I woke up this morning to a muffled crash from above. If you've ever been to my apartment, then you are well aware that that crashes on my ceiling both muffled and un are regular occurrences.
These are the loudest people alive. I'm not one to complain about noise -- I have seen my share of very late night noise violations involving rivers of Keystone Light, lewd nursery rhymes chanted at high decibel level, cheers for quarters splashing into pitchers of beer, and cock fight style pinata beatings. (The poor horse never had a chance). But really, these people are the loudest people ever birthed on this planet. This, and my hearing has been severely incapacitated due to four years of spending the better half of my days encircled by 4 discs of crashing metal and 15 high frequency screeching expensive sticks. I can't imagine what these people sound like to a normal person.
Upon stealthy reconnaissance, I have found that the noisy neighbors are anti Huey Lewis and the News Russian twin sisters in their mid-60s and one of their missing-link-loser-God's-gift-to-democratic-society sons.
I know, right?
I don't know exactly how these women have the ability to make so much noise, but I have narrowed it down:
1. They're the nerve center of the notorious Davis based Russian mafia. This would explain the occasional beating as I'm trying to have a quiet Sunday afternoon on the couch with Regina George and the rest of her Plastics.
2. They're training for the 2012 Olympics as members of the Russian Jumping Jacks Team. This would explain the repeated jumping sounds above my kitchen, which I can't imagine are anything other than jumping jacks.
3. They're cloning Cosbys, which explains the stench of Borsch, and the handles of Popov in the recycling. (Cosby #83 is Russian Cuisine Cosby, while Cosby #45 is Alcoholic Cosby). (Duh).
4. They're hiding a very angry and restless Osama Bin Laden. I don't know...I can't understand what they're saying up there, it could be Russian, it could just as well be Talibanese.
5. They've got a UFC ring up there.
6. Their apartment is serving as a safe zone for war torn exiled Soviet commies suffering post traumatic stress disorder. The flashbacks explain the creaks in the mid morning, the screams of terror in midnight hour, and the sound of bodies hitting the wall at any given minute.
I have determined that the above are the only possibilities for the Shchi Sisters outrageous noise habits.
I would call the cops, but I don't think that the witness protection program has an MBA program in which all my six of my completed credits would transfer.
If they read my blog, which I'm absolutely sure they do, I may end up in bed with the head of some sort of prized farm animal tomorrow morning. Anybody want to try deep fried brain nuggets? Bring ranch dressing, I'm fresh out.
