Jebus once told us to love our neighbours. He actually said, ‘Love your neighbour as yourself’. Isn’t that coveting something? It doesn’t make a great deal of sense. Like the works of Shakespeare, I think it’s the language. I think there’s a word or two missing. Did they have verbs in the olden days?
Did He have a point? Why must we love our neighbours except out of courteousness and friendliness? Isn’t life about individuality? The second they piss me off, it’s war, baby. Some people live to cause misery to others. It’s the others job to get vengeance. Now, vengeance could be ignorance, love, hate, peace, attrition, or a good old-fashioned hippy flower protest. Because I live with my parents, they don’t usually care what I think. I would gladly start with a war of attrition and then go all out, full scale horror show. My parents, however, like blissful ignorance. This just exacerbates the problem, so I advise against it.
Take our first neighbours. There was a single mother with around six children. From when I was only a wee baby, they played their music as loud as humanly possible. They had three parties a week. I was frequently awoken by sex noises and, this is true, spanking. That’s how loud they were. They were yobs. Drunken, horny, drug taking, lunatics. We told them to stop, so they upped-the-ante. This escalated until the mother died. It was lovely and quiet for a few weeks. Then it started again, rowdier than ever. We eventually called the police. They said they had broken no laws and they were powerless to help.
So we moved. After 23 years in that house, we had no choice. I wasn’t happy. I liked living there. We moved to a nice, quiet, new housing estate. One year later, it was full of families of very young children. Nobody my age within at least a 30-minute walk. Those kids scream constantly. Swear at me. Throw snowballs at me and at the house when it snows. Play in our front garden. We don’t give them their ball back when it goes in our back garden, so they break the gate down or jump over the fence. In the summer, they have illegal, spontaneous street parties until three in the morn. Also in the summer, they turn their car stereos up and camp out on the street like The Beverly Hillbillies. A few of them are wonderful, very old-fashioned, proper nuclear families. Lovely children. Nice manners. But many of them are complete dicks, and I don’t care if they are children, they need to behave.
Love your neighbour? Bah, humbug. They suck.
The Friday Bonus Question:
Plucked from the basement of the internet, a bewildering real question that defies logic and an answer, here for you to ponder:
How do you get spaghetti stains out of underwear?
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