Call the Po Po!

Dusty and I went out to the grandparent's house this evening to drop off some yard sale stuff. 

We got out of our cars and heard... the most terrible, juvenile shredding guitars I've ever witnessed in my life. 

Apparently these kids have only learned three chords so far, and they felt the need to crank up the amps, open the garage doors, and have at it.

We walked up the steps and my grandma has phone in hand and says, "I'm callin' the police!"

She calls, voices her complaints, which I'm sad to say sounded like an old lady, and hangs up, satisfied.

We herded into the kitchen to make some dinner and discovered we had the perfect spot to watch the action go down: right out the kitchen window!

Long story short, the deputy shows up, literally sneaks into the garage and cuts the kids off in mid-chord #2 of the three chord repituare. They stick their arms out in an, "I didn't do nuthin'" kind of way and eventually lower the garage door.

I've never seen a more satisfied face in my life than that of my grandmother easing into her chair to watch tv this evening. 

 She called the law and the law won.