At one time in his varied occupational career, Stoney Dale had a very gossipy neighbor he called Nosey Rosey. She used to sit on the steps outside her apartment to watch which tenants came in at what time, with whom, and in what condition. Stoney says she was a “most unpleasant old gossip who made everyone miserable with her pettiness and nosiness.”
Stoney noted what times she sat, and shortly before she went on her salacious sentry duty, he saturated her staircase perch with charcoal lighter fluid. Within seconds the carpeted step where Nosey Rosey always sat appeared to be high and dry. However, when the old battle-ax took her accustomed seat, her body weight caused the fluid to penetrate and soak her posterior and the light summer dress covering it. She didn’t feel it until one of the other tenants called the huge stain to her attention when she rose to let him pass. She was mortified, Stoney reports, but it took two more applications to get his point across. After that, Nosey rosey retired to her own affairs.
Who says our Canadian friends lack a sense of humor, eh? A good fan from British Columbia sent along a newspaper cutting showing how someone Hayduked his neighbor by putting a nasty sign in his yard while the property owner was on holiday. The sign read “New Satanic Church” and went on to explain in detail the doctrine of the “church.” On the lawn, the Hayduker had placed a store mannequin in a black shroud and hung a dead chicken on the house. The trickster also put a sign on the front door which read “Closed Due To Persecution.” A large totem was erected with a grinning skull on top. The entire incident was blown out of control by local newspaper and TV media people, much to the chagrin of the property owner who wanted it all forgotten.
Damn smart, our Canadian colleague.
If your enemy neighbor is fleeing to another town and you get his new address, keep up the action. Print a friendly invitation asking one and all of the new neighbors to the mark’s new home for an introductory friendship session. You may use as your mark’s theme such tie-ins as the KKK, a pro-pederasty coalition, the Communist party, American Nazi Party, et cetera. Send a copy to each neighbor. Also include nearby churches on your mailing list and post notices in neighborhood taverns and markets.
Add another to the long list of what to do when the neighbor’s dog messes on you, your family, your sanity, or your property. Wilson R. Drew suggests placement of very fresh dog manure, chicken droppings, or some other odorus substance right next to the intake vent of the mark’s running airconditioner. Very few marks check the conditioner, he says, so you get a lasting effect.
A little garbage goes a long way when you’re trying to have as many of the other neighbors as possible hate your mark. Herb Bobwander has a beefy way to grease the trap for your mark. When he wants to do a garbage number on the mark he takes advantage of the fact that most people put out their refuse the night before it’s to be picked up.
Herb tells you to smear a lot of hamburger or bacon grease on the mark’s garbage can. This will attract every animal – both wild and domestic – for blocks around, resulting in a great deal of noise, fighting, and confusion. All of this will irritate the neighborhood which will blame the mark.
As a little refinement, Herb suggests you might want to add some goodies of your own to the mark’s personal garbage, e.g. sex toys, bondage magazines, gay letters, fetish things, antireligious materials, et cetera.
They surely know how to be neighborly in Northern Ireland. One such lad, a fine Irish Prossie, actually, passes along this splendid little vignette of neighborliness. It seems his American friend Tom was building his home in a rural area of Oklahoma, near the small town of Goat Testicle. His neighbor-to-be has regressed from the cross-breeding of cretins and Barbary apes. What’s worse, he had a teenaged punker son. One morning, Tom looked out his window of his new home and spotted his car up on four blocks with all four custom-designed mag wheels gone.
Naturally, Tom found the missing wheels had magically rooled right onto the punker son’s own car. Neighbor and son were, of course, wired into that incestuous Oklahoma Good Ole Boy circuit…you know…the ones who think the Jukes and Snopes are high society intellectuals. Tom knew better than to try anything official.
Tom also knew which drinking club the punker son and his father frequented. One evening, he followed them there. Waiting until they entered the establishment and settled in, Tom built a small dam of plastic under the gasoline tank of the pitiful progeny’s car, then punched a tiny pinhole on the tank. He placed a glowing cigarette at the crest of the dam and ran to his own car.
“I got a bit less than a mile away when it went up – WHOOOM – most colorful and noisy. Later, I learned that the little peckerhead’s car was totally destroyed,” Tom said.
He added, “As an afterthought refinement, I think I would have taken off my four tires first. Oh well….”
From the epilogue standpoint, Tom says the area Good Ole Boys apparently accepted the revenge as a fortune of war. No one bothered Tom or his property again.
Suppose your hated neighbor/mark leaves his castle for a few days. You can try one of Bob Grain’s stunts. He helps out by rolling up newspapers and tossing them around the front door area. He leaves notes on the door to bogus visitors about the owner being away. He cuts the main power off to make the home mor inviting to burgalars as this shuts down the alarm system and the clock controlled automatic lighting. It also has the bonus of cutting off the man’s freezer. Hopefully, Bob says, a burgalar will see all this and not let your efforts go to waste. Then, as Bob notes, the SOB will get ripped off. Phew!
The Midwest’s famed T-Shirt Lady really poured it on when the nasty neighbors messed up her front lawn. These nasty neighbors let their downspout drain its cascades of runoff right through the T-Shirt Lady’s front lawn. Not that she was a lawn ‘n grass freak or anything, but she also didn’t want a duplicate of the Grand Canyon in her yard, either. After some friendly talk, requests, and other rhetorical devices brought nothing but a continued deepening of Runoff Canyon, she decided that neighborly niceness had all but eroded.
“I waited until the next really heavy downpour. Then, armed with a bit of downspout extention and a couple elbows, I quickly rerouted their drainpipe’s firing path from my lawn right into their basement window.”