Hi, neighbor! Just wanted to stop by and formally introduce myself, even though I’m sure you and everyone else with a pair of ears in a five-mile radius are well acquainted with me and my motorcycle!

What’s that? Why am I yelling? Oh, sorry! I didn’t even realize. Prolonged exposure to my bike’s ear-piercing exhaust has left me with permanent hearing damage and what my audiologist calls “the worst case of tinnitus” he’s ever seen. It’s gotten so bad that I can’t fall asleep unless I have the TV volume on full blast and leave the vacuum running next to my bed all night.

I bet you thought you had found your dream home, didn’t you? A place where you could raise a family and grow old, right next to the park and within walking distance of several schools. Except your dream turned into a nightmare as soon as I roared into your life like the Lone Rider of the Apocalypse, sent straight from hell with a single mission: to disrupt your peaceful suburban existence with my decibel-spewing chopper.

Sure, you can soundproof your walls and windows as much as you like, but that won’t stop the cupboards from rattling or the picture frames from smashing to the floor as if you’re being hit by a magnitude-9 earthquake every time I drive by. Oh, and I hope you weren’t planning on sitting outside and enjoying the soothing sounds of tweeting birds this summer because the only bird in this neighborhood is my Harley-Davidson’s Screamin’ Eagle Milwaukee-Eight 131 crate engine, and the only sounds you’ll be hearing are all 2,000cc of this noise-polluting behemoth.

When you first laid ears on me, you were probably hoping that I would be the type of motorcycle owner who only took his bike out every once in a while for a quick spin. Nope! I ride that sucker daily, coming and going at all hours of the day and night, sometimes even early in the morning, causing you to jump out of bed and hide in the closet because you think the city is under airstrike, only to realize that it’s just Marie and me pulling in after a 2 AM joyride. That’s what I call my hog, by the way. As in two-time Nobel Prize winner Marie Curie. What? You think just because I’m a biker I can’t also be a physics fanboy?

“Where are you constantly going?” you may be wondering. “And don’t you have a job?” First of all, it’s about the journey, not the destination. And it’s also about making as much noise as humanly possible while on the journey. Second, my only job is to burn rubber and burst eardrums. Well, that, and I’m a freelance IT consultant, which means I basically get to set my own hours, so I can hit the road whenever I want.

Don’t worry. There’s always winter to look forward to. That’s when I store the Harley and take out my massive pickup truck with the even louder Hemi engine. You thought the bike was bad? This thing makes it sound like a kitten’s purr. And don’t even bother trying to file a noise complaint with the cops. Most of those guys are in the same motorcycle club as me.

Anyway, welcome to the neighborhood! Oh, and please do something about those hedges. I’d hate to have to report you to the HOA.