I moved away from Downtown LBC to Bluff Heights to get away from people like you. Who knew that all the noise, trash and drunkenness would follow me here? I did not know that your parents moved you into their $800,000 second home just to get you out of their house, or that you feel such a sense of rich-boy entitlement that no type of drunken tomfoolery seems out of the question: Loud music at 2 a.m. on weeknights, rapping contests and boxing matches to cheering crowds in your living room, mural painting in your back yard that fills the lungs of the kids living next door with aerosol paint, or yelling, “Fuck you, neighbors! You're bitches!!” at 3 a.m. this Saturday after the police had been to your house three times, arresting one of your “homies,” and chasing you out into the alley with the rest of your rich, white-trash, wigga freinds. But now, after two letters to my council person, calls to the City Noise Officer (there is such a thing), posting the City Noise Ordinance on your front door Martin Luther-style and many, many calls to the cops, all of your neighbors are fed up to the point that we have all agreed to keep calling LBPD every night until you SHUT THE FUCK UP or are carted off in a black-and-white. We'll see if Mommy and Daddy buy you the nicest cell in jail.
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