Not to use this forum to heap scorn and abuse on those who do things that bother me, but --- wait a tick, that's what this forum is for, isn't it?

So today this idjit spent the whole freakin' afternoon driving up and down my street on this minibike, which was in serious danger of vanishing into his butt crack. He would do a circuit up and down the street, stop in his driveway for a few minutes, then drive up and down again. I can only imagine what happened during those driveway stays:

MINIBIKE MAN: I dunno, Marge... sure seems like it was a lot faster a few years ago. Maybe if I tweak the carb float a bit...
MARGE: Yes, my minibike riding husband, the problem is definitely in the minibike. There is no other factor that may be inhibiting its performance.
MINIBIKE MAN: Uh huh. Pass me some of the fried chicken, doll.
MARGE: Why, I'm sure that if Elvis Presley had ridden that minibike in 1956, then again in 1976, it would travel at exactly the same velocity on both occasions.
MINIBIKE MAN: I'm probably the sort of awful person of who misquotes Elvis Presley lyrics.
MARGE: Or likewise, if "The Wild One" era Marlon Brando and "The Score" era Marlon Brando rode that minibike, the two Brandos wouldn't notice any different in how the minibike performed.
MINIBIKE MAN: You've never caught a rabbit and you aren't a friend of mine.
MARGE: By the way, baby, did you notice the guy down the street with his digital camera?
MINIBIKE MAN: Yes, but I'm sure he had no nefarious purpose in snapping my picture as I rode my minibike up and down the street.
MARGE:Yes, he doesn't seem like the sort who would hold you up to public ridicule.

On the other hand, at least it wasn't one of those motorized scooters with the two-stroke engines that sound like a bunch of insects that make a really annoying noise.

Heavy Man Once Again At Center of Controversy

Weekend tensions were high once again in this small community on the East Bank of the San Francisco Bay. Troubles began last night when the idiot teenager next door had a loud party that went on well past three AM. Commented one neighbour, "I'm amazed nobody called the cops. I mean, am I the crankiest person on the street?" The instability of the situation became evident when I escorted my guest to her car at about one, and noticed that some kid had parked his van so that he was almost blocking my driveway. When asked if it was his van, one kid was heard to say, "Yeah. Sorry. We're leaving right away." However, attention was quickly drawn from the offending van when a red 1967 Mustang pulled up and made three unsuccessful attempts at a brake-stand; the youthful operator of the vehicle was dropping the clutch too fast, analysts said.

After a relatively quiet forty five minutes, violence almost broke out shortly before two AM when some girl from Hayward called another party-goer a "cracker", leading to a loud exchange of profanity, racial epithets, and metaphors involving body parts. It was during this outburst that the local community was compared unfavourably to excrement, whereas Hayward, it was purported, "ruled". The party wound down sometime after three AM, or at least got quiet enough that I could sleep. Observers on the scene earlier today pointed to beer bottles in the gutter in front of my house as evidence that "they got their wang-dang-doodle on last night."

On Sunday afternoon, the peace was shattered again when, shortly before 5 PM, the controversial heavy man with the minibike confronted the local hot-rod guy in front of my house. Details were sketchy at press time, but it is suspected that the heavy man may have asked the hot-rodder to "slow down a bit". It is also possible that they discussed the previous night's party. The confrontation ended peacefully when the minibike guy rode away and put his minibike in his garage.

In the wake of one of the wildest weekends since this neighbourhood was occupied by me some two years ago, passive-voice questions were raised about whether it would've been better to call the cops, just walk over there and tell them to quiet down it's two in the morning ferchrissake, or put up with the racket as long he doesn't make a habit of it. With hopes dim that the idiot teenager and his mother will ever show the slightest bit of consideration, some residents are asking themselves, "Why the hell don't I just bite the bullet and move closer to work?"