Shitting in letterboxes is the way forward

I have some spare time today to write about something.  What something?  I don’t know.  I suppose I could write about the reason I have some spare time.  This spare time has come to pass because I’ve been awake since 3.30 this morning and have been in work since 6.  This is unusual as my daily routine generally consists of me getting up at 8.13am and getting in to work at 9.01am.

It’s not my by own choice.  The bunch of cuntlickers who moved into the apartment above mine about six weeks ago decided to throw another after-party at 3.30am in the morning.  Usually one of the other neighbours will go and knock on their door and ask them to keep it down but for some reason I knew that wouldn’t happen this time so at 3.35am I went upstairs and knocked on their door.  And I waited.  And waited.  Knocked again.  Waited.  Again, louder.  Waited.  Knocked again.  ‘Yeah yeah!’ one of the dickswillers sarcastically replies from the other side of the door.  Eventually I resort to thumping the door, and still the asshats refuse to have the decency to open it.  After a while I get bored and go back downstairs.

By 5am I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the shiteaters give a very full-bodied rendition of “Ooh aah Paul McGrath” when my housemate finally gets up and decides she’ll ask them nicely to shut their cunting spewholes.  Despite her threatening to call the – ah for fuck sake, the alarm on my phone just went off… it is far too fucking early for this – despite her threatening, no, shouting, that she’d call the Gardai, they still wouldn’t open the door.  It was at this juncture that I decided I might as well get dressed and go to work.

I hope my housemate called the police. Either way, I’m going to have to shit in their letterbox. 

But hey, I can look on the bright side - at least Jack set another record.