Oh my flobbin' glob! I miss the days when the Latino gigolo and freaking Carl lived upstairs. Sure, i'd hear concert piano all the time, but the gigolo was really good at it. And yeah, it sounded like he was dropping a dozen bowling balls at once at least once a day. Sometimes listening to Carl's psychot girlfriend work out, yell at him about everything, and slam doors constantly sucked. But at least they walked like humans and NOT FRAGGLESNACKIN' ELEPHANTS ALL THE FLAPPIN' TIME! And to think, there's going to be baby up there soon screaming its fool face off at all hours. Oh gawd, what if they start that pacing shit to calm it down? They'll wear a chasm in the floor and fall through. Who the fuck has a baby in a downtown rental with a neighbor like me living downstairs? Don't they know i'm unstable? Don't they know i could explode this house at any time? Don't they realize i will be more likely to do so if i can't sleep because some dumb baby is bawling all night and ruining my life? They have to go. This is ridiculous. It's worse than the hookers who lived up there after Carl and the gigolo - always wearing their clompity-tromp high heels and going up and down the stairs draggin' dirty tricks around all damn day and night. I'd take the tramps back, even though they killed my tulips and had sex parties with hookas in the back yard right outside my bedroom window.
There, i said it. I'd rather share this house with a gigolo or dirty, sweat pants-wearing Carl or even actual actual prostitutes, than with a human baby.