An open letter to the Trash that lives next door.
Dear Pieces of Crap:
It was The Boyfriend and I that called the cops on you, you complete tool. They didn't just "make the rounds," they were called 3 times over the space of 4 hours to complain about your drum circle/party you were throwing. (Again, like you do every Friday or Saturday night.)
Let's start from the beginning. Where in the hell did you move here from? Do you really believe that as mid-30 somethings that you are still in college? No one thinks couches and Camaros on the lawn are cool. No one thinks you washing your car with heavy metal playing loudly on the stereo is cool (especially since you are really nothing to look at with your shirt off) nor do they want to share in your AWFUL taste in music. Your car sucks and you obviously have a small pecker.
We knew the group of you were bad news the first night you moved in. But then you quieted down, and we just mildly disliked you.
Then one of you got the brilliant idea to start a band. Seriously, NONE OF YOU HAVE ANY MUSICAL TALENT WHATSOEVER. And your singing sucks too. It's bad enough that you start band rehearsal at 10 pm, but add to the fact that you can't keep time on a drumset to save your life and it just means hours of anger for The Boyfriend and I. I don't know how you got the word out to every trashy-stuck-in-the-80's person in the neighborhood, but your house has become their meeting place. WHY? Why do we have to listen to you talk about how awesome your band is? Why do we have to listen to you talk about the brilliant ideas on how going to get your equipment moved around? (A flatbed truck, seriously? My personal favorite was the Sea-Doo trailer) No one could possibly hire you, YOU SUCK. Seriously, you suck. Don't believe what I hear your friends telling you. They have to be going home and laughing at you for believing that you could actually get a band up and running.
Here's the kicker. There is a real band that lives across the street. How do I know? I see them actually loading up their equipment into their van and heading out for gigs. I hear them practicing (in the middle of the day to be polite) and they actually have some great music. AND THEY CAN ACTUALLY PLAY THEIR INSTRUMENTS. Granted, one of them had sex with his girlfriend in her car while it was parked on the street, but that was when they first moved in and it hasn't happened again, so I will chalk it up to them just being grungy and "cool."
Rest assured, we have already decided to start looking for a new place to live. After watching half the neighborhood walk by your place on Sunday and look horrified at the beer bottles and car mess that you had left on your front lawn/porch, I figured we had probably had enough. I plan on finding out who owns that house and giving them a nice informative phone call. I will become best friends with police dispatch as I call in complaints as much as possible. And then after I move, well, The Boyfriend and I have lots of fun stuff planned. Cause my favorite saying is this: "Revenge is better than Christmas."
And believe me neighbor, Christmas is coming WAY early this year.
Your hateful neighbors that yell "Shut Up" at you as often as possible,