"I Can't Stand Her, Either"

Just kidding.

I keep complaining about Miami, and saying I want to get out. Well, let me show you the incentive.

First, here is a link to a property in Miami. This is what people ask $270,000 for, around here. It's a tiny, ugly house with a paved yard, in a pretty shabby area.

Now, look what I found in Brevard County. One acre. Pool. Six-hundred-square-foot detached workshop. Storage shed. RV hookup. Gorgeous yard. No traffic. Nicer [more conservative] people. Less crime.

Here's how sad it is. When I searched for the kind of house I'd like to buy, I had to reduce the price a few times, because I kept finding places that were too nice. Once you go above a certain figure, you start pulling up fancy places suitable for social climbers and insecure gay men who want to be where the action is. That's how much cheaper housing is outside of Miami.

I do not wish to spend the rest of my life among the shallow, the status-conscious, and the insecure. I want a workshop for my crap. I want less traffic. I want less noise. And a big yard for people to stay the hell off of. When you live in Miami, you pay four times what your house is worth, and all get in return for the extra money is the privilege of being in a city where the quality of life is not very good.

Man, it would almost be worth it to start practicing law again. And I have connections up there.

This is really bad news for Chris Muir. He's up in the middle of the state somewhere. He'd be within easy bothering range.

"Officer? Me again. Yes, he's in my yard again. No, no midgets this time. I'm behind the couch, pretending I'm not home. Yes, mace would be fine. Try not to hit the geraniums. Honk the horn when you're done.

Yes, Sam's boobs have gotten a little bigger. Artistic license. Right, I owe you a doughnut. Just get here fast."

I can't help it if I'm naturally gregarious.