October 10, 2003
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Rabid Armadillos
I am feeling very crotchety and snarlsome. Schnerkit.
It is 4am. I cannot sleep, because my neighbors have installed a demonic cider press in my basement. Is that even legal?? It keeps going on and off, and on and off, and on and off, and I was lying there in bed for at least an hour just now concocting evil hate mail to put in their mailbox. It sounds like rabid armadillos slowly devouring a rusty mexican box truck full of tin cans and refrigerator parts. And I think it’s right underneath my bedroom, rattling away at this god-forsaken hour.
The worst part is, I would just put on my slippers and angrily totter down there to unplug the damn thing myself, but that means I have to go outside, yank open the storm door, and face the yawning black maw of the cellar stairs. And lord knows what evil lies in those shadows, that I cannot see or hear.
God f**k a duck. Goddamn cider monster fricking press. I just want to sleep. Bastards. Rrrrr.
