Neighborhood Entertainment Director Nominated for Local Hero Award
Residents of NE 93rd Terrace in Woodneath Farms near Liberty MO can finally rest easy knowing their safety, sanity, and HOA gossip mill are in the capable hands of one young, neon-green-helmeted public servant. This adolescent daredevil has selflessly committed his summer break to ensuring the block never experiences an awkward silence—or a moment free of the invigorating whine of a 2-stroke engine.
Why waste time with neighborhood watch programs or speed bumps when we have a pint-sized Evel Knievel performing 300 high-speed drive-bys a day? Noise ordinances? Merely suggestions. Safety regulations? Clearly written for people without the natural reflexes and sheer bravery of a preteen who’s never once read a motorcycle manual.
Of course, every hero needs a worthy adversary, and ours comes in the form of the neighborhood’s elite rapid-response unit: the Busybody Karen Corps. Armed with smartphones, Facebook neighborhood groups, and the unshakable belief that “someone should do something,” these self-appointed sheriffs patrol from their front windows, ready to document every pass of the neon menace in shaky vertical video.
NE 93rd Terrace is under siege. Not from crime. Not from potholes. Not even from rising property taxes. No — the real threat is silence, and one fearless young man on a neon green two-stroke motorcycle has taken it upon himself to fight back.
Day after day, this adolescent hero roars up and down the street—300 passes, minimum—delivering the sweet, high-pitched soundtrack of freedom. While the rest of us waste our lives in the dull hum of air conditioners and passing SUVs, this boy ensures we never forget what living sounds like.
Enter the opposition: the Busybody Karen Brigade. Armed with iPhones, Facebook group memberships, and a master’s degree in Concerned Staring, these self-appointed peacekeepers have launched a full-scale PR campaign against the boy’s mission. Their claims? “Dangerous,” “disruptive,” and “a matter of time before someone gets hurt.” Translation: The sound of joy is interfering with my third round of porch wine.
Naturally, the Karens have been spotted documenting his every move—peeking through blinds, clutching their pearls, and plotting neighborhood petitions in fonts so aggressive they might actually cause paper cuts. Meanwhile, the rest of us are just enjoying the rare sight of a kid outdoors not glued to a screen.
The boy’s parents have remained silent—either out of stealth-parenting genius or because they understand the great cultural service their son is providing. Imagine the courage it takes to defy both traffic laws and the HOA newsletter.
So to the Karens of Woodneath Farms: thank you for your tireless service in policing joy. Without you, this legend’s legacy would go unchallenged, and what’s a hero without a villain?
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