What You Are Laughing At

Neighbor in Building E,

No, no, you go back to sleep. That is, if you ever startled awake at the sound of your car alarm.

Ever.

It sounds like a good one. It's one of those fancy 6-sounders, with the full spectrum of schizophrenia-inducing alarms. The "WOOP," the "EEE-AAAH," the siren, the "AYNK, AYNK," and then, my favorite, the "Sounds like a brick through the passenger's window." That was my customization.

I know you are protecting your investment in the 1995-9 BMW M3. As well you should. Apparently this is the kind of apartment complex where a car must be alarmed so that you know when somebody drives near it or happens to lean too far over their balcony railing to find out what in holy Iowa is making so much noise. Good thing you've got it tuned to go off at the slightest rumble. Some day we can use it to detect a forthcoming earthquake... or even a fart!

How is it that your alarm wakes me up, yet rocks you to slumber as though cradled moistly in your mother's gin-swirling womb? Now I know which car is surely unattended-to. Never once have I seen you rocket from the bedroom, which I can only imagine holds the finest black, shiny dresser with gold hardware that can be purchased with weed money by a now-imprisoned older brother, and like, major stacks of Maxim.

Many times in my life, I drop into slumber with an unanswered question. If the solution has not appeared in my dreams, I know I must go forth and find that answer on my own. And from that question sprung forth a mighty answer, which came to me not in a dream, but as I squatted on the hood of your car, Kenmore Gazette in hand. Yes, your car will indeed register a deuce dropped from greater than 24-inches.

My, that's some fine machinery.

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