by Virginia Beadle in space #17

I've lived here in Tinbox Acres for over 30 years now. I think I've done a real good job of tolerating what all goes on here.

I've seen terrorists, sasquatches, huge exploding fireballs, rocks and other heavy objects raining out of the sky, cop lights twinkling, vehicles splashing into the duckpond, naked screaming speedfreaks being pulled out of the duckpond, garbage trucks rolling by my trailer on two wheels, exploding trailers, a burning gazebo, a tire fire and all kinds of weird shit. It makes me flinchy to even think about looking out my kitchen front window, I tell you.

I've tolerated the most godawful rackets like Viper car alarms and weedeaters and leafblowers and explosions and ass-whoopings, right there outside my trailer. But you know what? I ain't never dealt with no racket like the kind that asshole who just moved in next door to me has been making on a daily basis for the past month.

The asshole in question is this mangy, Napoleonic little shit named Rudy the Skilsaw Freak. Every day that asshole fires up a Skilsaw and fills the neighborhood with this squealy WWWW - EEEEEE - AAAAAAAAA - WWWWW - HHHH racket for at least five solid hours at a stretch. So far, that asshole has Skilsawed enough lumber to build three big doublewides. Furthermore, he sawed it all apart right outside my living room window.  

It's traumatizing Cricket, my precious little Chihuahua dog. That Skilsaw is so loud, Cricket can't even yap at it. All he can manage to do is to droop his ears and tail and slink under the bed and lay there, vibrating catatonically.

Rudy must mangle a lot of that lumber he's been Skilsawing. He's butchered enough lumber to build a whole Senior Citizens center. Rudy takes the pieces that ain't too mangled and beats all that shit together right outside my trailer. He stands out there for hours on end, banging nails into wood pieces.

Cricket and I have had to sit there and listen to this shit for weeks. This is what we hear, all goddamn day long.  BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM OW SHIT MY THUMB! BAM-BAM-BAM. It's enough to drive anyone nuts.

I tried to call the cops on Rudy for noise pollution. The cops said there ain't no law against remodeling your home during daylight hours. There probably ain't no law against doing it at night, neither.

The cops was nice to me and all, that, but they didn't do jackshit to solve the noise problem. They even unstuck the lid from my bottle of nerve medicine, but they couldn't haul that racketmaking knucklefuck away. The cops didn't even give him a ticket.

Since the law couldn't help me, I decided to help myself.

I've had a old wrist rocket for decades, and my deceased husband had left a big old jar of ball bearings out in the toolshed. I got me a handful of them ball bearings and grabbed the wrist rocket. Then I set down next to the living room window facing Rudy's place.

When that noise-polluting asshole was all bent over his Skilsaw with his ass pointing right at me, I loaded a ball bearing into the pouch on the wrist rocket. Then I braced my arm on the window sill, pulled the pouch back to my ear, aimed at Rudy's ass, and leggo.

Rudy fell to the ground like a sissy. It was hard to group my shots with him rolling on the ground and screeching and squawking like that.  But I still managed to land a whole bunch of ball bearings in a bunch. I just saw him as a rolling, hollering, moving target. Just to even him out good, I also landed a bunch of ball bearings on his left buttcheek.

Rudy didn't quit rolling and screaming until the cops showed up. He had to quit screaming then, so's he could give a statement. The cops helped Rudy to his feet. He hobbled into the trailer with his buttcheeks tucked just as far in and underneath of him as they would go.

Neither Rudy nor the cops could figure out what happened to Rudy's ass. Everyone just figured a big swarm of no-see-ums must have swooped down out of the sky and stung the shit out of him or something.

Well, the wrist rocket attack did the trick. Rudy's currently horizontal on his couch, 'cause his ass is still WAY too sore for him to be standing around on it. A body can't go Skilsawing wood and beating it all together laying down, you know.

Cricket and I are just going to relax and enjoy all this peace and quiet together for the time being.  Hopefully, there won't be no more Skilsawing and hammering right outside my trailer ever again.

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