My neighbours are complaining that my music is too loud. They don’t like my favourite song, “F**k Everybody”, played when I wake up in the early hours of the morning. The thing is, I’ve been thinking that I’ve been listening to my tunes with headphones on. But, and it’s a big but, my headphones haven’t been plugged in.
I’ve been sat there, at daft ‘o’ clock, blasting hellish symphonies out into the residencies, believing I was in private enjoyment. In reality, the headset was muffling my interpretation of the speakers’ thundering decibels.
I’m surprised the police didn’t turn up.
Maybe the neighbours were terrified of ringing the 50, because I’d warned them, the previous week, when singing thru their letterbox after half a litre of Jim Beam, and I quote, # “If you even think about phoning the busies I’ll burn your children alive and eat their barbecued remains in front of you.” #
I was having a bad day at the time. I mean morning. Early
morning.
They actually wrote me a letter of complaint. I didn’t read it, but I have framed it and hung it on the wall. He has beautiful handwriting, Joe does. He signs his name with a pentagram drawn after his name, in red biro pen.
unfinished
