I live in a teeny apartment. I like it there; it's a lovely, safe neighborhood, and as soon as I clean up the mess I've been accumulating, it's going to be a pleasant home. Only one problem. The Crazy Scumbag Upstairs And Across. He usually lies low, but tonight, not for the first time but for the first time in a while, he stomped downstairs and loudly pounded on the door of the woman who lives under him and across from me, hollering profaine demands that she keep it down. I was sound asleep until Dr. Douchebag started carrying on (around two in the morning, per his own hollering). Ponder the psychology of someone who is outraged to have been awakened, but who deals with his outrage by waking everyone else.
So I've written a little prayer for him. I ask that you pray along with me if you are so moved.
Dear Lord, Creator of the Universe and Lord of Love: please kill this guy. We don't need his worthless ass around here, o Lord. Please kill him. I'll give You fifty bucks. And I don't mean kill him "in Your good time," I mean TODAY.