Dear Clem,
My neighbor is trippin’. I live beside this man that is forever having parties and making noise all night long. He is either always playing loud music, or enjoying the company of various men. I really hate confrontation but I guess I am going to have to talk to him. What is the best way I should go about it? I need my peace of mind and sleep back, especially on early workdays!
Nervous Nelly
Well hello there, Nelly. First, the question is, do you want to just have peace and quiet, or do you want to get back at him? If you just want peace and quiet, you came to the wrong place. Call the cops once, you sleep for a night; but get back at that bitch, and they’ll never cross you again. (Or you’ll have an ongoing war, but at least it’s all out in the open right?)
Things used to be simpler when I was coming along. We didn’t have these fancy sound systems blaring that George Michael or whatever the hell they’re listening to, with the flaunting gay parties in your face. No, they did that in private, with the lights down low and whatever Kenny G music of their generation playing low in the background. Today it’s all rainbows, and umbros, men with lisps, and some Gaga lady running around with God knows what on her head.
The methods to get back at someone were also simpler. A flaming bag of shit on your doorstep was all the reality check you needed to tell someone, “Hey, I don’t like how you’re living your life, here’s a flaming bag of shit to tell you what I think of you. You better shape up! I’ve got a big dog, and plenty of more where that came from!” We also didn’t have to worry about DNA analysis on my crap being traced back to me. You have to be careful these days. You still glad we live in this technological age? Didn’t think so!
Pelting his house with water balloons is also a tad juvenile, but if you have spare time, and in my case I do, there’s always urine balloons. Egging is just a waste of good eggs, and I never would suggest wasting some two-ply toilet paper… it’s all fun and games until you’re sitting on the shitter the next day and you’re staring at an emptied brown toilet paper roll, with just the hand towel and toilet rug at your disposal. Then the Mrs. wants to know why there’s skid marks on her toilet ruffle. And how is it the person before you always had just enough toilet paper? I swear half of y’all are walking around with half-ass wiped assholes. Tell me I’m lying.
You want my advice, I say fight fire with fire. Get an ample sound system, and blare that Conway Twitty so the whole neighborhood can hear it. Just don’t play “Slow Hand”, they might like that too much. No I’m talking about some good ole “I’d Love to Lay you down”. That’ll get ‘em all confused, and throw off their rhythm, and the rest of the neighborhood won’t get mad, cause dammit if you don’t like Conway, you need to move the hell out of my neighborhood anyway.
After you’ve completed phase one and the Mrs. has finally left you alone after all that Conway, send over a six pack of Zima. They love that stuff, but spike it with Phillips extra-strength gut-buster 2000. They’ll be on the toilet the rest of the night in an exit-only exercise. The next day, you’ll want to hire a reputable strip-o-gram, and have her threaten to keep stripping until they agree to stop the madness. Sleep and bodily fluid-deprived, this should work quickly. If it doesn’t, go with plan B and drop a hint to the Jehovah’s witnesses and the little Mormon kids that your neighbors are really into the Watchtower and/or The Latter Day Saints. And if that doesn’t work, you could just stop being a pussy and go knock on the door and say “Hey asshole, turn it down, I’m trying to sleep here!” We aren’t too good for some face-to-face talking these days are we? My guess is, you’ll probably just facebook message them timidly, and you’ll be enduring Elton John serenades for the foreseeable future. I can’t do shit with these new generation of pansies. Dammit I’m done.