Spawn of suburbia in super-large vehicles

The people who rented their establishment for six months will return in three or four weeks, along with their untrained dog that barks incessantly every time it's left outside; nevertheless, that will be a welcome exchange for the ouster of their tenants. These people, and all their friends and acquaintances, of whom there are scores, coming and going around the clock, get behind the wheels of parent-furnished vehicles in which they find it impossible to make U-turns, despite the wideness of the street. They have never heard of driving around the block, evidently, either, apparently knowing only the accursed culs-de-sac of suburbia, or else they're just plain too lazy. So they like to use the nearest convenient curb-cut (ours) to make a sloppy turn-around. The curbs and pavement were never meant to bear the weight of such behemoths (and they do run over the curbs). Now everything's cracked, scraped, and broken up. Each and every one of these people is never without a cell-phone at the ear, whether the person's behind the wheel or devoting attention alternately to his companion who's present and to the telephone conversation. The stupid xenon headlights glare into every room of the house. Plastic, metal, and glass containers of all sorts constitute just some of the litter for which we thank them daily. Lately they've been amusing themselves under cover of darkness by removing the yellow-ribbon magnets from the vehicles belonging to another household and affixing them to neighbors' vehicles. This morning we found ourselves to be among the lucky recipients. Mommie and Daddy must be paying their rent since they don't seem to be gainfully employed. I know exactly how many days remain of their tenancy, and I'm counting, counting, counting.