Saturday, June 28, 2008


I put a golf club through the bitch’s door.  It was inevitable.  I can stand just so much.  When she played the techo-World Music full blast last night, I snapped.  And I gave her a fair shake.  But when 4 AM rolls around, Saturday night or not, a bitch is getting my putter up her dreadlocked, hippie ass.


It’s bad enough she doesn’t even say “Hi” when we pass each other in the hallway.


If it had been some other kind of music that volume.  Queasy Yakuza or Tchotchkes or even some brand of pseudo nil-core.  But World Music I cannot abide by.  Bitches deserve a busted door where World Music is concerned. 


Give me common courtesy or good music.  I really don’t need both.



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