05.25.2006 || 13h15

Scary stuff

If you distilled the essence of arsehole from every jerkoff meatfucker in Montréal, then siphoned it off into one man, that would be the rat-bastard who lives upstairs from Jazz, Marv and me. The man's completely puerile. I'm not kidding. He has no respect for anyone, and he plays his stereo so loud that we can actually sing along with the lyrics that are coming, loud and clear, through the ceiling. Hell, once our ex-roomie went and rang the upstairs doorbell because there was an issue of our stuff shaking due to the noise. Okay, sometimes it's not the ratfucker, rather but his 18-year-old boytoy who's home and pounding out the phat tunes, but the fact is that the apartment upstairs is a source of crap for Marv, Jazz and me. All the time. He's also selling drugs and we *think* he's a pornographer, judging by the peeps who are going in and out at all hours... and the bag of dope he deposited in the parkinglot across the road one night last month...

Which doesn't really mean that he deserved to be the victim of a home invasion just after midnight last night and get tied up to a chair with his teen-aged sexpot while three gun-carrying men carted off all his electronics.

Here's the kinda, quasi-funny part: Jas and I were in the bath the whole time, and he's usually so damned loud that we didn't even twig that something untoward was going on.

I mean, *now* I find it funny. When I was woken up by the doorbell and suddenly found myself mumbling incoherently at a wall of cameras and microphones I didn't think it was so funny... though I think the woman from the CBC sniggered a bit when I said 'I don't know how I feel about what happened last night because I don't yet *know* what happened last night...'



||Gods save the Queen,
||cf

back || forth

older shite

One last little note... - 09.21.2006

de-stressing, biking and terrorism - 06.06.2006

Mildly stressed... - 05.29.2006

More crime stupidity - 05.28.2006

Scary stuff - 05.25.2006



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