My Mumbling Thoughts

I try, you know?

I mean, I really try. I'm trying right now as a matter of fact.

I'm trying, as I type this, to not march my 5'2 little frame outside and kick the living fuck out of whoever is blasting their stupid, disgusting, extremely distracting music that has been pounding inside of my room for the past hour.

I mean, honestly, do you really need your shitty music blaring that loud? Is it so moving to you that you feel this desire to share it with the entire world? Why? All I have to ask is why do you feel this need to share your shitty music with me? I didn't ask to hear it. And I certainly don't care to hear it. Not now. Not ever.

I'm also trying to write the second half of my London story, but am unable to concentrate fully since I've got some unknown rapper who likes to rhyme "bling" with "thing" about two hundred times bouncing around in my brain. He won't go away. I'm trying to detail what my room looks like and instead I want to start break dancing and surround myself with bitches and ho's. You know how it is.

I understand that people like to listen to their music loudly. I am one of those people. But it's Saturday. It's late. Take your beatomobile, your untalented rapper and move your ass to the club where it belongs. People who are broke, unemployed and fucking annoyed, like myself, don't appreciate it.