Nothing says, “How ya doin’ neighbor?” better than calling the cops on them.
I’m a regular Wilson from “Home Improvement.”
Here’s what my neighborhood looks like:
We could hear this plain as day, because the sound was coming straight down the street at 770 miles per hour.
Similar to the speed in which Pauly Shore’s career has crashed.
After listening to this shit for about 20 minutes with no sign of it stopping…
…we promptly called the cops.
We told them that there was a teenage party going on…and they were making a ton of noise…
…and I wanted to get to sleep because my f*cking children would no doubt have me awake at 6 a.m. because – deep down – I believe they are the devil.
The cops came, things quieted down, and I promptly fell asleep.
Until 6 a.m. when Beezlebub #1 and #2 woke me the f*ck up.
There, we met Mike.
Mike lives in that party house.
Mike is approximately 102 years old.
Mike: “…and then…man…we should have another Karaoke party.”
Me: “Um..a..karaoke party?”
Mike: “Oh, it was awesome. Everyone was there – we didn’t know you at the time, or we would have invited you over.”
Tom (Mike’s neighbor): “Yeah…it was awesome until someone called the cops. Can you believe that, Rod? Someone called the cops on us.”
Me: “Huh. WHAT JERKS!!“
You’re looking at them.
Way to integrate with the neighborhood, jackass.
Between this and this…it’s no wonder why we don’t get invited to shit.
It’s either that…
…or these bags under my eyes are scaring the shit out of people.