2003-11-03

Hey dudes! My new article is up on Chicklit. Please try to contain your excitement. However, feel free to get a violent cramp in your haste to participate in Deborah’s super fantastico “We Put The ‘Fun’ in Fundraiser!” drive. (OK, that’s not actually what it’s called. But it should be.) Prizes! Excitement! Boobies! Maybe not really boobies!

Hey, remember these guys? The Cloak-and-Dagger Carpenters? They’re back. BUT! It is not carpentry this time that rouses me from my slumber. Allow me to explain. Saturday morning, as I lay innocently huddled in under my bedclothes praying to God for merciful death, like all civilized people should be on a Saturday morning, I was distracted from the unholy throbbing of my cranium by an unholy din outside my window. Monster called me soon after, and I attempted to describe what was going on.

“It’s like…a clank, and a thud; and then lots of screaming and cheering. Like ‘Woo! Yeah!’ Like a game, or a sporting event, or something. It’s fucking DEAFENING. Who the fuck can be that enthusiastic about anything at this hour of the morning? Are they drunk? Like, what, are they playing horseshoes out there or something?”

Soon after that, when I was feeling a little more up to verticality, as it were, I struggled to my elbows in bed and peered out the window.

Horseshoes.

No, really.

The Midnight Contractors were playing a raucous round of horseshoes at 10:00 AM. Who the everlasting fuck plays horseshoes anyway? I thought you had to be either in summer camp or named “Jeb” to be so inclined.

Anyway, after long considering the preponderance of evidence, I have returned my verdict: I hate my freak bastard neighbours.