To loosely quote the great Stuart Griffin 'It's not that I want them to die, I just don't want them to live anymore.' That is precisely how I feel about this collection of people, who I am unfortunately reminded at random intervals that I share a planet with. It's easy to forget, after all being a student I am often blissfully asleep until noon and then either immersed in books/TV/video games/porn during the day time. Once evening rolls around I am normally blind, staggering drunk, and coming across the other people I share oxygen with is done in a wonderful, drunken haze where I remember none of their irritating features the next morning. Yet there are occasions where this system is sadly broken and I come across these people with a heart-breaking plummet into the filthy, dick-ridden reality of life.
This is the first in the series of people who have committed the inexcusable crime of being irksome.
haha! I can operate six tools at once with my many arms. Try and sleep now motherfucker!
I don't know why I find this so peculiarly annoying, oh wait, silly me I've just gone and told an utter barefaced lie. I know exactly why I find this so mind-exfoliatingly irritating. It is, because like a lot of people with nothing better to do, I like to sleep in the morning. I have no children screaming at me to make them gruel (or whatever it is the kids are eating nowadays), I have no job to rush out to, no hobbies which require me to set out in the dark and no great desire to watch the serene pink and yellow glow of the sunrise unless it's on my Planet Earth box set. Not to mention, when your life is as utterly devoid of goals or excitement as mine is and you realise each morning with a teary-eyed sigh that you have just lived the best years of your life, well then dreaming is just about the only activity I enjoy. And, after years of fastidious research I can tell you with authority that the best dreams occur in the morning. So then, to be woken up from my peaceful slumber in a blissful chocolate coated fantasy land, to the sound of a pisswad using a pneumatic drill slowly chiselling away what is left of my gingerbread cottage, well I get slightly and understandably pissy.
nooooo....not the Gingerbread house!!!!!
Try as I might, I just cannot fathom any reason for it. What is so dream-destroyingly urgent that you must manhandle heavy, noisy and smelly tools and machinery outside my window? Is anyone going to die if you don't fix that shelving unit in your dining room before 9am? If you manage to finish mowing your lawn before breakfast time are you going to discover the cure for cancer? No. Of course not, there are many, many more hours of the day in which to piss me off and at those times I will be well and truly immersed in some other noise making activity of my own and so won't give half a toss about your whiny Black and Decker drill. Just give me the morning, please. Those leaves on your driveway aren't going to multiply out of control just because you decided to sit down and have an extra slice of toast instead of blow the shit out of them with a glorified hair dryer. So, please I beg of you, it can wait. By hammer and nails and chocolate coated, rivers of fudge sauce, it can wait.