drive on the track for jogging so it can alleviate the strain my doctor told me I was placing on my liver from alcohol consumption. There is a lady walking across the road.

Get Outta Here!

I am jogging around the track and a man on a bike that has just received for Christmas is riding around the track in the opposite direction with a dog increased slightly along puppy. Every time I run with the dog, who want to play, pass between the legs, almost tripping me. The first time I ignored. But it happens the second and the third time we pass each other.

The boy on the bike does nothing to stop the dog not to giggle and say, "Hector, stop this."

Get Outta Here!

This time I cry.

I stand in a line supermarket trying to buy a pack of simple rubber and the old lady (I called her immediately Gravel Gertie) and fill out a check for her purchase, taking so much time she could be writing War and Peace.

I mumble angrily.

Get Outta Here!

En route home, a car in front is moving too slowly, as the boy is looking at individual homes.

Get Outta Here!

Leaving the car, suddenly I hear a mysterious chest pain. I panic. Nobody is around. What is this pain?

Maybe I should call for help.

Maybe I'm not an island.