THE GREAT GADFLY:

The Sultry Stench of Asshole (or, When Dingleberries Attack)

Oh, my neighbor.

Oh, my Maxim subscribing, Frank Sinatra and Hagar-era Van Halen blasting, opera yodelling, Sopranos watching, baseball cap wearing, non-stop at the top of his lungs into a cellphone screaming, PlayStation blaring, and now CIGAR SMOKING, uber-hyper Midwestern Heterosexual White Male frat boy gladiator of a neighbor.

I tried to burn incense to drown out the cigar stank. Unfortunately, I think I accidentally burned a stick of "flaming poop in a bag" fragrance that I picked out by mistake at the hippie shop. That, or it's a special burning cigar scented incense that was slipped into my stink stick assortment as a cruel karmic prank.

Now my home smells like sauteed ass. This is the complete opposite of aromatherapy. This is aromabuse.

Now I think my neighbor is watching what sounds to be "Soylent Green" at top volume. No, it couldn't be "Soylent Green" because that mook fattie Steven Seagal hasn't done a remake that would appeal to Mr. Mouthbreather Downstairs.

Until this country's stupid, lazy politicians finally get it right and there's finally some kind of useful law against people who deliberately get on my nerves, I'll just have to put a towel against the door, strap on the headphones, and hope for the best up in the hellish hizzle.

If I had the money, I would fly him to Germany so Michael damn Jackson could drape a hot towel on his fat head and dangle him off a fuckin' rooftop.

bleargh