Perhaps some of you will be unable to relate to the simple musings of a working man such as myself, but if a man hates his job it is his god-given right to complain about it until the reaper comes for him. In this case the reaper would be in the form of a several thousand gallon tank of wine suddenly snapping its stainless steel supports and rolling across a concrete floor slick with stagnant hosewater like the giant stone ball boobytrap from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. My particular form of bitching about my labor-intensive wage job is to complain about my working hours. I never get enough sleep. Do I stay up too late? Sure, I'm a young man and I don't have any other time to catch up on browsing eBay for a $1.99 used copy of Beverly Hills Cop 3 and measuring my penis length with a neon yellow translucent ruler. The trick is to use metric. My point is more often than not my bitching has no culprit other than myself, so my white-hot Latin temper has no target other than myself, but my ice-cold Latin ego cools it right off, so I end up feeling very good about myself. However, last night was a different story. I am laying soundly in bed with the heaters churning out a toasty 80+ degree sleeping sauna when I am awoken by the small runt of a boy that lives across the hall with his sister and aunt (his actual relation to these women is unclear, but these are the titles I have given them so that their interactions at least make some sort of sense) yelling for his aunt to "give him his Monopoly game." It is 2:30am and this "family" has been fighting all night, sometimes shaking the house. A friend Chris commented after a particularly loud shudder: "that sounds like someone getting thrown against a wall." I thought it was someone getting hit with an oversized plastic baseball bat, but I have bad hearing. The runt is met with no luck; his aunt does not give him his precious Monopoly. Instead she threatens to call the cops. Waking up at the end of your neighbors' domestic abuse situation only to hear the conclusion:
"Give me my Monopoly game"
"No, go away or I'll call the cops."
Makes your groggy mind try to wrap itself around some form of reality, but it can't. there is no context I can imagine that would merit someone being so adamant about someone else NOT having Monopoly that they would threaten to involve the police department. What's more is that the other person took that as a legitimate threat and walked away. Monopoly is a popular game, but give me a break.
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