First of all, I had no idea other people lived around me. I thought those other fifteen doors were storage units.
Second, this is a bit of an exaggeration. I only play music, like SIX nights a week, and only until about four thirty or so. Not ALL night. Don’t they even have clocks?
Third, how could it be nonstop? There’s silence in between the songs.
Fourth, I don’t even HAVE a bass. I used to have a BC Rich Warlock a long time ago, but I sold it because I needed to pay rent and besides, Kiss already had a bassist.
Fifth, HELLO!
And finally, it’s just too bad they had to write a note in the first place. I moved into this place a year and a half ago and this is the first anyone’s said anything to me about music. In fact, when I moved in I talked to several of my neighbors and told them that if it EVER bothered them that they shouldn’t hesitate to say something. No one’s said a word. Not that I expect them to, I suppose. It’s human nature for us to say, “It doesn’t bother me at all,” and then gnash and fume about it in the darkness of our bedrooms later.
I guess my thing is that if it’s gotten to the point where they feel they have to say something, then they should just knock on my door and say it. What do they think I’m going to do, start frothing at the mouth and call down the screaming hordes of Satan upon their heads?
Fine, fine. Chill out, all. I’ve obviously discovered your boundaries. I’ll pull my troops back. Tell ’em to stand down. And give them all headphones.
. . .
Anyone got a house in the hills they want to rent me?
