Last night was the third night in a row that I was woken from a deep, yummy sleep. You know, the kind where I was dreaming that I'm totally rocking the runway on America's Next Top Model. Can I just tell you how bowel-curdlingly livid it makes me to not only be woken up for any reason whatsofrickingever, but out of a kick ass dream? OMG BLINDING WHITE HOT RAGE, BITCHES!
And who might be the culprit of such offensive nocturnal intrusions? Why, it's only my hoser new downstairs neighbor! And. I'm. Going. To. Fucking. Mutilate. Their. Entire. WORLD! I'm wicked not kidding, babies. I feel so strongly about being woken, that I could absolutely choke a bitch over it, or at least, like, boil their pets. This is my problem, and I recognize and own it. It is in this recognition that I choose to live alone. But when it's freaking 2:30 AM on a mother fucking Tuesday and you're being so super rave party succubus that I can hear you through 10 feet of concrete? Game on, asslickers. Game ON!
I just can't imagine what kind of cat rapist can have all their friends over from Sunday through Tuesday to shriek and party until literally, dawn. Do they have jobs? Can they even perform a job when they totally blow so much? How do these homos pay their rent?! These are the questions that have been plaguing me since I was so cruelly ripped from my awesome dreams of Tyra's giant weave.
So, in retaliation, I wrote a strongly worded letter. I know, I know! I probably should have done something more drastic like kidnapping their moms, but I think you underestimate how terrifying my strongly worded letters are. I would totally print it here, but your faces might explode. And I just couldn't live with myself if I hurt my hos!
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