There's a man upstairs. I think he's a gay cowboy. I saw him arrive, Christmas day, gay cowboy friend in tow, twelve of Busch in tow, and head for the upper reaches of his apartment. He was wearing cowboy getup. Boots. Vest. Tight-assed Wranglers. The whole nine. Cowboy. Handlebar moustache. Gay.
I'm not pointing fingers. I'm not suggesting we gather a posse and run him out of town.
Well, okay, I am, but not because he may be gay.
I want to run this rat fucking bastard out of town because I have never in my life had a neighbor that is as bizarrely loud as this ass puppet.
The first night I slept in this place, as I laid my tender little noggin down to sleep, I am immediately roused by the oddest racket. Coming from directly above me, it sounds as though a herd of bison have taken roost up there and are on the march for more fertile grazing territory.
What the fuck, I wonder as I am in equal parts shocked and amazed and the ability of one man - is it one man, or is it a couple - to be so insanely loud just by walking across the floor.
Seriously, it sounds like Tony Stark is up there and has finally finished his Iron Man suit which he has promptly donned so that he can try the fucker out.
This guy, he must have no feet, he must have lost his feet in a terrible gay rodeo mishap, because he FUCKING STOMPS across the floor sounding as if he is wearing cement prostehtics. I mean STOMPS! The thing that's weird about it, si that when he stomps, he stomps with what to him is a slight level of control with one foot, but with the other, he sounds like he is dragging a huge chain with him. So the effect sounds something like this: STOMP, CHHHHHH, STOMP, CHHHHHH... ad infinitum. It's unsettling.
What is the dilly? I know this is an apartment building, I get that. I am sensitive to the plight of the apartment dweller. And I also get that the floors in this place are pretty thin. But, the thing is, even if this dude wore feathered slippers and slipped across the floor, all lithe like some moustachioed swan, I would probably still hear him. That's fine. What I am talking about here, is a grown ass man, getting up to piss at four AM, and literally stomping his way to the toilet.
JESUS.
But it gets better. Oh dear children, it fucking gets better.
This shithound also gets up every morning at, wait for it, 5 AM! Oh joy! 5 O'clock in the bitch fucking AM! Every day, too. Every single day. Thanksgiving? 5 AM. Christmas? 5 AM. New Years Day? I'm gonna kill this fucker if it's the last thing I do. You know, before I kill myself.
But hold on, huddled masses, 'cause there's more.
He also has a few other idiosycracies I'd like to share with you if you don't mind.
He clears his throat constantly. As in, all day. Why? Who knows. But he doesn't just do a little "ahem...," oh no, this cunt lets loose with one of those trying to get someone's attention throat clearers. One of those ones where you are trying to deliberately be as obnoxious as you possibly can. Seriously. And he does it all day.
And, he sings occasionally too! For no reason. Not in tune, without rhythm, but very audibly. It's as though he has headphones on. Nice.
Oh wait, don't forget the clapping and the snaps.
He is wont to clap, very hard, very slowly, and very loudly, twenty or thirty times, several times throughout the day, and again for no reason whatsoever. He also snaps his fingers the very same way.
I will kill this man. I will. Mark my words. I have it in me. There's a first time for everything. My murder cherry is ripe for the popping. Let's get it on, Gay Cowboy, because you are going down.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
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4 comments:
He sounds like he may be a relative of a guy that I lived above back in my first apartment in college. I think his name was Mark. Not sure. His big thing was to have really loud conversations all day with himself as if he were at a really loud frat party. Thusly:
"WOOOOOOO, duuude! What's goin on, maaaaan? Good to see you, buddy! Have a seat! Yeah! All-riiiight! WOOOOOOOOO!"
That would then lead right into the -- apparently -- only album he owned. Bruce Springsteen's overrated and maudlin classic Born In The U.S.A. Perfect fun for an angry 21 year old Fugazi fanatic to try to nap to. It would have been one thing had he sung along, or just listened to it loudly while sitting quietly, but NO. He liked to pretend (as far as my imagination could tell me) that the faux-frat party was just pre-party for the Bruce Springsteen show he had just arrived at. Instead of singing along he would "WOOOOOOOOOOOO" and "YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" to such classics at Dancing in the Dark and Glory Days. Stomping on my floor would only make him "WOOOOOO" louder, so I learned to nap at my girlfriend's house. The kicker is is that HE was the motherfucker who called the cops on US for listening to music a TAD (I know there is bias, but one does not blast King Crimson on the 4th of July while folding laundry. There's just no point.) too loud. Fucker.
Perhaps your nemesistic neighbor is a pirate with peg leg, or he's dragging around an old leg cuff chain.
Mayhap you should introduce him to how awesome Running With the Devil or Locust Abortion Technician sounds through a REALLY large speaker.
I was kinda thinking of introducing him to my Ampeg, 150 watt, 4x12 half stack.
He is already very familiar with Neurosis and Cult of Luna. Not to mention Oxbow.
Next up? Late era Coltrane. Sweet sayonara, pony rider.
Cliff, the gay cowboy who lived above me when I lived at your complex, used to vacuum at 2 in the morning with a fair degree of regularity. But, he did always give me and Lori tomatoes from the garden he keeps up in the front.
As for your gay cowboy, I recommend that copy of Diamanda Galas' Schriel X I loaned you. Extremely bizarre female ululations and snippets of disturbing biblical quotations oughta do it.
God, what a brilliant idea. It's on.
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