Machine Cooties

HOA Serenity Prayer Grant me the serenity To accept the bylaws I cannot change, The courage to challenge the fines I can, And the wisdom to know when to just pay the fee. Living one board meeting at a time, Enjoying one variance approval at a time, Accepting hardships as the path to compliance, Taking this HOA as it is, not as I wish it to be. Trusting that someday, perhaps, They will allow a lawn gnome.

Lawn & Order a poem, after Lewis Carroll The Chairman chased a dandelion And fined it fifty pence, The Grand Arbiter of Fences banned A picket — too immense. The Minister of Sheds declared No roof may stand too tall, And if you paint your shutters red The Colour Marshal bans it all! So praise this sombre Syndicate, With clipboards held on high — They prune the world to rectangles, And fine the breeze for blowing by.

Shakespearian Insults to Not Hurl at Your HOA because it's probably against the CC&R Thou hedge-taming, paint-swatch tyrant! Thou art a mildew-minded beetle, buzzing o’er my lawn. A plague upon your bylaws! Thou petty monarch of weeds, thou wouldst crown thyself with dandelions. A wart of the spirit art thou, spreading rules where joy should grow. Thou hast the visage of a man, but the soul of hedge-clipping shears. Thou art a blight on the rose of neighborly peace. Thou art a barnacle upon the hull of liberty. Thou fence-measuring, joy-throttling hedgehog! Thou paint-policing popinjay! Thou weed-sniffing tyrant of the hedgerow! Thou art the Monday of this parish! Thy dues are baser than ransom, for even bandits boast more honesty in their theft. Thou paint chip counting, color-banishing knave! Thou tyrant of trash cans, thou hast the spirit of a plague-sore. Confound thy shrubbery regulations! Thou frost-hearted knave, who fines a wreath as though it were witchcraft. Thou wouldst banish Saint Nicholas himself, for parking his sleigh without permit. Thou wouldst ticket the moon for shining past curfew. I have bought my freedom from brigands with more grace than I purchase thy petty peace; for the outlaw robs me plain, but thou dost rob me smiling. Thou curb-painting, shrub-snipping, joy-banishing toad! Begone, ye drab-hearted zealots! Rot ye, council of conformity! Thou art a fee-mongering knave, who sucketh silver from the stones of the driveway. Thou art a parchment-hearted tick, wringing coin from honest folk. The bandit’s dagger is kinder than thy parchment, for he stabs but once, whilst thou dost bleed me monthly. Thou hast the gall of a usurer and the soul of a weed-whacker. Thou fee-sucking leech, thou fungus-eyed beetle of bureaucracy! Would that I could pay thee in silence, and purchase peace with my contempt. But nay — thou wilt convene again, and again, and again, till the very grass grows weary of thy rule.

The Tyranny of Trim and Proper a poem, after Mark Twain I have observed that a man with a clipboard Can grow ten feet taller than common sense. He will tell you the angle of your shutters, The color of your door, And the hour your trash may see daylight. He will then charge you for the privilege. I reckon Hell is managed by an HOA, And the Devil himself is Treasurer.

The Song of Fines, Forms, and Fury an operatic patter song, after Gilbert & Sullivan I am the very model of a modern Home Association, I regulate your shutters with a fervent costly dedication, I’ll measure every mailbox with a ruler’s exact calculation, And fine you if your grass exceeds its lawful verdant elevation. I know precisely how your trash receptacles must hide away, I’ll time the bins at dawn and dusk to catch them in the light of day, I’ll ban your shed for standing proud a half inch taller, by the way, And charge a fee for daring to dispute the bylaws I convey. I’ll dictate hues of siding with a swatch of beige and ivory, And outlaw doors of crimson, teal, or any shade of rivalry, I’ll send you letters weekly with a tone of mock chivalry, While pocketing your dues with sneers of bureaucratic devilry. In short, in matters trivial, pedantic, petty, minuscule, I am the pompous potentate of neighborhood committee rule!

HOA No You Don’t quips and zingers They don’t want you to have weeds, but they sure love planting themselves in your business. Never underestimate the mischief a man can do with a ruler and a sense of importance. An HOA is where your home is your castle — provided the king approves the drawbridge. In an HOA, the grass is always greener — because it’s mandatory. Early to bed and early to rise makes a man compliant with trash-bin hours. In this world nothing is certain but death, taxes, and HOA dues. An HOA is where neighbors unite to make sure no one enjoys their property too much. In an HOA, individuality is a weed — and weeds are fined. Better a crooked fence of freedom than a straight one of tyranny. The HOA doesn’t raise property values; it raises blood pressure. A rule is something the HOA invents when it runs out of complaints. You’ve tamed the hedge into a square, and in doing so, proved yourselves roundly ridiculous. An HOA is a neighborhood’s way of hiring its own prison guards. They fine you for leaving your trash can out, but they never fine themselves for being trashy. To the paint palette — three shades of despair, all beige. An HOA is the triumph of conformity over taste. They who would give up essential liberty for a perfect lawn deserve neither. A penny saved is a penny fined by the HOA. If you truly wish to break a man’s spirit, don’t torture him — simply fine him for leaving his trash bin out overnight. Trampolines have been outlawed. First the little bobbing heads are visible above fence-height, then they’re not, then they are, then they’re not — the HOA can’t handle that kind of inconsistency. HOA logic on trampolines:  If your child’s head can be seen above the height of the fence, then it can’t, then it can, then it can’t — that’s four violations in one afternoon. Unless, of course, you’ve applied for an intermittent visibility variance. Beware little rules; they breed great tyrants. He who governs least governs best — unless he sits on the HOA board. The HOA is proof that democracy can be as petty as monarchy. Sod off, you beige evangelists. Congratulations — you’ve landscaped freedom into a square. They say fences make good neighbors; HOAs make sure they’re all painted uniformly bland. Beige is not a color, it’s a surrender. I painted my shutters cherry red — now the HOA says I’m banned instead. A neighbor’s smile is worth more than a thousand bylaws.

The Board’s Prayer Our Board, which art in session, Hallowed be thy bylaws. Thy quorum come, Thy covenants be done, On cul-de-sac as it is in common ground. Give us this day our daily citation, And forgive us our shutters, painted slightly off-beige, As we forgive those who tattle against us. And lead us not into variance requests, But deliver us from architectural review. For thine is the quorum, The minutes, and the fines ledger, Forever and ever. Amen.

Much Ado About Nuthin’ after Shakespeare & Dickinson The Knaves — with clipboards — strut — As if the World were theirs — Yet every Rule they scribble down — Proclaims them — small Affairs — A Pox upon their Lawns — So trim — yet void of Grace — Their Souls — like hedges — over-clipped — Reveal a barren Place — Thou Mushroom-spawn of Night — Thou Hedgehog — in Disguise — The HOA — a Motley Crew — Of Pettifogging Spies —

Winnie-the-Pooh and Friends Discuss the HOA a playlet in which the rule-makers dislike joy, but the Hundred Acre Wood likes it very much indeed Scene. — The Hundred Acre Wood. A storm has passed, and the friends are gathered near Pooh’s house. A letter from the “Woodland Homeowners Association” has just arrived. POOH, reading:  “Dear Resident, your honey pots may not be stacked higher than three. Kindly comply.” Oh, bother. I do like them stacked to the sky. PIGLET:  D-d-does that mean you’ll have to eat them all, Pooh? EEYORE:  Probably. And then they’ll fine him for sticky floors. TIGGER, bouncing:  Whoop-de-doo! They can’t stop me from bouncing!… Can they? RABBIT, sternly:  If they could, I’d sign the petition myself. But really, these rules are ridiculous. They told me my carrots were “too orange.” Then they wrote me up for “vegetables exceeding acceptable enthusiasm.” OWL:  Well, you see, the Association exists to maintain “aesthetic harmony.” Which is a fancy way of saying they dislike joy. TIGGER:  Hoo-hoo-hoo! Then let’s make our own HOA — the Happy Outrageous Animals! Rule number one: more bouncing, more honey, more carrots! RABBIT, sighing:  For once, Tigger, I agree. POOH:  Yes, let’s. Because the best kind of neighborhood is the one where friends make the rules. OWL:  Indeed. A true community is measured in friendship, not fines.

Mother Goose Gets a Violation Notice HOA nursery rhymes London fence is falling down, Falling down, falling down. HOA says rebuild it brown, My fair neighbor. The itsy bitsy spider climbed the garden wall, The HOA declared it two inches too tall. Down came a notice, taped upon the door, “Remove all arachnids — or pay us even more.” There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, She filed Form A-9, then Form B-22. The board said, “Your laces exceed regulation, Expect a citation and full litigation.” Mary had a little shed, It stood a foot too high. The board commanded in ink red: “That structure must comply!” Jack and Jill went up the hill To fetch a can of paint. The HOA said, “Beige or gray, But colors bright? Oh no you ain’t.” Baa baa homeowner, have you paid your dues? “Yes sir, yes sir, in triplicate forms too. One for the president, one for the clerk, One for the lawyer who makes the fines work.” There once was a board full of spite, Who measured each lawn every night. If a blade grew too tall, They’d fine one and all, For grass that exceeded their height. Hickory dickory dock, The board came round the block. The bins were out late, They fined at the gate, It wasn’t the right o’clock. Little lawn, little lawn, Trimmed before the break of dawn. If a blade should dare to grow, The HOA will surely know. Twinkle, twinkle, little fence, Built without our documents. How we wonder why you’re there, Unapproved and don't you dare. This little piggy mowed the lawn, This little piggy did not. This little piggy got a warning, This little piggy got caught. And this little piggy cried “Wee wee wee!” As the HOA fined the whole lot. There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, The HOA said, “That’s not approved.” They fined her for children, they fined her for pets, They fined her for things she hadn’t done yet.

A Proclamation of the Most Noble and Overbearing Homeowners’ Association Hear ye, hear ye! By decree of the august and self-anointed Council of Shrubs and Shingles, let it be known: Of Lawns and Blades — No grass shall rise above the length of a maiden’s eyelash. Should a blade dare aspire higher, the offender shall be branded Slovenly and fined a king’s ransom. Of Sheds and Structures — No shed shall tower above the fence, lest it cast a shadow upon thy neighbor’s begonias. To dream of loftier storage is treason most foul. Of Trash and Receptacles — Bins shall not be seen by sun or moon, but hidden as shameful relics. Whosoever exposeth a can before the appointed hour shall be cursed with parchment notices nailed to their door. Of Paints and Palettes — Only hues approved by the Council’s Sacred Swatch may grace thy dwelling. Shouldst thou dare a color of thine own fancy, thou art a rogue and a rebel, fit only for exile to the cul-de-sac’s edge. Of Fees and Tribute — Each vassal shall render unto the Association a monthly tithe, that we may continue our noble work of measuring, forbidding, and correcting. Of Joy and Liberty — Be it further proclaimed:  joy is suspect, liberty is unruly, and individuality is a weed most noxious. All must be trimmed, tamed, and taxed. Thus speaketh the Council. Obey, or face the wrath of letters writ in bold, underlined font.

HOA-verlords a poem, after Dorothy Parker You scold my hedge, you scorn my bin, You sniff at where my trash goes in. You loathe my shutters, hate my gate, And still demand my monthly rate.

The Grown-Ups Who Counted Blades of Grass a poem, after Ogden Nash I love my house, I love my yard, But rules make living rather hard. They fine me if my grass is tall, They fine me if it’s short at all. They fine me if my shutters squeak, They fine me every blessed week. I sometimes think, with mounting rage, I live inside a gilded cage.

Beige and Punishment a skewering speech, after Tyrion Lannister Ah, the noble council of shrub-clippers and paint-swatch priests. Let us review your commandments. First, the weeds. You despise them because they grow without permission. I rather admire them for the same reason. Second, the shed. You’ve decreed it must not rise above a certain height, lest it cast a shadow on your fragile egos. A pity — some of us could use a taller shed to hide from your endless notices. Third, the dues. You call them ‘community contributions.’ I call them ransom notes with better stationery. Fourth, the paint colors. You’ve reduced the spectrum of human imagination to three shades of beige. Congratulations — you’ve made conformity into an art form. And finally, the greenery. You trim every hedge into a square, as though the shrubbery were desperate to impress the Department of Dullness. The trees must be trembling, wondering when you’ll demand they grow in straight lines. So let us raise our glasses, neighbors. To this remarkable institution, where we pay — dutifully, faithfully — for the privilege of being forced to obey rules that make our homes monotonous, our gardens lifeless, and our spirits small. Truly, tyranny has never been so tastefully landscaped.

The Homeowner’s Prayer O Great Overlords of Deeds and Restrictions, Deliver us from citations and surprise inspections. Grant us patience when the grass grows faster than the mower, And mercy when our bins linger too long at the curb. Bless our shutters that stray from the sanctioned shade, Guard our gnomes from the zeal of enforcement raids, Keep our fences upright and our dues somehow paid, And grant us peace until the board convenes again. Amen.