WOW

C'mon now. Give me a break man. Relax already, will ya? Open up and swallow the world's largest and most lethal chill pill. I get the hint - you've got some seriously unmanageable, possibly psychotic problems when dealing with life. Actually, instead of wasting everyone's time with the world's most obvious diagnosis, how about you just altogether leave because you obviously can't just altogether leave me alone? That's right, you are leaving, but the end of the month cannot, I repeat cannot come fast enough. This year, trick or treatin' isn't the only thing I'll be doing come October 31st. When you finally exit the premises I'll be celebrating like its New Years Eve on my birthday. Ghosts, devils and witches won't be the only creatures I'll be jeering and cheering for on this upcoming All Hallows Eve. I'll be fist pumpin’, high fivin’ and nah nah nah nahin’ all night long in celebration of your long awaited and even more overdue departure into the netherworld. No more barking, just Jeff yelling loudly at the television. The only complaining about nothing will be of my own creation. I will not be forced to listen to your one and only mixed cd blaring through my walls into my unimpressed face. Sure everyone loves Creed, The Black Eyed Peas, and Hotel California, but… "Yeah man, your speakers sound awesome." No more gross coughing, fat creaking and ignorant yelling at poor innocent dogs. Nope. I'm a free man. Free to do what I want to do, in my own apartment which I pay for. Which at this point is pretty simple - to be away from you. Forever. And Ever. Nothing. That's all you had to do and everything would have be fine and dandy. Like butterscotch ice cream with chocolate cherries on top. But no, since you do nothing at all times, it is only natural for one who does nothing to eventually concede to the nothingness of one's own non-life and create something out of nothing. Like a useless and greasy shit sandwich. Or an oracle. Or an overweight magician with an overweight assistant. Though, I must admit, the assistant has been relatively nice to me – and me to her. See how it works? I won't have to pretend to like you (the magician) and you won't have to pretend to like me (the awkward sole audience member at the world’s shittiest magic show). Though, to be fair, I only do it because I'm a mostly civil and courteous normal neighbour with enough friends who happens to live in a triplex. Beside a magician who, on the other hand, pretends to be nice to me so as to use it against me at a later period of time when he‘s more bored than usual, pissed off at something else totally irrelevant to me or fuming over the most minor and stupid of things. Problems that any other normal person would have thought about for five seconds with their functioning and rational brain, and realized that it’s actually nothing at all. (eg. the pop can and wind incident, baseball break cheap plastic light confrontation, speed of the bus and the punctuality of the garbage and mail man). Huh? Who worries about the arrival and departure of junk mail and trash? Oh yeah, the guy who never leaves his house unless he's feuding with his irresponsible and inconsiderate neighbours and can't handle the emotional stress his sometimes bizarre but always uneasy actions have caused him. “Watch out for that bus!” Damn something out of nothing got me again. If I would have known otherwise I would have said no to your generous but loaded offers though, “Thanks for the wine and pie, it was good. So was the fish too." I didn’t know I was secretly signing up for a backhand from a blindsided shit storm. I know I might sound bitter, mean and perhaps just as much a complaining baby as the oracle next door, but it seems David Copperfield saved his finest yet most fake illusion for last. Damn slight of hand got me again. I probably wouldn’t have even thought of writing this if not for last Saturday’s elaborate, unnecessary and not enjoyable performance. I came home Saturday night from a night downtown. I had had some drinks. Played a few games. Listened to a cool band. Downed a Jager bomb. Saw two people from high school. Danced like a goof. Had a good time. You know, the stuff people who like to have fun with their friends sometimes do on a Saturday night. Sure my friend and I came home around 2:30, sure we probably were a little happier and excited than normal, sure we started singing a song we made up about Jeff's oldest brother a little too loudly. Sure. But, we were happy. Happy with drink, funny songs and good times, but nothing too serious – I assure you. Two dudes at the end of a long day and night in an apartment with cinder block walls, no stereo and a small TV on a TV stand on a TV table cannot be that loud – I assure you. BANG! BANG! BANG! Walking towards the door and probably laughing and feeling good, I expected it to be Jeff. It wasn’t. “Could you quiet down because we’re trying to sleep?” Sure, I replied quickly and sincerely to the pissed off and awoken and menacing obese magician. So we stopped singing because we honestly didn’t realize not only how loud we were, how late it was or what we were even singing about and like I mentioned before, I really am a mostly decent and considerate person. So, NHL 10 seemed like a plausible replacement for the guitar and singing. Deal. No goals, one period and two sore thumbs later the banging returned. A little louder and more authoritative than last time. Walking towards the door and probably quietly chuckling and feeling pretty decent, I wanted it to be Jeff. But expected the magic man. Nope. This was one trick that not even that backstabbing masked magician on Fox could reveal. “Hello, yeah, we got a noise complaint,” said the closer of the two cops at the doorway. “What’s going on in here?” he said, scanning the unbearable chaos that was my friend and I playing video games. Somewhat shocked but not really surprised I pointed to the tall television and and the game on the screen, “We're playing NHL 10.” Totally believing me and in an understanding and friendly voice, the cop looked inside and nodded his head, either in satisfaction with my answer or frustration with his time being wasted. Probably a little of both. “I have to say, we didn’t hear anything as we walked up, but we got a complaint so we had to come," said my new cop buddy. “It’s the neighbour. He’s a goof,” said my now up and involved friend with first hand knowledge, a buzz and a warranted bone to pick. “Well, he complained of noise, but it’s obviously just you two playing video games, so have a good night.” Wow. That’s why I wrote this. That’s why I can’t wait until they’re gone and that’s why my friend and other neighbour went back to his apartment and pointed his speakers towards the magician’s apartment, pumped the bass and blared the same song three times in a row. Wow.