War and Peace

Suburban Warfare

Dispatches from the Neighborhood Front

Day 1 – The First Volley

The Husband Dude asked me today if women ever get into pissing contests.

I responded slowly, not sure why he was asking. “I suppose we do it in our own way. Maybe passive-aggressively. Probably in a catty way. Why do you ask?”

“You know I started putting my Halloween decorations out today? Well, all of a sudden Darren started putting his out too.”

I blinked, failing to see the contest part of the pissing contests. Or the pissing part, for that matter.

The Dude continued. “It’s like he didn’t have anything out at all and all of a sudden he sees me putting my stuff out and feels like he has to do something too. It’s like this pissing contest thing men get into over houses, yards, everything.”

I walked into The Dude’s mancave. It has the only front-facing window where we can peek out at the neighborhood in a stealth way. Darren is our neighbor across the street.

I slowly pulled the skull print curtain back and peeked out expecting to see something out of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Instead I was hit with the glow of an orange light bulb and the shadow of their vehicles in the driveway.

I returned to the kitchen where The Dude was preparing our salad for dinner. “See?” he nods knowingly at me. “Put that in your blog. Pissing contests.”

Day 3 – Supply Chain Issues

The Dude came in today, carrying an errant decoration: a plastic jack-o’-lantern with a rotating light on the inside.

“The light doesn’t work anymore,” he announced with all the warmth of the Pentagon reporting statistics. “Where are those candles you took down from the mantel to put up the decorations?”

I gave him one of a set of six LED battery-powered indoor/outdoor candles that I normally use to decorate the living room. The Dude is still budget conscious despite his desire to out-decorate the neighbor. Apparently, all household assets are now subject to seizure under the Emergency Halloween Powers Act.

“Tomorrow I’m going in the attic to get the fog machine,” he announced over his shoulder as he went back out the front door.

Day 6 – Arms Research

The Dude was Googling Halloween light covers for the front porch and driveway today. He assigned the Kid with fog machine procurement. When I asked what happened to The Dude’s fog machine, he replied that he’s still going to try using it, but that it is very old and may not survive battle.

Apparently, there’s an age limit on Selective Service for this battle.

When I pointed out there is plenty of time before Halloween, I was met with an incredulous look.

“I want fog before that.”

I stand corrected. The offensive will occur well before D-Day.

Day 7 – The Cemetery Expansion

I returned home from work today to find a perfectly spaced row of skulls and skeletal hands in my flower bed. Despite having never served in the military, The Dude possesses an extraordinary talent for arranging dead bodies with precision.

Apparently in the Great Halloween War of 2026, all bodies decomposed in a neat and orderly fashion.

Day 8 – The First Casualty

The Dude had to perform first aid on the battlefield today. The old fog machine has survived two decades of roadie gigs and three house moves, but could not withstand resting comfortably in a quiet attic. The Dude requested a sewing needle or other small, sharp object to perform surgery. I provided a safety pin but the effort was in vain. We lost the patient.

The Dude was stoic.

He only called it a sonofabitch once.

Services with full military honors are pending. Flags will be lowered to half-mast.

Day 13 – Disappointment On the Battlefield

The Dude purchased and set up his new fog machine, and made multiple excursions outside to check on it. He beckoned me outside and ordered me to stand on the sidewalk in front of the house.

My trek outside resembled a chapter of Hound of the Baskervilles. I expected to see Sir Arthur Conan Doyle step out of the mist at any moment. I glanced at Darren’s house through the haze. The faint glow of the orange bulb mocked me.

Unfortunately, we could not yet declare victory. Around 19:00 hours, he came in and announced failure.

“That thing is already out of juice. It’s just a pea shooter.” Meanwhile I believe I heard a foghorn in the distance.

I pointed out that this all started with him asking me to write about pissing contests, but now he was the only one with his fly open.

The Dude looked insulted. “What did I do? I just want a cool looking house. It’s got ambiance!”

When war crimes charges are brought against him, he will plead not guilty by reason of Ambiance.

As I left to pick up The Kid at work he assured me, “You won’t have to worry about driving through anything tonight, but tomorrow night it will be THICK!”

His words echoed in my mind as I turned my fog lights on to navigate the driveway.

Day 14 – Operation Ambiance

10:35 hours – The Dude came in and announced he was stepping out to the Spirit Halloween Store.

DEFCON 1.

When I asked what we were procuring now, he responded, “That pea shooter was only 400 watts. I’m coming back with heavy artillery.”

He looked at me solemnly. “It must be done. It. Must. Be. Done.”

I heard the door to the garage close forcefully, then Sweet Mademoiselle (his Camaro) came roaring to life, rattling everything on the shelves in my office. She rumbled down the street, sounding like a dragon carrying her knight into battle. The spoils of war will include a climate change device and perhaps a twenty-foot inflatable demon.

Because one does not bring a pea shooter to a fog fight.

After General Boo-naparte rode away, I took it upon myself to embark on my own reconnaissance mission. Armed with my Skechers slip-ons and my distance vision glasses to ward off astigmatism, I stole out under cover of sunshine at 11:00 hours to gather intelligence regarding the enemy’s armaments.

After noting one orange light bulb, a cheap plastic tombstone, and a tiny skeleton on the front door, my mission was nearly compromised by Darren’s wife exiting her driveway in her minivan. I was able to avert detection by pretending to look down the street for something. Perhaps a lost dog. Perhaps the last vestiges of my dignity.

12:45 hours – General Boo-naparte returned with his prize: a 1,000-watt fog machine complete with directional hose.

A weapon of mass decoration.

The enemy will succumb at dusk.

19:37 hours – General Boo-naparte proudly announced that civilian vehicles have been observed navigating through fog two blocks away on the main thoroughfare outside our neighborhood.

We have achieved climate change. I am now fully expecting the HOA to send a contingent with cease and desist orders and an attaché attempting to reach a détente.

Meanwhile, I continue Googling lighthouse lights for sale, and Darren remains blithely unaware, ensconced in his orange-lit house.

Day 15 – The First Victory

Apparently, the theater of operations has expanded. General Boo-naparte has declared victory over an unknown combatant in a skirmish of which said combatant was likely not even aware.

The General read aloud the latest post on our neighborhood Facebook page: “There is a neighbor on X Street that had all kinds of Halloween decorations up and then taken down days after. Does anyone know why? We are referring to the house with the yellow door.”

He looked at me smugly.

“Because they saw my shit and it was awesome and they knew they couldn’t compete.”

I expect the terms of their surrender will be noted shortly.

As I prepared to depart and escort Private Kid home from another day at work on a different battlefield, the General assigned an intelligence mission.

“I want you to see if you can figure out the house that took their stuff down. They said it has a yellow door. Go drive that way when you head out,” he gestured toward the opposite side of the neighborhood from where we usually depart.

The General stayed behind at Headquarters to monitor the Situation Reports on Facebook while I maneuvered Xena, my 4Runner, through the darkness. Her headlights illuminated every color door EXCEPT yellow.

General Boo-naparte was unhappy when I failed to locate the target. As punishment, I confined myself to my quarters for the rest of the evening with some of The General’s leftover birthday cake.

My duties in this regiment continue to grow. None of this has resulted in an increase in pay. Or any pay for that matter.

I will bring this up at the next Joint Chiefs of Staff Meeting.

Day 17 – We Are Reduced to Savagery

I came home from work today to find my dining room table covered in what can only be described as mass carnage. Guts everywhere. Crude carvings in flesh.

The General and his enlisted man proudly showed off their savage handiwork, and the fact that they had carefully moved my tablecloth and Halloween place setting to the side, so as not to desecrate them with the unspeakable acts that had been taking place that afternoon.

I suspect the dismembered vegetables will be displayed out front as a warning to other holiday decorators.

Stay away or perish!

Day 20 – That’s My Monkey But Not My Circus

I was working from home today. As I attempted to evaluate an endorsement request on a policy, I was interrupted by the swish, swish, swish sound of someone coming down the hallway. Either General Boo-naparte had tried on his costume, or a pair of corduroy pants had escaped the ‘70s.

Fortunately, it was the former.

The General was dressed as one of the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. This was a full-on costume complete with fur, wings, and a three-foot tail that left a path of destruction in its wake.

We will rebuild.

Day 21 – Halloween. D-Day.

I asked General Boo-naparte if he considered himself the victor of the pissing contest that started this three-week-long saga.

He looked at me smugly. “I’m a winner every day, Baby.”

As I turned to walk away, he informed me that he had located a giant inflatable turkey on Amazon.

Somewhere across the street, Darren is blissfully unaware he is about to be assaulted with latex poultry.