junk shit

As mentioned lately, Cunt has been a lot less noisy than in days of yore. The upshot of this has resulted in my decision to, maybe, stay put for the while –the market is unstable and it costs fucking loads to sell and buy …and who knows, after moving I may even find myself in a similar or less fortunate position. Better the cunt you know I say, at the very least this one is a known quantity.

Don’t be fooled into thinking that all is fucking peachy however. I’d cheerfully piss on his face as he keeled over in his own effluent as I despise him with heart endangering hatred so there will be times, on occasion, where I do wonder if, despite what I’ve just said, that staying put really is the most stupid thing to do, ever.

Take last night for instance when Myfwt and I were awoken at 4.06am by what sounded like the fucking Red Arrows flying within inches of our skulls. At first I thought it was my sound system having some sort of fit, but no, for some ungodly reason his TV had decided to switch itself on at decibel-level ‘ear shatter’. I was so fucking angry I actually roared out ‘I’m so fucking angry’ which was met by instantaneous silence…

I couldn’t sleep afterwards due to my fuming and vicious plotting which drifted into hopeless regret at my decision to stay.

The other element which has caused me some distress is a sudden explosion of junk at the front of the house, namely, furniture packaging. Seems like daddy has been on a spending spree for his grunting offspring (I’ve mentioned, of course, that in the 5 or so years I’ve been suspended over this moron he’s never worked a single fucking day). There are various factors with regard to this tip that have almost caused me to polish my ball pean hammer on his face.

Firstly, he thinks I’m moving, the last thing a potential buyer wishes to see is the aftermath of the contents of his fucking hovel. Either he knows this and is being deliberately provocative or such things haven’t occurred to his primordial thinking system.

Secondly the quality of the furniture itself is so down market it gives the impression that the occupant is actually retarded, of course this isn’t too far off reality but advertising the fact is outrageous.

Finally, one of the boxes contained a cinema screen sized high def flat screen TV of the utmost quality; I assume the same TV that woke me and Myfwt in the middle of the fucking night… Now this really is beyond the pale. What sort of justice is there in the world if a person, barely capable of walking without slipping over on his own dribble, who is so bone-idle his spine has un-evolved, with more in common with sea monkeys than primates entitled to such riches? The answer is clearly ‘none’ ‘zip’ ‘nada’ ‘squat’.

If I was his dad it wouldn’t be TV’s I’d be giving my son, it would be a fucking good hiding.

What a bunch of cunts.

(not King Crimson, however)