Hitmen don’t do crap! Builders scare me more!
Yeah sure, if for some reason a hitman put a gun to my forehead and while sputtering uttered the words DODGE THIS (because they need some sort of catchy phrase to sign out with!) I’d pee on myself because in my mind’s eye, the visual woud be that of a builder. Specifically the guys building the house next door. They have visited every form of suffering (and then some) on me. Heck! That’s why I have not blogged for a while.
Time check; 7 am (in the morning for the underprivileged that can’t see “AM” glaring at them…like the blasted buiders!) I’m still taking a leisurely stroll in slumberland pickin up Tulips and all. What? In my dreams all the hot women are inexplicably called Tulip…even the strippers! Suddenly the music in the strip club changes to THAT ANNOYING SONG! The patrons in the club are sort of shocked, they are looking at each other like, “WTF?…whose dream is this?” To be fair, one patron seems a little pleased that the attention is being drawn far far away as only attention can be drawn.Its the Crazy Frog, fresh from his tour of Camp Swampy. (when will that stupid frog CROAK?!)
Anywho, so I’m drawn out of slumberland with minor injuries, I’m back to the land of the living and clearly not-so-bright. Dudes are pretty much outside my window. I contemplate swinging the window open and emptying a round. I can’t do that, because that would downgrade my neighborhood to level 3 which as you may or may not know is a very bad place to stay. Like, say, Straka’s hair…or under Oprah’s feet.
With no warning some dolt going through the voice breaking phase in life decides now is the time to check whether he can sing. He CAN’T. He won’t let that deter him. He is a man on a mission. I don’t know what the said mission is,but my gut’s telling me he is messingup the ozone layer. My gut also told me about other guts its been hanging with. Some are not too bad.
The karaoke is over and done with but so is my sleep. It left me a note saying I know where to find it in the event that I get serious about it.
What happens next is pretty much expected, the builders get to working. Breaking up stuff in their wake with the stuff breaking equipment. And for effect they turn the volume knob on the said tools to the maximum.
Its something of a bitch, but I have to deal with it, because half the neighbourhood credits these cretin with getting them to work early. Seeing as I don’t have a fixed hour for work, I couldn’t give a rat’s ****!
This has been happening for quite a bit and its never been a nice song. Today though, it got bloody annoying when some idiot shouted out for what could have been the whole city to hear,
“My friend…why you are not Kona-Dancing?!”