When I got in on Friday the cunt downstairs wasn’t home. My spirits lifted considerably when it occurred to me the downstairs was locked up and, in hindsight, had been so for the past 24 hours, indicating he was just away. Not dead, sadly.
Lately on arriving in the downstairs hall after work whilst fumbling for my keys, his fucking idiot head sporting an obsequious grin popped suddenly into view. I watch in despair as his gob macerates the air around me and meaningless guff fills my ears. Usually he’ll slide out of his lair like a serpent and continue his uningratiating drivel with his back to my door so I’m unable to flee into my property and escape his socially inept persona. I hide my hate with a rictus grin, it’s the delicate mantle I employ to prevent me from grabbing him by his hair and slamming his face unto the wall until it comes off. I don’t listen to a single utterance from his fat, cracked lips and respond only in order to hasten the removal of his useless carcass from the entrance to my upstairs flat.
The matter of him being away was excellent news as I was expecting a visit from an old friend, we’d not seen each other in a while which would certainly do nothing to dampen our typical abuse of alcohol and anything else that happens to be available. This would probably mean noise into the wee hours and I didn’t want to give Cunt grounds for revenge.
That evening my pal and I drank in the local until midnight and, as usual (despite protests from both of us) we risked the shitty kebab shop that on our last outing had seen my companion noisily vomiting into my sink at 2am on a Saturday morning.
Back at the briefly silent flat we continued until 5 am, this wasn’t intentional, my memory of the evening isn’t too clear but I recall blaring music, dancing and belly laughing over ‘other’. My friend has a young family and the following day was keen to set off as soon as possible, this meant my usual lie-in would be disrupted but I figured that the Sunday would offer me a period of catch-up.
The hangover wasn’t too bad despite the excesses of the previous evenings boozing, so I did my usual shopping trip in the local store with a fairly clear head and returned fully laden with the weeks provisions.
I had planned a drink in the evening with a close mate from up the road but the plans were scrapped due to his having a temperature. I wasn’t too fussed; I don’t mind a Saturday night in. I was preparing dinner when I received a call from another old friend, indeed my oldest friend, who was at a loose end. We organised to meet at the local as I had done 24 hours earlier, with the intention of having a couple of pints and returning to the flat to discuss matters of the day. This we did and the evening passed off very pleasantly, he staggered off into the night at 3-ish and I went to bed, relishing the lie-in, made all the better by the lack of Cunt.
I shouldn’t have been so hasty. At roughly 10 o clock I was woken up by a horrific sound of thumping, shouting and top ten chart music, the fucking builders had arrived and amongst it all I identified Cunt’s humourless attention seeking chortle. He was clearly over excited, not being used to one person let alone four in his vile company and was taking full advantage of an audience. From where I lay it actually sounded like he was flirting with them in the hope they’d down tools and collectively masturbate into his cavernous mouth. I tried to ignore the noise but it was impossible, the bed was actually vibrating to whatever they were doing down there so I was forced from my pit to face the day. What was particularly risible is the bastards all left at 1pm and Cunt, still over excited from having human contact, decided to tunelessly ‘play’ his fucking guitar and whine, with no regard to any known scale or timing, loudly, over the same unhinged and repetitive strumming ‘pattern’.
Seriously, if this blog comes to an abrupt end look at for me on the news, I’ll be the bloke who murdered the retard in the downstairs flat in South London using only his teeth.
