The people who live downstairs from us are a constant mystery to me. They’ll be quiet for weeks on end, and then they’ll be insanely loud for like a week straight. I have only gotten a few glimpses of them, but they look like the sort of people who throw their arms around each other and act sexy at clubs so the Cobrasnake will take their picture. Kinda like these retards:

Note: I’m pretty certain none of these retards are actually my downstairs neighbors, but I would bet even money the neighbors have done blow with at least one of these girls. Note also: I don’t know the first thing about “doing blow,” but I’m pretty certain that’s what people who look like this would call it.

I can never tell how many people live down there. They have a male friend with a screechingly loud and high-pitched voice who doesn’t seem to live there but visits an awful lot. He laughs like a hyena. I can often smell pot smoke wafting up from down below and hear them giggling like jackals at some sort of entertainment. They never sit down long enough to watch an entire movie or TV show, so my guess is that they hang out, get stoned, and watch a lot of YouTube videos.

Today their door was open and I peeked in. To the immediate right of the doorway was a gigantic painting — I’m talking like seven feet by seven feet — of an American Indian in a headdress. A skinny man — or perhaps a boy; he looked pretty young — with curly blond hair was standing in the living room. He was completely naked except for a pair of tiny, spandex wrestling shorts. He looked like he’d just stepped out of an American Apparel ad.

Right now they’re listening to “Everybody Dance Now” by C & C Music Factory. I’m not kidding.