I know, I know, I said "fricking." Due to increasing levels of language-understanding offspring among my friends, I am trying to reduce my swearage, and in honor of that crazy Eliot girl on Scrubs , I have adopted "frick" as my soft-curse of choice.
So let me just say: FRICK. DOUBLE FRICK. FRICK ON A STICK. FRICK ON A STICK WITH A BRICK.
This weekend had its ups and downs. The ups were "eh?", while the downs were INCREDIBLY FRICKING LAME. So I'm a little fricking pissy to begin with.
And now, here I sit grading papers, having been awakened at FOUR FRICKING AM by the alarm on the bar across the street THAT IS STILL GOING OFF 3.5 FRICKETY-FRICKING HOURS LATER. And when I say alarm, this is not like the merely "annoying" car alarm echoing through the neighborhood. This is like those bell-alarms from high school fire drills, but four times as loud--from across the street it's so fricking loud that Jamey couldn't hearing me calling him from the bedroom when he was in the hallway immediately outside the bedroom. I can't hear myself think, much less grade papers. And even if I COULD hear myself think, I'd only hear, "Duh? Duh-duh-duh?" because I only got three fricking hours of fricking sleep last night. Frick on a fricking stick with a gosh darn fricking brick. FRIIIIIIICK! Those frickers. And by the way, their bar SUCKS.
That's fricking it. From now on, I'm totally calling the cops rather than making semi-polite requests for crowd control when their patrons are screaming/singing/revving their engines/fighting at 2 in the morning. That'll show those frickers not to frick with this motherfricker.
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