My head hurts, my feet stink and I don’t love Jesus.
Not really sure where that came from but it seems appropriate.
Don Corleone: I like to drink wine more than I used to…
Don Corleone: Anyway, I’m drinking more.
Michael: It’s good for you, Pop.
Don Corleone: Ah, I don’t know…
July days that are not oppressively humid or hot are the best of the year here. I spent some extra time in the little MGB yesterday. It was delightful.
A man showed me a 4,000 watt sound system yesterday. It’s not as big as you might think. He claims to have measured it cranking out 130 decibels, which is impressive. One rack, and four three way cabs, hornloaded. The cabs are about twice the size of a refrigerator, maybe a foot shorter. I think with a hand truck and some elbow grease one man could load them in a step van.
What would you do, if you hit the lottery? I would buy peace of mind, whatever it took for that for all my relatives that I care for. A shorter list than you might think. I would pay off all their debts and set them up. Then I would disappear down a rat-hole and never be seen again.
But first. I would hire the man with the sound system above. Or buy it, more likely. Install it with a CD player on repeat. The installation should be hardened so it will be next to impossible to turn it off or disconnect it. Point it at my goofy neighbor and turn it all the way up. Just before midnight, moments before I leave to disappear down a rat-hole forever I would hit play.
I guess it really doesn’t matter much what CD is in the player. But I have an outstanding collection of sound effects CD’s that I used in my studio when I was actively producing commercials. One is every type of gun and war sound imaginable. I should think that would do the trick.
Why would I torture my goofy neighbor? The list is long. Here’s a small sample:
During a party at my place the goof was clearing his property in preparation for building. His technique was to pile all the stuff he cut incessantly with a chain saw, then light it on fire using automobile tires to keep it going.
It stunk, filled the area with acrid black smoke and left an oily black residue on everything.
Party day he was at it big time. I gritted my teeth and put up with it until a flaming tire rolled down my hill, narrowly missed a four year old and landed in my pool.
I marched up the hill with the tire and confronted him with the tire.
His response was: How did I know it was his tire?
Just one in an almost unending series of bad times with this asshole.
There! My head still hurts, my feet are still fragrant and my love for the man on the stick has not increased. But I feel better. Thanks for letting me vent.
The Rant D’Jour is from 2005 and talks about cars, water and subterfuge.
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