Time to Move?

I have been disturbed for some time now by my neighbors. They are younger than me and know what means a "keg party". But recently things have developed distastefully. About four months ago my wireless network radar indicated that someone close to me had decided to call their internet connection "House of Funk". Oh dear God, I thought. No one I have clapped eyes on in this building is even ironic enough to attribute the strip lighted cardboard box monstrosity of our apartments as "House of Funk". "Coffinesque" is, I believe, entirely more appropriate.

Anyway, this evening I noticed, amongst the plethora of options for stealing wireless internet and downloading Luther Vandross from limewire, a new internet connection. This one is named "The Stabbin' Cabin".

I think it is my new neighbor to my right. He of the horror movies which blast through my bedroom wall around 2am. Is this frat boy jocularity, I thought? A quick google revealed that this translates in the Queens to something along the lines of "fuck pit".

Oh how we laughed.

It's not working for him. I can vouch for that.