I used to be really confused by mathematics, that shit stumped me hard. Nowadays I don’t have that problem because I stopped taking math after high school. Instead, what now causes me the most confusion is people and the odd shit that they do. You know what I’m talking about, just like, the basic “what the fuck’s wrong with you?” type stuff… Head shaking shit, that basically everybody pulls because basically everybody is twerkin’ on their own time in their own heads, and people for the most part are pretty kookoo.
Take for instance this story from last evening, or rather, the wee-early hours of this morning. As it is, there are some times that Gorilla operates with a bone sticking through his head. Just like any good advanced-neandertal would tend to do on occasion. Such was the case at 330 AM last night, when he didn’t piece together that this was probably not the best time to be using power tools outside of peoples’ windows to install skylights in the Jam Van.
Of course, you should also take into account the fact that this is the same neighborhood where people sing naked Pearl Jam karaoke at 3AM, and oh, they also shoot each other a lot, like a lot, a lot, at three AM (ed. note: and guns are loud). So point being, power tools really ain’t no thang, but if he had concentrated on it, instead of on installing the two new skylights and an art gallery inside of the Van, then he might have pieced together the notion that there might could possibly be a neighbor that would grow disgruntled about something like power tools at 3AM (ed. note: not like we have a history of neighbors calling the cops for noise or anything).
So anyways, we’ve got this thing that lives downstairs. I’d render it most similar to a Banshee type creature, but with big knocks and a little rat dog (ed. note: I guess Banshees can have rat dogs). Now the screeches that emanate from this thing at all hours of the day and night, are no shitting you, grating right up there on the noise pollution charts with the sounds that come from the viscious pit-bull next door when she is in heat and wants to get her doggy fuck-fuck on.
Now, up at Jam Van HQ we try and avoid this she-beast as much as possible. We even go out of our way to pick up its rat dog pellets that it leaves littered around the yard, because we’d rather not get caught in its line of fire for fear of annoyance. Last night however our months of polite avoidance proved not enough. You see, this rancid hag sashayed home at around 330 AM on a Monday night, drunk as a Jersey Shore Creature, screeching all the way through the front gate and down the path to its lair with no concern for anyone or anything. Until suddenly its ears were crossed with a sound that was not pleasant to its feeble mind, and it became enraged. With no thought to acting rationally, and floating on only drunken impulse (ed. note: and inherent bitch qualities), the Banshee jumped onto the attack.
Now, if there are any sociologist majors out there, or just plain old sociologists, feel free to step in here, and guess as to how you would think someone would react to a neighbor making noise outside of their window late at night? Mind you this window was right next to her room and she could have easily and politely asked him to stop.
If that was your guess, that she asked him to stop or to quiet down, seeing as they are neighbors and all, well, you were wrong. If you guessed that she text messaged our near 70 year old landlord at 4AM, waking him up for no reason at all, well then you win the prize! Because last night at 4 AM, my man Big Ed, who is the nicest man in the world, and a primo landlord, (ed. note:but also a man whom the banshee has referred to with many a derogatory name, and called an asshole to his face), came down from his house to find that Gorilla had already stopped working and was going to bed. Basically a big waste of time for Big Ed (ed. note: and who likes to have their time wasted?).
Now, that’s unfortunate for the building banshee, because as you saw above I refer to my landlord as “Big Ed,” and that’s not because we’re on bad terms. It’s because we’re pretty damn cool, as far as cool goes, and I promise you, Big Ed is now more aware of the banshee that can’t handle it’s alcohol and doesn’t pick up its dog’s pellets then ever before. Big Ed is also now definitely aware of the fact that it screams a lot more than we use power tools. In fact, he’s aware of a lot of new things, and I’m also in the know that Big Ed and I are all copacetic. To make matters even more awesome, the Jam Van is fully sky-lighted out, and fully art-ed out. So let’s just hope the Banshee is aware that Go-rilla and I, we don’t usually lose these kinds of silly games. So it’s probably best for her not to disturb Big Ed no’mo… Cause listen’ here monster girl, you sure as hell ain’t gone be the one what kills the rock round here…
I’m a just do a quick google search on how you slay a banshee (ed. note: really it just needs one good lay, but that’s a heady pass from this corner), and I’ll let y’all know how it works out if I hear it screeching again.
Links for the Day:
PS. DID I MENTION WE HAVE A JAM VAN WITH 3 FULL SIZED SKYLIGHTS? YES, WE DO.