Next to my property, I have a sweet (actually, kind of sexy) neighbor and an annoying neighbor. I appreciate my sweet neighbor because she has taste and fills the role of drinking buddy quite well. My annoying neighbor, however, needs a dick punch.

Here are the top reasons why I would like to defecate on my annoying neighbor’s lawn:

  1. He has a tour bus-sized camper, which he parks in front of his house (meaning it’s also in front of my house because it is massive). Now, if I lived in a trailer park, I’d be OK with it. I don’t. It’s not as if we’re in the Hollywood hills, but this beast blocks the view I pay dearly for every month.
  2. His wife and he are deaf to the incessant barking of their Poodle and Chihuahua. I’m not. They yap and I boil. The loudest noise my felines make is when they chirp at birds. It’s cute and inaudible from outside the room.
  3. He surfs and hangs his wetsuit to dry on the corner of his garage. I don’t mind that he has the time to float around “duding” all morning. I do mind that the wetsuit constantly fools me into thinking there is an actual person hanging from the building staring at me.

People tell me all the time, “Just go knock on his door and tell him.” I don’t want to be that guy. If there were a way for me to text or Facebook message him, I could do it. In-person, though, I’m such a pussy.

I sit here and fume while fantasizing about ways to get back at the annoying neighbor.

  • Buy the biggest piece-of-shit, rusted beater I can find and park it in front of his house.
  • Get a bigger, louder dog than he has.
  • Blast Justin Bieber songs in my backyard all day.
  • Spend my nights drinking beer in my garage while hammering tin sculptures.
  • Take up surfing and drown him.
  • Park a pop-up camper in front of his house.
  • Install a batting cage in my front yard and spend thirty minutes a night hitting with an aluminum bat.

What recourse do I have? I shouldn’t let this shit get to me. There are more important matters at hand. We have wars going on. I have taxes to prepare. Charlie Sheen hasn’t died of an overdose yet. I need to figure out why I am attracted to Lady Gaga because she’s not pretty and allegedly has a bratwurst-sized clit. M-m-meaty!

As with other annoyances, I guess it’s best to vent and avoid doing anything drastic. It’s always the retaliator that’s caught. Maybe I should bake them a cake. Kill them with kindness? Fuck that! There’s a goddamn camper in my front yard. My 80-degree paradise is spoiled by his fucking monstrosity. This is why I drink. Fuck! I need to blow off some steam at the gym. Piss me off. Where are my happy pills? Somebody save me! I wonder if they allow campers at the asylum.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.