Hoors? Yeah... Hoors. Prostitutes, Tarts, Hookers, Ladies of Negotiable Affection, call them what you will. For 8 years or so I lived in granite tenement. My Neighbours Were Hoors. Sadly for us all (!?) the brothel was closed down and I moved out of the area. I never did get around to writing about the court case though...

Sunday, January 29, 2006

A post in which stories are postponed and I have a RANT about new issues

Right. OK. I was finally finding time from my busy schedule to sit down and write a post. I was going to answer some of the questions you've been asking in comments. (Such as "What is a drain rod" and Am I John?") But now I am going to do a LiveJournal on you. I am going to have an online STROP.

Often I think I'm going to have to face facts that the hoors aren't as interesting as they used to be and that hey, ho... it's going to be the end of "My Neighbours Are Hoors." (I'm currently persuading my friend to do a blog about her neighbours that like to set fire to things as a potential replacement, but she's only got as far as mastering ebay and we're taking it one step at a time.)

I was thinking a few weeks back about my closing post... about how all the horrors of the past have moved out and how 7 out of 8 flats are full of normal people and how the Hoors have been on a Hoor Behavioural course.

I even commented today to a work colleague about how peaceful things are chez Neighbour Of Teh Hoors (i.e. me) ... And then I came home.

Little Fuckers! The Nasty Horrible Little Cretinous Pieces of Shit! The Unbelieveably Disgusting Little Morsels of Dog Crap!!! Fuck Them The Fucking Fucks!

There is peuk ALL OVER THE SODDING STAIRWELL. (Americans: I have added Peuk to the Glossary)

And who slept through it? Me. I'm so damn hard working, you see. Either that or it's the earplugs I've been wearing because the boyfriend's snoring is so loud. The Boy sleeps so soundly that even my poking him in the ribs to stop snoring doesn't wake him. The noise of vomiting teenagers is hardly going to rouse The Boy.

Anyway. So I got home and The Neighbour With The Cool Hair had been out the night before and had missed it all until he came in this morning.

It seems that Shetland Girl's brother wasn't in to recieve his evil little friends last night... and so they just made themselves at home on the stairs. They had pizza. They had coke. They had chips. And then their stomachs didn't want such quality morsels in them anymore so they peuked everywhere. Gads. I mean Yuck. I mean... you manky little Fucks!

Shetland Boy's girlfriend, like me, was fast asleep. She's out there right now heroically CLEANING and thus earns my respect and worshipping. Shetland Boy came home at 4am and tried to find them so he could beat them to a pulp, but they were long gone. Shetland Girl is out there at this very moment on the phone to her brother (who is still AWOL) demanding that said friends be brought to justice.

The Residents, meanwhile, appear to be forming some sort of Peuk Justice Force. Any further appearance of said friends will result in PULVERISATIONS! PAIN! LOTS OF PAIN!

I'm going now. I need a drink.

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