Saturday, 1 May 2010


I've recently moved into a city centre apartment with a few friends of mine, Stan and Dale. They're easily the best house mates I could think of living with; they don't have any annoying habits, they're quiet, they're funny and we all get on quite well. Our apartment is big, our kitchen gorgeous, the view quite exquisite. We just have a tiny, gnawing little problem - we live next to some coked-up idiots who think it's okay to play intensely loud music from 1am-9am (if we're lucky, that's when they stop).

I've grown used to the situation now, and to be honest, the music isn't the issue any more. I haven't had any sleep since 1pm on Friday. I spent 4am-6am trying to get my brain to shut the fuck up, and when it finally started to wind down, my neighbours blasted the music up to unbearable levels. Don't bother trying to get sleep now, Hazz. Fuck it. I don't care.

I don't care about the godawful dance/trance/whatever bilge they aurally spunk out for all to listen and suffer to.

I don't care about the junkie whores who come banging on the door at 4am, desperate for a fix.

I don't care about the fact that the guy is constantly topless, that he doesn't give a shit about his neighbours, even with repeated visits from the police. I don't give a shit about any of this anymore.

I'm just fucking sick and tired of his woos.

Every hour or so, the insufferable cunt will screech out this intolerable, banshee-like wail. I don't know why he does it. What are you woo-ing, little man? Are you celebrating the fact that you're slowly turning me into a sociopath? Woo indeed, then. It's remarkably annoying.


I'd rather listen to Freddy Kruger scratch a blackboard for hours on end, whilst Joe Pasquale fiddled with polystyrene packaging & sang 'I Know A Song That'll Get On Your Nerves' for eternity.


I can't put up with this sonic terrorism any longer.


The police are useless, I don't want to keep a goddamn diary of my deteriorating sanity for the Environmental Health Officer. I don't want to wear ear plugs, or listen to podcasts about plastic (you would not believe how many the normally fascinating have put out recently). I'm taking a motherfucking stand. I'm gonna be the goddamn man, even if no one else in this godforsaken building will.

He woos again. His pointless groupies join in to complete the semi-retarded, coked-up dawn chorus of cretins. This is it. I take a deep breath:


God, that felt good.

There's a pause.

He turns the music up even louder.

Well played, neighbour. Well played.

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