I purchased an air horn. It's for the local assholes that leave the bars at the foot of my street every Saturday night. As they would tramp mallemaroking below my apartment, screaming epithets and singing Mr. Big songs at the top of their lungs. I'd blast a sharp warning from my balcony like a noctural, noise-hating Eva Peron.
Presumably the motherfuckers would raise their chins to scan the darkness for the source of the ear-piercing honk. That, of course, is when I would position my Mauser M-98 star-barreled rifle accordingly and unleash into the foreheads of one or more of these inebriated assholes.
But I don't own a sniper rifle. And truth be told, I don't have the guts to blast high-decibel cans of aerosol into the night sky, even as a semi-potent gesture of aggression. (Hell, even as an impotent gesture of passive-aggression.) I can only fantasize about enacting a sudden and bloody end to a soused warbling of "To Be With You".
I shall stick with the air horn. Unfired and waiting. I'm tired.
0 comments:
Post a Comment
Like, you know, whatever.