The man from the EPA is super angry for some reason. He screams into my ear from miles away, unaware or uncaring of the miracle of modern technology that allows him to span such a distance with his rage. I clear my throat and start to explain myself.

You see, I say, the window air conditioner in my house started going on the fritz, and it was super hot. So what I did was, I called up the local supplier of mineshaft Roots blowers and had them put me together an intercooled gas job that would move three hundred and forty thousand cfm of air.

Again he begins to sputter, and I cut him off with a mention of how I applied for and received a technological innovation grant from the DOT and EPA each that not only granted me the right to purchase tax-free E85 in bulk at cost but a handsome sum of money that helped pay for the base plate and the bored and stroked Pontiac 474 mounted to my modest house’s roof.

It worked like a charm - my house was so cool the MDF-and-spit Ikea special bookcases would shatter at the slightest touch. At last, I was comfortable in this horrible July heat.

My neighbours complained, of course they would, who would be happy with having to listen to the sound of a 235 cam thumping away all day long as it runs in its peak operational range? Only every single red-blooded person who has ever been born. So I compromised. I hooked my Nest up to an electronic throttle body so the compressor would run only when it was needed. Once the complaints of deafness stopped rolling in, city hall stopped investigating me, but something in their report must have tipped the EPA off to my wanton disrespect of noise bylaws.


I conclude by sneering at his fascistic intent, and tell him that I will see him in the court of public opinion that is the local rice rocket message board.

“No,” he says finally, “that’s not why I’m calling, but thanks for the help. Apparently you also purchased 600 cases of chrome spray paint without a license?”