I’m pretty sure there’s a comedy rule that says just because something actually happened to you in Real Life (tm) doesn’t make it funny. Once again, I’m doing my best to break the rules.
So at one point a girl was living in the flat immediately above mine. Every place in this building has the same floorplan, meaning her bedroom was immediately above mine as well.
Whenever she had company of an intimate nature, she would make her enthusiasm very clearly known (continuously, and for the duration), through full-throated yodelling vocalisations.
All that was missing was alpine horn accompaniment. Though on certain nights, there was some lederhosen-style slapping, and one time some kind of machine was employed, which added a touch of vibrato to the performance.
The building has been a lot quieter since she moved out, but never quite the same. So this is my little tribute to you, Nocturnal Yodeller - may you experience as much joy in the rest of your life as in your evenings.
(Another rule is Don’t Explain the Joke. Such a rebel, I am.)