As in, oh right, the classy neighbor.
So for my Memorial Day I thought I'd blow through a couple Netfux. Finished off The Rapture which I got off someone's list of good 90s horror flicks, as I was looking for such. Not suspense/thriller but legit horror. Well I think someone was having their little joke. Not that it wasn't scary, but more in a Jesus Camp vein than anything else. And I'm really not sure how to take the last fifteen minutes. But nothing like a fully mulleted David Duchovny! Otherwise it was very late-night USA.
Anyhoo, then I popped in Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer. (Which is from 1986, yes, I know). Don't know how I wasn't familiar with this rather incredibly infamous NC-17 horror flick. Holy shit. So there I am already watching this most gruesome of films on what for many is probably a fairly somber day, but then I see the cat sneak off behind the TV where the power strip is. Just as he steps on the switch, shutting off all the power, I sit up and yell something along the lines of, you know, "OY! GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE!" while clapping my hands at him.
And it's very quiet now. And I while I'm quite clear on the fact that the door to the sunroom and all the windows in the sunroom are wide open, I'm apparently unaware that the neighbors behind and catty corner to us seem to be having oh, some sort of barbeque shindig.
There is really just no way they didn't hear that. At least it didn't sound like I was screaming at my child. Although let's hope this class shows itself in any future parenting as well.
Not really deterred, I brazenly polished off the last five minutes of my serial killer movie. I'm sure they were wanting to know how it ended, too.