Dear Kurt,

I have a neighbor who is always in my business with all his “woke” stuff. He looks in my trash cans on garbage night to make sure I don’t have any recyclables “hidden” under my garbage. He puts out lawn signs when I water my lawn with slogans about conserving water for the community. And of course, he is a vegan and shows me pictures of animals over his fence whenever I crank up my barbecue. I’m at my wits’ end with this woke wacko. Any suggestions from the world-renowned curmudgeon on how to quell this “beast”?

— Fed up with a wacko in Waco

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Dear Fed Up,

Oh, I feel your pain. Picture this: a Grade-A, certified, free-range, organic busybody next door—hand-delivered with a sticker that says, “Here to help,” whether you asked or not. That’s a rare breed, but it sounds like you found one.

Let’s survey the landscape here. The man digs through your trash, half detective, half raccoon with a degree in deep sighing. He plants lawn-sign pickets more often than tulips and delivers an animal-to-human slideshow over the fence that might rival a school assembly—right as you’re flipping your steak. Who needs reality TV? You’ve got the neighborhood edition of Lifestyle Makeover: Uninvited.

For the trash conundrum, try this: line up your recyclables on top, like rare vinyl at a collector’s fair. Annotate with museum tags if you must—“Aluminum, found: Tuesday.” He’ll peek, see perfection, and suddenly his script is blank. Watching a busybody hit a dead end? Now, that’s entertainment.

As for the lawn signs—channel your inner billboard artist. Slide a sign in beside his, maybe, “Watered with pride,” or “This lawn brought to you by actual hydration.” Deliver it with a grin, not a glare; nothing unravels overzealous neighbors faster than aggressive cheerfulness.

Now, let’s address barbecue diplomacy. Step one: keep the grill going, maybe pick up a second set of tongs for dramatic effect. Step two: when he presents his animal slideshow, offer him a seat—”Front row for steak night!” Most folks retreat from hospitality wielded like a superpower. His confusion: your silent victory.

The real secret with neighbors like this is that they run entirely on friction. They need resistance to function — a wall to push against. You stop pushing back, you stop reacting, you stop being visibly annoyed, and suddenly they’ve lost their whole reason for being. Try smiling. Try waving. Try being so relentlessly pleasant that he has absolutely nothing to work with. It won’t fix him, but it’ll fix you, and that’s half the battle.

And if none of that works? Tall fence. Problem solved.

— Kurt Kurmudgeon