Welcome to SuburbHell

Congratulations on choosing SuburbHell—where the hedges are symmetrical, the skies are regulation blue, and your soul is gently, painlessly filed down to fit the shape of your mortgage.

We know you had a choice. You could have chosen chaos. The rustle of leaves. A sunset unsupervised. But instead, you chose us: SuburbHell, where compliance is beauty, and beauty is mandatory.

Rules Are Not Just Rules

They're scripture. They're gravity. They're law not just of land, but of time, of space, of thought. Here, rules aren’t followed—they are breathed in, like the pesticide-misted air of our pesticide-misted gardens.

Every Tuesday, the sun rises at 6:43 AM sharp. Deviations are not permitted.

Your grass must be cut to precisely 2.5 inches. Not more. Not less. Violate this, and your dreams will be audited.

A flag may fly. But only on approved flagpoles. And only if it does not flutter with too much enthusiasm.

The HOA Is Watching

You will never see them. But they are there.

In the shadow cast by your mailbox. In the flicker of your smart-fridge's blinking eye. In the low hum beneath the cicadas' song that you mistake for tinnitus but isn't.

The Homeowners Association is eternal. It predates you. It predates property. It whispers to the wind and demands that no door be painted whimsical colors.

Once, a resident placed a garden gnome outside their home. The gnome disappeared. So did the resident. Their lawn is perfect now.

Community Events

Tired of isolation? We offer:

- Tuesday Night Surveillance Sharing

- Wine & Dine & Denounce

- Lawn Jealousy Therapy Circles

Please note: eye contact longer than 3.2 seconds is considered aggressive. Smile. Nod. Do not say too much. Do not say too little.

The Architecture of Conformity

Every house here is the same. But yours is slightly different. Not enough to warrant concern. Not yet.

Your porch creaks like it remembers.

Your doorbell chimes in a minor key.

Your reflection in the bathroom mirror lingers just a fraction too long.

Have you adjusted it?

What To Do If You Feel

Should you begin to feel: nostalgia, sadness, the unbearable ache of wonder—please report immediately to the Feelings Reclamation Station, Lot #66. You will be helped.

If you dream of birds: fill out Form 1194-B ("Unauthorized Avian Thought") and schedule a cleansing.

If you recall a time before all this: silence yourself. Memory is an act of rebellion.

Testimonies

"I planted wildflowers. They bloomed. So did the letters from the HOA. My mailbox now bites. I comply." — Lot 9

"The moon used to rise. Here, it is carefully escorted into place by licensed contractors. It is safer this way." — Lot 34

"My dog barked after 8 PM. It speaks fluent HOA now. I think I do, too." — Lot 12

Final Thoughts (But Not Too Many)

You belong here. You were made to belong here. You signed the papers. You clicked "I agree."

We have carved your name into the hedges. We have folded your old dreams into paper cranes and sent them down regulated storm drains.

You are free. You are home. You are very, very safe.

Now smile. Your Ring camera is watching.

Welcome to SuburbHell.