A different kind of goat. Uncooked, hobbling around, staring at old basketballs, soccer balls, a rusted swingset, a lone Air Force One lookalike sneaker, and someone’s D cup from 1986. This is my neighborhood, folks. Sunset Park, Brooklyn. The other day I was painting our walk-in closet and in my periphery I saw a Mexican playing with…GOATS. Horned mother fucking goats in the backyard next door. 

I woke up this morning and noticed that the blonde was missing. I kinda freaked out. But, he just reappeared. I don’t know what’s going on. These neighbors suck, too. They move furniture every 2 days; deal drugs out of the house with 80 fucking crying babies that they neglect. Aaaand, they wake me up with reggaeton at 8am. All of these offenses make them DEPORTABLE. Goats, unnecessary furniture moving, drugs, child abuse, and reggaeton. Watch the fuck out.

Note: One night, they had 4 cars within an hour drive up, honking for one of the 122 mexicans who “live” there. Plus, one sitting in a parked car with a fluorescent orange tow sticker that had been there for weeks, unattended. That bitch was honking for an hour. I got so heated, I put my coat on and stomped down the stairs, walked up to the car, nearly broke his window my fist, and said, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? STOP FUCKING HONKING.” This demure mexican says to me politely, “It wasn’t me, Miss.” I said, “FUCK IT WASN’T, I’VE BEEN WATCHING YOU. DO IT AGAIN…I DARE YOU.”