thehefner | in the words of Davy Crockett (Billy Bob Thornton): "I gots ter warn you fellers... I'm a screamer."

So for pretty much every night for the past week, the woman renting the apartment in our house keeps having loud sex.

I was the first one to start hearing the sounds as I sat alone in the living room, directly under her apartment. It took me about three seconds to realize what it was, what it *had* to have been, but I still had a hard time wrapping my brain around it. You see, she's been absolutely miserable with bronchitis, which doesn't seem like the ideal time to be having sex, much less being the *other* guy. And as for the other guy himself... well, when I told Mom about him, let's just say that the other guy opens up a whooooole new area of gossip which has no bearing here, save that it made the situation all the more bizarre for her to even comprehend it.

So a few nights later, Mom happens to come into the living room as I'm working, and we talk about stuff for a little while, until... shh! There they go again! She shushes, and now we're both listening in for a full minute. Mom's face twists in puzzlement, and in the tone of a little old dotty British Dame, she remarks, "I've never quite heard it like that!"

They're not the kinds of sounds that'd turn you on if you listened in. I mean, I even tried on the fourth night around when I couldn't sleep! I was bored and tired, but no luck. I thought she sounded like a scared dog, while Mom insists that it actually sounds more akin to a "wounded fox." And while it's not exactly totally bothersome, we don't exactly feel good to have these sounds penetrating through the walls at all hours.

But we can't say anything! That'd be so embarrassing for us all, so we don't know what we're going to do. That's when I came up with a brilliant plan. I need to have sex.

No, seriously. I need to get a girl over to my house and have hot, nasty, damn-the-neighbors sex. And not just in my bedroom either! I mean every room of the house, even IN the apartment if that's what it takes! It's for the good of our entire household!

Mom thought that I should just, like, play music loudly or watch TV, so our tenant could figure it out for herself. I don't think it's nearly as effective a ploy, but she has a point. Thus, I hatched my brillant plan of devastating, intellect-dizzying psychological warfare:

Night One: Watch [adult swim] very loudly. Cackle with abandon.

Night Two: Put Dean Martin, Oingo Boingo, and the "Ravenous" soundtrack in my stereo, in that order. Rock out.

Night Three: The hot, nasty sex.

Night Four: Perform the entirety of Oingo Boingo's "Dead Man's Party." I mean, the album. Actually playing the album while I sing and dance along to it is purely optional.

Night Five: Perform my one-man version of THE PRODUCERS. Fly

rosinslady down if necessary to cameo as Ulla. End by giving myself a fifteen-minute standing ovation.

Night Six: Hot, nasty sex 2: Electric Boogalloo.

Night Seven: Day of Rest (aka Intermission)

Night Eight: I steal all the TVs in our house (the one in the living room, Mom's, and my Grandmother's), bring them up to my room to watch four of my all-time favorite movies at the same time: I'm thinking ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST, MANHUNTER, RAVENOUS, and KISS KISS, BANG BANG.

Night Nine: Late night civilized tea party and Dostoevsky discussion group.

Night Ten: Do a Johnny Go and challenge myself to a martini drinking contest (last time I did that, I came in third.)

Night Eleven: Fly

bloo_mountain down here, get in full Joker and Harley costume, and re-enact the entirety of "Settin' the Woods on Fire." And then, maybe the hot, nasty clown sex. Sure, we're broken up, but a good idea is a good idea, especially for the sake of our household!

Night Twelve: Knock on her door and insist on offering her a "wet one." After she refuses three times, belt out, "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOKLAHOMA WHERE THE WIND GOES SWEEPING DOWN THE PLAIN..."

And that's just Phase One. Phase Three is profit!

Of course, my natural loud, projecting actor voice will probably do the job alone sooner or later. But if it doesn't... let it never be said that I don't have a plan.