Fuckers
While I harbor no real anger or resentment towards my amorous neighbours, they do grow tiresome. As I said before, I can't fault them for enjoying themselves -- and each other -- but they do insist on leaving the window open whilst vociferously fucking.
My downstairs neighbour, not often persuaded to stir from a tetrahydrocannabinol-induced stupor, was even moved one night to take them to task for this. Sadly, they persist with their tragic preference for open-air performances.
Quite apart from my neighbours' sensitivities, I am increasingly distressed that my evening's entertainment -- whether re-reading Patrick O'Brian's historical novels (hence the tone of these first few paragraphs, a feeble attempt at S. Maturin's voice), catching up on TV with Hulu, or happily stuffing my face with pizza among friends -- is so often accompanied by this grunting, unappealing soundtrack.
While they seem to have dispensed with each other's genitals for the evening, I have decided to make my opinion known at their next concert. I have yet to fix upon the specific form of rebuke, but it will at all events be delivered through these:
What you see there is the window closest to and facing the offending couple, along with a pair of satellite speakers from a Klipsch ProMedia v.2-400 PC speaker system, and part of a chair.
Let me be clear: the chair is not important.
This sound system delivers 400 Watts (RMS) of crisp, pure audio. I readily admit that number means nothing to me, nor anyone else without an engineering degree, but perhaps some anecdotal evidence will help:
When I first purchased said speakers several years ago, I tested them by turning the volume up to 50% and playing a song.
After wiping the blood from my eyes, nose, and ears, and calling a glazier to have my windows replaced, I turned the dial down a bit.
I believe the normal approach when dealing with simpletons is to repeat instructions loudly and clearly until the point sinks in, so I might try that.
Odd. I feel like I've had this problem before.