Actually, there's a lot of other elements, but I shall leave them out to decrease the perusal time of text skimmers.

Another point that is valid to paragraph one's claims is the effects of my current dwellings and its inhabitants on my general wellbeing...

The Peach Nazi doesn't love the smell of Napalm in the morning. He isn't that cliché. My guess is that he loves the smell of Army Disposal stores and cans of Camp Pie the morning after one of his 'covert operations'.

You see, we have NUTBAGS living next door and across the street. Not the average nut bags that one sees on Springer everyday...I mean the real Ray Martin 'A Current Affair' variety where you see neighbours participate in guerrilla warfare campaigns that last for months, sometimes years.

The people that live behind our fortress of duress have been sprinkling their nut bag pixie dust on us for months now, much to the distaste of the Peach Nazi, who prefers his ham radios to human company at the best of times. He especially hates the fact that these people own children.

These small, monkey-like children are never in school during the day, preferring to run around their backyard with plastic baskets on their heads and screaming incomprehensible diatribes towards the heavens...and over our fence.

At first, the Peach Nazi merely put up with the rabble. After all, he is a reasonable man (ha-ha), deducing that these 'passers by' (code for people who rent in this suburb [who also have tendencies to mysteriously move out in the middle of the night to avoid rent/landlords]) would merely adhere to their nomadic codes like so many before.

Unfortunately, almost two years have passed and not a day goes by that the monkey children from hell have strayed. In fact, they have seemingly evolved to throwing garbage bags full of cans on to their garden shed roof, burning large fires near the fence and screaming fiercely from their ADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD disorders.

A lover of a good fence, the Peach Nazi was appalled to exit his shack within a shed (which I shall post a pic of one day to prove that two sheds can co-exist symbiotically), only to witness the monkeys clawing and tearing at the back fence, breaking several panels in the process.

The next day, the Peach Nazi installed a line of barbed wire along the top of the back fence, a la 'Stalag 13' from Hogan's Heroes.

No amount of barbed wire or loud renditions of Slim Dusty through loud speakers (another trick of the Peach Nazi's during heinous bouts of monkey screeching) can stop what is currently plotting their next attack from across the street...

Last Friday night, our house was ambushed by an army of hooligans pelting large stones (some larger than golf balls) from every angle. This ambush lasted for several hours, until I walked outside and mentioned something about 'da police' and breaking my foot 'ova some asses'.

A light then came on from the unit across the street, revealing the silhouettes of the perpetrators as they fled into their cesspool, laughing about how throwing stones is very manly (and no doubt that a low pass in PE at school is worth developing a good throwing arm) and 'cool' (or whatever kids are saying these days).

The Peach Nazi watched on, his eyes glimmering with purpose. He collected the stones in silence. Days later, he remained silent, until this evening when I heard him mention something about needing a dark jumper and a parachute of some description...