The rat bastard playing loud music down the road from me must be silenced!

 

If I can hear the sound of the bass, the drums, the guitar, the lyrics and everything else several houses down, what is it like for the occupants of the residence where the music is playing?

I for one have never truly understood where playing music as loud as friggin’ possible ever managed to be described as ‘enjoyable’.

Having your eardrums blown in by music that is been performed by a band playing some brute European deranged rock song is not my idea of a good time, but who am I to judge the deluded, deranged lunatics down the road from me who get off on it? Whatever rocks your boat I say, I would just rather prefer not to hear it over where I am.

The second issue, apart from the noise, which is bad enough, is the time. The music starts at approximately 9:30 at night, and then proceeds to continue until 2 in the damn morning.

Now, calling the cops about this is like calling the man who runs the ice cream van and telling him the exact same thing; some arsehole’s idea of a good time is playing music louder than any sound that has ever been recorded. On top of this, calling the local council about this is as productive as calling the cops, which already illustrated, is pretty friggin’ useless.

Of course, you could always try communicating with the guy playing the music, who takes your attempt to calmly deescalate the situation as an act of war because not only is he a few tiles short of a roof, but he can’t even speak a word of English so you might as well go beat your head up against a wall cuz if you stand there any longer your head will certainly look just about as terrible.

Of course, this leads me back to the title of this post; the rat bastard must be silenced. First off, why rat bastard? Well, because he is a rat. No, he didn’t inform on anyone to the cops – remember, he’s no good with speaking the Eng, so he’s informing skills will be about as useful as his ability to play music at regular room volume. By rat, I mean, he really is a rat. He has tiny black rat eyes, a little nose with whiskers protruding out from the sides, has a pink tail sticking out from the arse end of his body and is additionally covered in a gargantuan layer of hair. Okay, maybe it ain’t such an in-depth comparison, but there certainly is a similarity.

Now, let’s access that word ‘silenced’. I’m not saying that something untoward needs to happen to him – I’m saying that something untoward absolutely must happen to his sound system – it has to be silenced; muted; permanently.

The question would ultimately be how to successfully do so – hypothetically speaking of course.

As previously mentioned, any legal means would ultimately be unsuccessful, which would perhaps leave the illegal, or as some may call it, the desperate means. Basically, I would need to gain entry to the residence, temporarily gain access to the sound system – then grab hold of it and run out of there faster that Road Runner been pursued by Coyote.

I guess it would come down to how many people were at the ‘event’ in question, and, on top of that, how many people were inclined to have the music system there.  Surrounded by a bunch of angry, drunken music loving freaks who came for the songs would be somewhat unimpressed in my view by a certain handsome, intelligent, amazing, quick witted, humorous, fun loving individual stealing their reason for been there.

I could additionally take a sledge hammer to the sound system – that would put both it and me out of our misery, for I cannot imagine that it enjoys having terrible music pumping out from its mouth. The question would be how to get there – a person walking about a party scene with a weapon of mass construction would stand out like legs on a rattlesnake at an event of this proportion – unless there a builder theme to the occasion – then nobody will question me.

Or I could take a pair of scissors and chop the cable – but this issue can be easily amended to some extent or another – unless the cable is fed into the sound system rather than been an attachment which can be connected to the arse end of the device.

Decisions, decisions. Oh, maybe it’s all too hard. How many parties can these people have in a week? Quite a few it would seem. This would make me wonder what the hell they are celebrating? The fact that they are alive? Come on! What happened to the days when a party was just that – an occasion to celebrate the birthday of an individual. Now…well, wish me luck, in any event. Desperation makes people do crazy things and I fear I may be on the verge of doing something really out there. Now, where did I put that sledgehammer?

Talk is Cheap, but Silence is Golden

 

Why must we talk at breakfast, lunch and dinner with our families?

Who stated this had to happen?

Where did it all start?

Who can we blame?

Well, no offence, but this is the American’s doing. Yep, Americans and their drama serials, soaps and sitcoms, where the happy, stereotypical American family is portrayed as sitting around the dinner table and communicating to one another about their day.

Now, before you start sending in your hate mail allow me to state that the Americans have done a lot for us over the years. However, I do not think sitting around the table and talking to your family about your day and incorporating this ideology into a TV show and basically telling the entire world ‘you are not a good family if you don’t do this’ would be one of the many good things they have done for the world. No, not at all. In my view, it is a very, very bad thing.

Now, I will admit that at the moment not having a partner to share my life with can perhaps be a bit lonely. I wake up alone. I go to bed alone. I go to work alone. I go to university alone. I have breakfast for one, lunch for one, dinner for one and wine for seven.

I’m joking about that last part…or am I?

But at the end of the day the benefit (if you could call this a benefit) is that I don’t need to talk to anyone and I can enjoy a blissful silence with myself and my food. The day my food starts talking to me is not only a day I can officially wait for, but the day I send myself to a nice little place with rubber rooms and men in white suits.

When I ever eat with my family, it’s a completely different story. All three meals of the day if I happen to be present for them go something like this. ‘Chew, bla, bla, bla, chew, bla, bla, bla, chew, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla, chew’, and it just gradually gets worse from there.

As you can probably tell by now, I’m not exactly known for my socialising skills, especially when they happen to involve a dinner table. The issue I have, and I don’t know if anyone else has this problem, is that I like to taste my food. I like to enjoy my food. I like to be satisfied with my food. And I cannot eat, nor enjoy, nor be satisfied with my food when I am engaged in a conversation.

Maybe I’m a few tiles short of a roof, but I can’t seem to concentrate on doing two things at once when I am engaged in filling my body with the necessary requirements to keep me self alive for an extra few hours.

I guess anyone reading this might be looking for a point or a punch line to this whole post…I just don’t see the point why we as a species have been taught that we simply must fill our eating experiences with dialogue.

In documentary’s, I am yet to see one where two lions are gorging down the carcass of a zebra and one lion turns the other and says ‘so honey, how was your day?’ Of course, to the human ears it might sound a bit more like ‘roar, grrr, arr, roar, roar, meow’, but still, they don’t do that either.

Now, I am not saying that everyone should just shut up and eat. I can allow for some minor conversation. But I don’t see why the beginning, the middle and the end of the dinner and everything in-between must be flooded with continued conversation.

Can we not allow for a bit of silence? A bit like what Uma Thurman insinuated to John Travolta in Pulp Fiction – you know when you have found the perfect person to spend your life with when you can simply sit back and enjoy an uncomfortable silence with them.

So why that ideology cannot be spread by American television rather than this talk at the table every morning, noon and night garbage is beyond me.

If anyone reads this wishes to make a comment and say whether they like conversing a lot at dinner or believe that a little bit of silence every once in a while is golden, I would be quite appreciative to know what the people of the world think.

Thank you for reading,

Naughty Nefarious, signing off!