Caterwauling

The good news: Thundercunt stayed quiet-ish till 10:45 p.m.  The bad news? It’s ten forty fucking five p.m. you bitch. Put Fraggle Rock to bed and maybe she will be on time for school tomorrow. You know, for a change. 

Those are my public names for the twunts upstairs. I haven’t figured out public names for their demon spawn yet. I generally call the bigger one “Fraggle” because she’s uncoordinated and bounces off the walls like she’s on puppet strings. The littler one just cries a lot like her daddy.

Honestly I think the guy is the victim of domestic abuse. Granted, a man who yells at a woman (and then me for asking that they be quiet at night) isn’t much of a man. But boy does he stand up for Thundercunt when others are around. Like he knows he’s gonna get his ass whooped if he doesn’t.

Yesterday I awakened at 4:10 a.m. because one of the little bastards dropped something on the floor that rattled my ceiling. So I got up and worked. By 5-ish p.m., I was falling asleep at my desk. Got home at 6, ate and fell asleep to a meditation MP3 at 6:45.

7 p.m.: Enter Thundercunt. Over my room. End nap.

The bitch usually gets home at 8 p.m. We get some fugly ass strippers at all the men’s clubs around here. (I mean, Octomom for Christ’s sake.) So she may be out table-dancing to pay the rent.

And it’s like she saves up all her rage so that when she bursts through the front door, she’s yelling at him and the Fraggle goes flying and the baby starts wailing.

Lucky me, they picked my room to fight in and awaken me from my nap after three hours’ sleep the night before.

Their nightly rap concert started at 10 p.m. instead of 11 — I guess the bitch thundering her way home an hour earlier was an improvement in that regard. (See? I am A POSITIVE PERSON.)

Of course, they just screamed right over the music. And they picked Mom’s room to scream into the wee hours. So, I did get some sleep last night but she didn’t.

Apparently the motherfuckers slept in today. I was thinking maybe the early “Yo! MTV Raps!” routine was so that they could get Fraggle off to school at a reasonable hour. But alas, I was long gone by 8 a.m. and mom texted an hour later to say there was lots of crashing and banging. Probably to get the little delight ready for school.

When Big Giant Pussy was yelling at me that I choose to hear them, I wish I could have talked over him long enough to tell him that when you’re louder than the people and objects in my apartment, you are in my territory and I have a right to object to the way you behave.

I can only imagine what Fraggle’s poor teachers go through. Those kids are so bad when their mother is around.

It’s funny though. Big Giant Pussy is home with them all day. And granted, many days are one big ceiling-rattling hootenanny. But I don’t hear yelling unless Thundercunt is home. I wouldn’t say he’s a good dad … but if those fuckers ever split up (God I wish), I would be more than happy to tell a judge to give him custody. If, say, any giant crocodiles or wild wolves weren’t available as my first choice.

Maybe those fuckers should befriend me instead of making me so mad that I’m going to do something I am too far gone to regret …