My neighbors walk with their knuckles dragging the ground. Last night they were screaming and slamming things and running from one apartment to another. So I opened my door and said, "Do you want me to call the police on you again, you mouth-breathers?"
No response. Other than heavy mouth-breathing.
Then, when I closed my door, yelling and slamming with renewed vigor. I marched right over to my phone and reported a disturbance of the peace. Here comes John Law, "Can you guys keep it down?" Someone give him a donut, he really put himself out tonight.
"Arrest them!" I yelled at his retreating patrol car. "They are annoying me and no one is allowed to annoy me and remain free from the confines of a jail cell! Give them Binky as their roommate!"
Tonight they are doing some more door-slamming.
I did enjoy putting my landlord in an uncomfortable position today. He came down my stairs as I returned from work, and he had two SBU baseball-playin’ lookin’ mofos with him (probably showing them apartments). I totally put a kink in his renter possibilities when, loudly in front of the mofos, I told him to find me another place quickly before I lost my mind.
I am thinking of ways to make my mouth-breathing neighbors miserable, other than playing Sirius Satellite Little Steven’s Underground Garage at 6 a.m., parking so close to their cars that they have to make like Gumby to get in or out of them and loudly exclaiming my revulsion with their music preferences of Savage Garden and Akon.