Weapons of Jazz Destruction

As you might have guessed from my previous posts, I live in a neighborhood full of douchebags and assholes. Unfortunately for them, I am well versed in the ways of the asshole. Okay, that sentence came out kind of wrong. Let me try again.

Unfortunately for the assholes in my neighborhood, I am well versed in the art of retaliatory douchebaggery. Score.

This afternoon, my next-door-neighbor got his hands on a trumpet. He is not a musician. As soon as I arrived home from work, I was greeted by the sound of my neighbor ceaselessly playing the same stoccato note out of his window: G-G-G-G-G-G-G. I was not impressed. The only person who could ever pull off a one-note song is Jack Black. In a pinch, I would accept a two-note song by Wakko Warner. After listening to this single-note trumpet solo for a solid half hour, it became clear to me that my neighbor wasn’t attempting to do anything constructive, and that he was perfectly content with making noise for the sake of noise. Needless to say, this was infuriating. I was tempted at first to stick my head out the window and shout something boring, yet direct, like “shut the fuck up!” But I mulled it over for a minute, and came up with a better plan instead.

So I grabbed my trusty Panasonic RX-DS620 stereo system, faced it outwards on my bedroom windowsill like a college frat boy, turned up the volume to max, and blasted the most raucous bebop jazz track that I own on disc: “Leap Frog” by Dizzie Gillespie and Charlie Parker.

I never knew there was such a thing in this world as a retaliatory jazz song, but there you have it. I know, I’m a petty guy, but sometimes you have to stoop low when you get tired of being pushed around. I don’t have a problem with people trying to learn a new instrument, but I do have a problem with idiots who think it’s cute to play the same note for an hour like a lonely alarm clock sounding off while nobody is home.

My ears were pulsing once the song was over, and it took me a moment to adjust before I could hear again. After a few cautious seconds of listening and waiting, I was satisfied. The music had stopped.

Forgive me for tooting my own horn (pun intended), but that was the most gangsta shit ever. That’s how you play a horn, asshole.