Caninicide? i.e. How To Handle Yappy Dogs in Close Proximity

My neighbors, I'm sure, are lovely people. I wouldn't know because I have no interest in being friendly with them.

Actually my neighbors, I'm told, are totally f*ckng crazy. The mom is just plain nutty looking. The last time I saw her she was complaining about a drainage pipe between our yards, wearing a velour jumpsuit, rocking the classic Old Lady Slouch with folded arms and brushing her veiny hands over her Frizzy Dyed Red Hair (roots visible, of course). I had no idea what she was saying. She's a fun one!

Because I have dignity I won't talk sh*t about her children--except to say that from time to time my mother used to discover condoms (used) on our side of the fence we share. Classy! That quality must run deep in the gene pool.

But that's neither here nor there. The point is, Said Neighbors have a darling little dog. I'm sure it's very cute. What kind is it...oh right, the Super F*cking Yappy Kind. YAPYAPYAPYAPYAPAYAP.

The situation's bad. I considered calling the family to politely ask them to remove their dog from the yard but backed off because, um, I didn't want to talk to crazy velour pantsuit woman. When I said 'she's a fun one' above, I meant, I want nothing to do with her.

I considered starting a petition and passing it around the neighborhood but I don't want to get involved with any other neighbors either. I've got enough troubles as it is.

Instead, I am taking matters into my own hands. I'm a problem-solver.

Currently in my kitchen, I am preparing a small, tender piece of filet mignon (rubber gloves and goggles on, of course; I remember the rules of high school science). In addition to letting the meat marinate delicately in its own juices, I'm adding an extra flavor: arsenic. I hear dogs just go crazy for it! Like what catnip does to kitties except instead of running around the house and clawing furniture, doggies just drop dead.

Ta-Dah! Problem solved! And to the neighborhood, you're welcome.