I was 15, I had Guns n' Roses on my stepfather's good stereo at top volume, no one was home, and a cracking guitar riff was coming up.
I played air guitar shamelessly, head-banging - I was Slash at Wembley, performing to hordes of teenage girls who wanted nothing other than to repeatedly shag and blow me, and as I gesticulated wildly, reflecting their adoration straight back at them with the devil horns, I continued playing and head-banging, until I saw suddenly reflected in the mirror my stepfather standing behind me shouting - apparently wordlessly as the music was so loud - that I should turn it down as he was trying to sleep.

Ah.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 10:20, 1 reply)

My brother did this to me.
I was staying at my mum's house (where he still lived) for the night because I had to take the train to Brussels the next day, and he went out and got hammered and forgot I was sleeping in the next room. At about 03:00 he came home and put on some godawful electro-grindcore at house-shaking volume. I was jolted out of sleep so brutally that I just wandered from room to room like a zombie until I found the source of the noise, at which point I punched him in the stomach and went back to bed.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 10:52, closed)