Ha, ha, ha, dude, that hose of yours is a pathetic little thing, barely scraping the surface of dirt. Listen here, I’ve got me a loud power washer and I’m going to use it to blast a strong stream of water at everything in sight at the crack of dawn. My fence. My gutters. Even your pergola. Because it’s my mighty wand, and everyone’s going to know how macho I am when it comes to dirt.

You think it’s too loud? Too bad.

I’ve got to get the sap off my meat smoker, at 6 AM okay? I’ve also got to get rid of the motor oil stains on my driveway at noon on Sundays. And at 8 PM on Thursday, my basketball hoop is going to look brand-spanking new. I don’t have to care about your family or your kids. I own this property and I can make all the noise I want on it.

So don’t tell me that your kids can’t sleep from the sound and the vibrations scare them. Because then, you’re asking for it.

I can also flex my muscles as I press and release the trigger on my nozzle as many times as I see fit. I don’t need you butting your nose in my business to tell me that my power washer is not a grip strengthener or an arm blaster. If I want to strength train as I clean my kid’s Jeep Wrangler ride-on– I can.

It’s my house and it’s my power washer and if you don’t like it, you can move.

I can shoot my water geysers at whatever I want. If I want to cleanse the bodily fluids from my hot tub after a nighttime canoodle session, I don’t have to wait until a “reasonable hour.” I can bust out my power washer at 4 AM. That’s my choice. Also, if I want to power wash my Adirondack chairs after every use, that’s my problem. Not yours.

I can also upgrade my power washer to one that blasts 4000 PSI without your permission, asshole.

If you are so bothered by the noise, go get yourself a pair of heavy-duty, noise-canceling headset like the kind I wear when I use my piercing water gun. Eighty-five decibels is the threshold for inner ear damage at prolonged exposure—if you think you are “losing your hearing.” But frankly, I think you are overreacting. I barely hear anything above a hum coming from my motor.

The other day, you suggested I can simply clean up my deck with a paper towel if my kids spilled ice cream on it. Funny. I didn’t buy a powerful piston that unleashes forty gallons of water per minute to have it just sit in my garage.

Deal with the noise or deal with my fists.

Don’t try to come at me with your environmentalist views again. I can waste all the water I want or use a gas-guzzling machine for a little bit of sugary dribble if I choose. It’s America. If you want to hear the sounds of nature on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, drag your ass to a national park.

I warned you. Where do you want to take this? To my sparkling front patio?

Don’t tell me to stop power washing my house siding for the umpteenth time. Here’s another fist, in your face this time.

So just shut up and mind your own business, okay? And I’ll mind mine as I use my new longer wand to power wash up this blood from our little fight.

Damn it! Whose teeth are over there on the asphalt? Yours or mine?