I.B.S. on a Sunday afternoon

It's 5PM on Sunday.  My neighbor has been using his fucking power washer now for 4 hours straight.  He finished the lawn and the edging earlier.  And the power blower.  All of course with gas-powered equipment which means you get little bits of shit and dirt and grass And the noxious gas exhaust fumes over the fence with prevailing breezes.  Yes, those same breezes I was looking forward to enjoying on my deck, catching up on the week's reading, maybe a snooze. I missed the earlier part of "Yard-and-Building Maintenance Bonanza"  while we were at church.  That's the other thing.  Goddam if we didn't make it to church today to get all prayed-up and forgiven and shit (hoping it would last for awhile), than we get home and within two fucking minutes I'm blaspheming and all sinned-up again.  Way to help me out, neighbor.

Geezus H. fucking Christ!  I suppose folks in say, southern California are used to this cacophony of ear drum assault on Sundays, but this is the Northwest for Pete's sake.  (Who the fuck is Pete anyway, and why is it always for HIS sake?).  I'm on my 2nd round of Excedrin now to quell my I.B.S.  (Irritated Brain syndrome)

So my neighbor has now power washed every bleeding square fucking inch of all that he owns, mobile and stationary.  I swear to god.  I think he's working on the croquet mallets next.  Why in god's name do you have to wash a fucking tree?  Well, there you go with the NW thing I guess.  Moss.  If the guy climbs up on his roof next I'm going to consider a Capital Offense.  I mean my whole yard and house are rumbling with this goddamn machine right on the other side of the fence (which WE bought, thank you.  "Hey Greg, would you like to share the cost on this fence?  It is for our mutual benefit.  Naw, that's ok.  If you want to build it go right ahead.  can you do it from just your side?")  Well, fuck you, Jim.  I guess that started my I.B. S. awhile back.

I think I'm going over to Lowe's and look for the noisiest goddam machine I can find that will run on its own for about 8 hours without refueling, wait until maintenance-boy has his annual 4th of July yard picnic with his drunken relatives and their brats, fire the sucker up and have my band practice in the yard.  Next to MY fence.