Stogey Nightclub Courts Trouble

It's Wednesday evening and I'm sitting in my room, strumming an old acoustic guitar. Suddenly there's a knock at the door.

I grunt an acknowledgement and the door sqeaks open. It's Argus, and he's carrying a piece of paper with two creases in it. A letter, by the looks of it. He doesn't say anything; he just hands it to me.

"What's this?" I ask, putting down the guitar.
"Just read it," he says, a slight smirk on his face.

I read. Dear Tenant... during a recent property inspection... cigarette butts discarded on front lawn... all costs will be billed to...

"It looks as though they're actually serious!" I exlaim. "Fucking managment! Haven't they got anything better to do than hassle us over some lousy cigarette butts?!"

"Well, the cigarette butts alone aren't what attracted this attention," Argus says. "The other day, according to Stogey (Nightclub), our resident smoker, he was out puffing on the driveway when that uppity bitch from two doors down said something along the lines of, 'So you're the one who's been leaving all these cigarette butts around here!'"

I snort in disgust. Why the hell does she care what our front lawn looks like?

"Anyways," Argus continues, "apparently Stogey brushed her off, saying that he'd be more than happy to use a coffee can or something as an ash tray of sorts, but that he just couldn't bring himself to take up such a nasty habit. 'Caffeine gives me the shits!' I think he said."

"Ha ha! That Stogey!" I chuckle.

"Yeah, he's quite the character! And to think, he's only been here for two and half weeks, and here we are getting complaints!"

"Well, I'm sure no 'further action' will be necessary - I'll see to it that Stogey cleans up the the mess."

Later on, Stogey--who had been away on a trip to the nearby casino--returned home, smelling of beer and cigarettes.

"Hey Stogey! Did you bleed the place dry?" I ask.

"Youuuubettahbeleevit, you!" he slurs, steadying himself with a hand on the wall.

"Stogey, Listen," Argus says, holding up the letter. "The property management sent us this little note today, formally complaining about all the cigarette butts you've decorated the lawn with. They're asking that you clean them up. Heh - maybe you should've listened to that woman?"

"THE WHORRRRRE!!" Stogey screams. "She's the one who ratted me out! When's the last time you witnessed a fucking 'property inspection'!? She fuckin' TOLD 'em to come by!"

Stogey begins pacing back and forth, cussing to himself.

And he's almost certainly right. A few cigarette butts would be a pretty insignificant detail for any drive-by inspectors to take note of. Our bitchy neighbor clearly phoned this one in.

"After you've cleaned them up, you should put them in that bitch's gas tank!" Argus suggests.

"I should... I fuckin' should!" Stogey repeats.

Before long, Argus and I are on the front porch with cold drinks, watching as Stogey shuffles about the driveway and grass, picking up the discarded butts and placing them into a plastic A&P bag.

And then the woman that we suspect ratted Stogey out pulls up with her husband in their white Dodge Caravan. Stogey stands up straight from his chore like a meerkat and stares hard at the pair, who converse with one anohter as they unload their three-year-old son from his car seat. It's clear that they're doing their best to ignore poor Mr. Nightclub.

Mr Nightclub hates to be ignored.

"Hey!" Stogey shouts. "You two might want to keep your voices down -- we've got some fucking nosey neighbors around here who like to meddle in other people's personal business."

The couple move quickly towars their door, each jingling their sets of keys to ensure quick access to their house.

"You can't be too careful, I always say!" he continues.

They enter their house, slamming the door.

"JUST LOOKIN' OUT FOR YA, NEIGHBORS!"

We then cackle with laughter! Well, Argus and I do -- Stogey remains staring at the door. His face is red, and his fists are tightly clenched.

"Fuckin' whore," we hear him mutter.