Here we go. Dogs get fleas. I get neighbors. More specifically rowdy craptastic decibel-loving punktard jackholes who repeatedly demonstrate their rank ability to disrespect anything but their own selfishly skewed perception of themselves at the centers of their own fucked up universes. This time I happen to be two houses south of that center.

It’s apparently supposed to be their world and I’m just to suffer in it but I never got that memo. There’ve been several occasions of them blasting their techno narco corrido assho music in their backyard, most notably during the heat wave that we found when we returned from vacation last month. We managed to bear with that in part because we kept the house battened up with fans twirling and the combination served as an excellent shield against their excessive noise.

But today with the somewhat pleasant temps there was no escaping the caophonous cavalcade. It started shortly after we returned from a Home Depot run and continued for several hours, unti it was Susan who had finally had enough and dialed up the police to report them. I had pretty much barricaded myself in the library watching preseason football on the NFL Network and so I wasn’t so readily effected. But not even two hours later as we were getting set to grill kebobs and the music was still going at a stupidly high we-don’t-give-a-shit-about-anyone volume I retrieved the phone stood tall in the backyard calling the 877/ASK-LAPD non-emergency number again to request officers make a repeat visit — if they made one at all yet.

The dispatcher told me they had already answered the first call Susan made.

I told the dispatcher they clearly didn’t take the first visit very seriously, hoping he could here the thump and bump beats going on in the background. Apparently he could, because he concured with “apparently not” and told me they’d send officers out for a second visit.

During this exchange I was spotted through the foliage by one or more of the culprits, because suddenly the music shut up and from the ashes of that silence rose a cockroach or two in indignant protest:

“It’s the daytime. We can do whatever we want!”

I’m not even going to dignify that bullshit with a response other than: wrong you are dipstick!

“They called the cops without even coming over first!”

Ooops! Our bad. I forgot to consult their “Can’t We All Not Get Along” rulebook which I’m guessing states that before contacting the police with a formal noise complaint it is up to the offended party to risk a confrontation or escalation of antagonism by taking the law into his or her own hands and going over to the offenders to try to reason with them.

Yeah, because that always works.

Nah, since calling the police hasn’t had any thing but short-term effect (the same as when you shine a light on rats they run away and hide but always come back when the light goes away) and any kind of face-to-face is only going to result in putting me and several of them in jail and/or the hospital, the only viable solution is clearly to devise some sort of backyard slingshot shit launcher that I can use to strategically bombard their asses with cat, dog and puppy poo.