His cranky old neighbour

Eric yanked the door open, revealing the pinched face of Mrs. Christie from next door. Her gray hair was still in curlers, her floral housecoat cinched tight around her waist. Her wrinkled lips pursed in disapproval before she even spoke.

"Good morning," she spat, the word dripping with sarcasm. "I don’t know if you realise, but the walls here are very thin, and some of us would like to get some sleep-"

Eric blinked, her shrill voice barely registering as his grip tightened on the gun behind his back.

"-and not be kept awake by constant screaming and moaning!" Her bony finger jabbed toward his chest. "I swear, if I hear one more disgusting performance, I’m reporting you to the landlord and the cops!"

Eric’s patience snapped.

"Mrs. Christie," he interrupted, his voice sickly sweet, "I’m pretty sure we’re in America, which means I can fuck whoever I want, whenever I want." He leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "Honestly? I think the real reason you’re here is because you’re jealous. After hearing me go all night, you just can’t handle the fact that no one still, maybe ever, has fucked you like that."

Her face turned scarlet. "How dare you-"

"Luckily for you," Eric said, raising the gun, "I can help with that."

PFFT.

The blinding blast of white light hit Mrs. Christie square in the chest.

When Eric’s vision returned he was pleasantly surprised to see…