Ever since I first laid eyes on the sublime Greek genius named Yiannis Chryssomallis, better known as Yanni, I’ve devoted my life to him. Unfortunately, my neighbors are oppressing me with their ignorance and refusal to support my passion. In particular, they keep filing claims with the housing authority to force me to take down the 40-foot inflatable effigy of Yanni that stands, gloriously naked, straddling my house. Philistines.
I honestly don’t understand their problem. I’ve gathered from other neighborhood get-togethers that my community appreciates music and the fine arts. We all seem to share a spiritual side. With that in mind, what possible objection could they have towards my inflatable Yanni’s spectacularly turgid silk erection bobbing gracefully in the wind right over my bedroom window?
There is no deliberate slight here. I planned the arrangement of my inflatable Yanni so his butthole, rendered in loving detail, faces none of my neighbors’ homes and instead points toward the poor part of town. Again and again, I field complaints from neighbors when I have done nothing to harm anyone. I just want to be left alone. Just me and my giant, naked, hairy, plastic man. Is that too much to ask?
They will never understand the peace I feel listening to the swelling strains of Live At The Acropolis yet again while staring upward at my magnificent, naked, inflatable Yanni. The hum of the fans keeping him inflated. The rippling silk detailing every leg hair. I can’t even see his face past his giant penis, but I know he is smiling. Smiling for me and me alone.
Sometimes, I bring my projector out into the backyard and watch my numerous Yanni Live! LaserDiscs projected onto the thighs of my inflatable statue. The exotic instruments, the blending of tribal music and ethereal synthesizer work—it’s almost too much to handle, and yet, there I am, still just taking it all in. It’s humbling, like looking at photos of other planets. Yanni is so far beyond the realm of mortal men. This is also why I have been single since the ’90s. No man can live up to what I need, and what I need is more Yanni.
Getting caught up in the bliss and rapture of the Yanni experience calms my nerves and allows me to forget how my neighbors oppress me: their harsh words, the legal threats, the frequent arrival of cops to my home. They all melt away, and I find myself drifting off into an ecstasy they will never understand.
However, my small-minded neighbors have no idea what I have in store for them. In just a few short months, I will have a fully nude, 40-foot inflatable John Tesh. Let’s see how they feel about that. I mean, I already know. They are going to hate it.
Fuck ’em.
Image: Youtube