I’ll get right to the point – I’m not usually one to complain, but my upstairs neighbors, Carole and Ken Heyward, are just too noisy.
Since they moved in eleven years ago they’ve been making noise at all hours at an unbearable rate. I tried talking to them in 1997 on the telephone (at that time I had one of those old Toshiba rotary dial gizmos and to be honest when Ken gave his replies I really couldn’t hear diddly squat, but I kept tellin’ him ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,” anyway. That’s what my guidance counsellor at camp always told me to do anyways – always give it right back to them).
Anyway, a lot of good talking did – they just keep on making that noise!
One time I saw a college girl exit the aforementioned house of sin. And she was wearing a wafer-thin red tube top with some obscenity painted on it and I’m sure she had been humping Mr Ken because I could practicly smell the sex steam wafting off her.
Another time I was watching my favorite shows and I heard footsteps up above me and it sounded like Ms Carole was watering like 1000 plants up there or exercising in a lewd manner or maybe shaking something disgusting like a human head in a box! I could never decide what those noises were. But I have recordings of them. Hours of recordings.
But now my patience is eroding like a Wall Street broker’s winter sweater.
I went to the brothers Herman and Nigel Kadre, who live at the end of the street in the woods. They said they would teach my neighbors some manners for ten dollars. After we shook hands and I signed their handpainted colorful contract we drank a toast to the disciplining of my neighbors. That 2 percent milk was chilled perfectly. I wonder where they store it seeing as they have no fridge.