Did I hear something about a dine ‘n’ ditch situation? Those hooligans, those lunatics, building their fence with Australian pine. I’m telling you that she drank up all the coffee in the house. No, wait, it was all the Diet Coke. Now all the water from the tap is brown and green. Keep your husband away from five-dollar bills, I heard that Cindy Mathers is a pretty decent stripper. Jeez, you’re right! I’m so pasty; I should buy a sunlamp. Did you hear that hipster commie next door is growing dirty ditch weed again? There is nothing sexy about a fresh divorcée drinking gin and tonics on a tropical cruise. Yes, I would know a thing or two about that. Yes, it was a cat they found. He was skinning cats; not dogs. Pish posh poppy squash. I heard she tried to puncture his femoral vein last year at the barbecue. I heard that he lost a thousand dollars betting on snail races and cocaine. No, it wasn’t a Playboy under her husband’s pillow; it was a copy of “Lolita”. That blue-haired windbag wears her red spandex bodysuit to get her mail in the morning. At least they don’t have a twenty-foot flagpole in their yard, like the Smiths. I’m so tired of the racist comments made at the homeowner meetings. No, she shouldn’t tell me when to drag in my trashcans; this is America, isn’t it?