OK! I have had about e-fucking-nough. My upstairs neighbor. UGH!! I want to kill him, I do. I don’t even care if I go to jail or hell. I. WANT. TO. KILL. HIM. And I just might. I have been listening to the shower upstairs run for about ehhhh 3 hours now. We don’t pay for water so it’s not like they’re paying for it, by now the hot water is all gone so the hot water heater isn’t doing shit to run up their electric bill. To think about all those animals in the Gulf of Mexico swimming around in oily water and this doucher has had his shower running for 6 days. For gods sake man, shut it off for the seals.
I have lived in my apartment for 10 g-rand months now. The first 4-5 were a-ok. I do recall a lot of loud music in the beginning but back then I was young and naive and I thought it was coming from the hooligans next door. I usually shacked up at Snoop-Linus’ place anyway so I didn’t notice that I had Lucifer prancing his gigantic devil feet around upstairs until I made my New Years resolution to not spend every waking moment with Snoop. Well, let me tell ya this. I get where all those mumbo jumbo people who cry in church when the preacher “takes the devil out of them,” are coming from now. If someone would take this guy I would cry some happy tears. Ok my friends it’s story time, brace yourselves you’re in for a ride…. YEE-HAW!!
We’ll start in good fashion with an inside out pro/con sandwich. Con: I hate his fucking guts. Pro: He listened to the Jay-Z Blueprint 3 album so much that I memorized all the words and have flow like a mo-fo Con: He is the biggest douchebag I never met.
Last week I went to the mail box’s because this guy was pissing me off so bad that I had to know if he was Indian. I just had a hunch, there are a lot of them in my complex and they are always out in the parking lot smoking their hookah’s and leaving their beer bottles all over like they own the place. Well I still don’t know if he’s Indian, one of the names was Poonanis – I don’t know that might be made up…. nobody really has that name right? These are 2 bedroom apartments and there are 3 names on the mailbox which is totally against the rules. So like the bitch I am, I made a list of why this asshole should get evicted and let me live my last month here in peace and THAT is going right on top.
Other things on my list include:
1. Squeaky bed – fixable with wd-40 but I claim negligence because if I can hear it I know he can hear it.
2. Non-private masterbation – I wouldn’t exactly call it public, he was doing it in his own bed but I could hear the motion.
3. Public urination/poopiation – This is one of the great mysteries of the world if you ask me. This guy showers 25 times a day, he has to be the stinkiest poonanis out there (another reason why I thought he was indian.) I’ll just be sitting in my bed watching Kim, Khloe, and Kourtney act like retards and I’ll hear the shower going and turn off then within THE NEXT FEW EPISODES it turns on again. What. The. French! This guy takes a shower every 45 minutes, no lie. But there was this one night – A Sunday to be exact around 10:45 I heard the shower turn on for a standard shower amount of time. Then at 11:30 I heard it turn on again. Then again at 12:45. So at 12:45 I marched my happy ass up there to see what I could nose around in and find out. Well I walk up and there’s a pile of sopping wet clothes laying in front of the door, what I really wanted to do was toss them into the garbage but with the way this guy is who knows what was on them. Someone I told the story to came to the conclusion that he had gone out to the bars peed/pooped himself because he was so drunk, stripped down naked in the hallway for everyone to see, and took multiple showers because he was too drunk to remember taking the others. Another theory of mine was that he was high on some drugs and needed the shower to cool himself off – doesn’t explain the wet clothes BUT he was listening to some weirdo music that night which backs up the drug theory, and I know this guy’s taste for music better than I know my own, it was not normal he likes top 40 music and this was banjo’s and flutes. Riddle me that.
There was another night when the demon was really bothering me so much that I had a dream about him, I don’t remember all of the specifics I just remember that I was standing there talking to him telling him that he was a liar, and I could tell so because he was always so goddamned loud. No one who isn’t a liar would EVER make that much noise, I told him. The double negative was fine too, anything goes in dreams. Then the next day I left him this letter taped to his door (it’s saved to my computer as: WARNING LETTER):
This letter is regarding the loud music that is played at your apartment through all hours of the day and night. Please turn the bass and music down or use headphones because it is very disturbing and can be heard throughout other apartments who are adjoined to yours. This is being written as a warning and if the disturbance continues the police will be contacted for a noise violation in which the fine is $500 per violation that you will be responsible for paying. So again, please turn the music and bass down as easy and the best solution is to use headphones. Thank you for your cooperation.
He wrote something back on the letter about how glad he is that he isn’t renewing and he’ll be a cat’s ass if I can threaten him with a $500 fine for music that isn’t even his. He thanked me for my cooperation too. The letters were real, unfortunately not part of the dream, I’m this crazy in real life. But really I haven’t had much trouble with the music since then because someone is a scaredy cat’s ass.
I was pretty sure until today I had figured out which car the demon jackoff poonanis drove and it fit the douchebag mcgee stereo type I created in my head that he was to a T. From New York a sea-green old school cavalier with clear brake lights and silver racing stripes. Yep, yep, yep. It’s always there! To the point where I pull into the parking lot and I scream at him like he’s my ex sitting in the car with me to go drive his faggot car around until he gets a life. Of course I’m in my car alone and if anyone ever saw me sitting in my hoopty screaming at another car with the windows rolled up they’d probably think I was crazy or something. But today I saw a guy get into the car and I thought YES! I finally see what he looks like, not really what I had imagined he was short and stalky with brown hair and I was picturing some blonde lanky Eminem wanna-bee with pointless tats on his shoulders. So I ran inside and jumped into bed waiting for silence. Then my phone went off and woke him up. I heard the squeak of the bed so I threw my arms up and decided that I know nothing. Mission Failed.