Tuesday, February 17, 2009

You Sir, Are a Douche Bag


I am actually lucky. I have pretty decent neighbors. But we all have one. One neighbor who drives you a little crazy. Let's call him Bob. Bob is handy to have around at times. He has every tool imaginable, and anytime you come by he offers you a beer. Bob can be tough to live next to though.

He's a talker for one thing. He will talk your ear off. If he sees you outside, you are committing to a long ass convo. I have resorted to hiding until he leaves the house, or pretending I didn't see him if I go out to get the mail. I live in fear of getting into a "chat" with my neighbor.

Bob loves dogs. I have a dog, Bob has 5 dogs. Four of them are the irritating little yapping mother fucking dogs. It sounds like a baby is being eaten alive by hyenas when they get going. They yap all day and all night. It gets so bad sometimes that it wigs my dog out, and HE starts barking. (blood pressure rising just thinking of it)

That's petty compared to what really pissed me off about Bob.

Before I stroke out completely though, here is a bad ass track by Woodhands. This is an indie electronic band that is blowing my mind right now. Named because of the organic feel they produce electronically. They are playing as I write this, and I keep restarting the song Under Attack which kinda ties into how I feel about Bob. Well...the title does.


[Woodhands - Under Attack]

Bob tells me that he's gonna just give his house back to the bank since he's got another house in another part of town. Awesome dude. Fuck off. You realize you hurt everyone else in the neighborhood with that move? Man up and stick it out. You promised to pay your loan. Now pay up. It's not easy for anyone right now. I'm not fucking running away. YET. The problem is that the more people bail on their houses the more the banks have to short sale these fucking houses to try and recoup on their losses, which means they will sell the house for a fraction of its value. Thus, reducing the value of my fucking home, even though I still gotta pay my mortgage. Asshole. I hope your yapper dogs eat your face.



Well...I guess we all gotta do what we gotta do, but I would rather he disappeared without a clue...because knowing that he bailed just makes me angry. The worst part about this is that I will suffer through all this economic bullshit with nothing to show for it. There will be no benefits or special rewards for people who were not fucking over the banks. (Though they deserve to be fucked over) It will be business as usual. I wonder if credit scores will at least have a special caluclation for people who didn't run from thier fudiciary obligations. I doubt it, but it helps me sleep.

Bob, i hope one of those tiny ass dogs trips you while walking down the stairs and you bust your gigantic head open.

Thanks for letting me rant. Now that the rant is over...I got another song that almost fits here. It's called Fire Like Tinder by the group Post War Years. Which is what I hope I will call the years we are not in a war with Iraq and in a horrible recession that is choking the life out of this country. Maybe in those post war years I can look back fondly on my neighbor Bob.


[Post War Years - Flames Like Tinder]

Although, I doubt it.

Here is a little blurb from Post War Years' press release, since I think my chest hurts too much to type much more:

Their danceable, other-worldly synth-beat driven sound as been celebrated in clubs and basements up and down the country honing their unquestionably skilful musicianship on the live scene.


By the way, Post War Years is on tour. Check out these dates, and go see them if you can:

25 Feb - London Lexington*
26 Feb - Brighton Audio*
27 Feb - Leamington Spa Assembly*
28 Feb - Leeds Cockpit 3*
1 Mar - Glasgow King Tuts*
7 Mar - Be at Proud Galleries London
* With James Yuill and Wave Machines

and...don't forget to buy Woodhands:

No comments: