The neighbor’s kids are playing the ukulele. At night. And singing loudly. And badly. It’s annoying, but what’s more it’s really, really embarrassing. I hate being embarrassed on someone else’s behalf. It makes me want to hang my head in shame. It might not be so bad if they weren’t so earnest about it. “Now let’s try with just one voice. Now let’s harmonize.” Bitches, your off-key asses sound like a cat fucking a goat in the back of a garbage truck. Harmonizing, simply, is one person singing a third above or a third below the other. It’s a little beyond you right now. “Let’s sound less like a dying raccoon being beaten with a wooden spoon,” or “Let’s not bother everyone with our atrocious caterwauling,” are more attainable goals.
The concerts begin around ten and end when neighbors start yelling at them to shut the fuck up around eleven. This has been happening the last three week nights.
I’m strongly considering sending an anonymous postcard letting these kids know they suck and that they should consider sucking inside from now on. Why anonymous? I won’t lie: my neighbors all scare me. I live in a place with a lot of gunfire, pit bulls, babies running around in just diapers with no other clothes, and ladies with robes and pajamas on no matter what time of day it is. It’s rough out here for a Seer.
Seer, The Dream Crusher. That’s messed up. Telling them they suck. They really do, though.
Part of me is just envious I have to work. I wish I could dick around all night no problem. Instead I dick around and am late for work.
Lest you think I hate all ukulele, here is some excellent playing of the four-string.