Go home, you old bastard. I want the windows open because it’s beautiful outside, I love to hear the birds, and besides, open windows make the cat STFU, but that doesn’t mean I want them open with you spending half your time roaming under the windows of one side of the house, and the other half standing right below the bedroom window, close enough that I can sit at my desk and hear you mumbling to yourself. Go HOME. Go somewhere. Go anywhere. Just find something to fucking do that doesn’t involve hovering around my goddamned house because that stupid mouth-breathing white trash next door can’t figure out how to work the goddamned sump pump in his basement. Fuck off. Go…away. I don’t like people very much, I don’t like neighbours at all (specifically my neighbours) and I damn-sure don’t like old dudes farting around right outside my house all day. Leave, for Christ’s sake. You’ve been hanging about the entire morning and show no signs of leaving–how long can it possibly take to show that idiot how to work a fucking sump pump??? Stop fussing with weeds, too–they’re fine just where they are, and that’ll only mean you’re here longer. GO HOME!