There is no rest for the weary!

Ok. So I took a secret (or relatively secret) lair for the kind of privacy that a superhero needs... especially after a very long day of hefer beating. It is a place that promises serenity and solitude. A place that, although extremely polluted and lacking of wildlife save for the rats in my cieling, was supposed to be just for me to clear my head, be still, meditate, and sing Andy Gibb tunes in the mirror without worrying about getting busted... umm did I say that with my outside voice? Er, um, anyways... there are these little fuzznuts across the way from my most intimate of spaces that have rented a spot to drag race their stolen dirt bikes in the backyard of a storage facility. They sound like strangled tigers roaring. They sound like my tia Zenayda's zipper from her long line bra tearing down her back after a day at prayer. How can I practice my Karaoke hits with this kind of flagrant disregard for mutual shared space? If I create a ruckus, I risk blowing my cover and then I'll have to move... but if I don't do something, they will drive me absolutely NUTS! I have considered sugar in their gas tanks already...

any ideas?
WEPPAAAAA!!!!!!!!