I love dogs – I don’t love barking dogs.
Let me explain:
I live in a rear apartment in the East Village, which is normally very quiet. When I moved into the building over a decade ago, the neighborhood was home to a strong bohemian culture. However, since the Nazi-enforced Giuliani clean-up program, rich Connecticut cunts and Jersey jack-offs in True Religion jeans and Balanciaga handbags have moved in.
I mean, they walk around the neighborhood as if they own it.
Sadly, in reality, they do.
Over the past few years, these “bought-and-paid-for” fashionistas have bought up many of the smaller buildings and turned them into grand homes with suburban decks complete with hot tubs and bikini-clad girls.
One such uptown turned downtown dork spent months noisily constructing a three-season porch, which he uses for loud parties in the summer. OK, I can deal with that. Never mind that this noise travels upwards and affects hundreds of people in the hundreds of apartments surrounding his three-season porch.
Recently, this asshole purchased two large dogs that bark nonstop in his backyard. The surrounding neighbors have screamed from their windows etc…to no avail – and yes, while we are on the topic, the rich do think they are better.
After much thought and barking nights, I decided to take a page from a Seinfeld script.
I wrote a note to the asshole and explained that the barking dogs were disturbing – I then explained in great detail that I could easily throw a raw hamburger ball laced with rat poison into his backyard.
Yes, sometimes you have to be an asshole to fight an asshole.
PS – It’s been quiet ever since.