The scumball drywallers had come to visit.  They were the guys who built the interior walls, using metal framing studs and sheetrock.  For a variety of reasons, they could be an electrician’s worst enemy.

     Two of these afore-mentioned drywallers were working on our floor (now we were up to fourteen).  They were brown midget-men, with Central American prison tattoos and zero respect for the American Way of Life. Grandpa would’ve shot ’em, and Grandma would’ve put ’em in the chipper.

     Right away, they started putting up rock in a place that I didn’t want covered up yet.

     “Here, here,” I said.  “Boys, boys!” I tried the friendly approach.  “Could y’all let me get my pipe in that wall before you go to covering it up?  I sure would appreciate it.” I nodded courteously at the one who appeared to be the leader.

     He rubbed his nose on the back of his hand.  “‘Que?” That’s Mexican for “what?”

     A real winner, he. He had clearly not studied English as thoroughly as he had studied being a human piece of shit.

     I tossed one of Bud’s empty beer cans at a corner of the building where their illegal alien “craftsmanship” wouldn’t be fucking my shit up.

     The brown midget-men got smart, and nodded and whistled and chirped as to how maybe they could start somewhere else, come to think of it.

     It was a small victory for America.

     Pretty soon they had their radio blaring away.  The distortion involved was tremendous.  All that “oom-pah oom-pah” garbage was giving me a headache.

     I wasn’t the only one.

     “Turn that shit down!” Bud had gone over to where they were working.  “I can’t hear myself think!”

     The drywallers weren’t too bright. They ignored Bud’s demands.

     Bud harrumphed and took care of the problem himself.  He unplugged the radio.

     “Que?” the brown midget-men yelped in unison. 

     “I’ll tell you K you fuckin’ beaners!” Bud stood and delivered.  “It’s this goddamned radio!”  He stomped on the thing with one gigantic regulation boot.

     Now it could no longer offend him.  It was in a million pieces.

     The brown midget-men had more brains than I thought possible.

     They were in Dallas, Texas, and Dallas, Texans know where to bury a body. They went back to work, chirping subdued.

2026 R.M. Reliable Electric