Ron likes to call it Memphis Diamonds. I call it smashed auto glass littering the scene. That's why I love him. Hopefully, I won't corrupt his attitude when I say car thieves in particular should all get hit by runaway Amtraks and dragged several miles until almost dead. Then the circus comes to town, the elephants go all rogue and trample the dying remains of the dragged bastards who can't die until the elephants eat them, partially digest them and then crap them out onto hot, summer blacktop.
True I get tired of springtime here, seeing those violated, busted-out, snaggle-toothed windows and jacked-up screwdrivered moulding. But dammit, the food here is really good.
I am not even gonna get worked up about this now because, ha HA, they didn't get my black leather security blanket address book with parts of my brain in it. The nerd-ass dayplanner was saved by some divine intervention. I found it up here at work after almost throwing a good cry and a good remote through my apartment window. The asshat didn't even take my Cool Drink Fund – that stash of cash I keep in the toll change holder. All they got were some burnt out old CDs I was sick of anyway. Except for that Dead Milkmen one, erggh. Oh well. "Enjoy the compilation CD of every song with the word 'smile' in it that I snagged out of the garbage can here at work! You'll really enjoy using that as a crack pipe coaster." And now I actually have an excuse to buy fresh, new Radiohead CDs.
For the house.
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