Always a Fuss and Fight
Lawless Monkeys! Lawless Monkeys! Lawless Monkeys!
Sorry, but I don't think it's possible to be bored by the idea of
Lawless Monkeys! Lawless Monkeys! Lawless Monkeys!
I mean, how could you not be excited by that phrase? Barring sheer excitement, you should at least be filled with fear.
I have on-site laundry in my building, which is pretty fucking sweet. I don't have to haul crap to a Laundromat, I can do laundry in my pajama pants, and I can do it whenever I get around to it. Those are all fine features, but the best part is: I don't have to camp in front of a washer or drier to fend off potential laundry thieves. My building has an awesome machine to occupant ratio, where there is almost always at least one open washer or drier variety and so nobody is going to flitch my machine or my laundry. That fucking rules. I can go back to apartment, cook, read, watch a DVD, whatever, and get up after the appropriate interval and either move to a drier or bring the laundry back to my room as needed.
So, all and, a perfect setup for cleaning my garments. However, there is one guy who closes and locks the door to the laundry room while he does his laundry. This isn't really a huge problem, as the door can be opened with a building key, but it is soul-shiving obnoxious to be carrying my hamper only to the do my wash only to have to walk back and get my key. I want to grab him by his shiny, balding head and scream, "NOBODY IS GOING TO STEAL YOUR FUCKING LAUNDRY! EVEN IF WE DID HAVE A LAUNDRY THIEF IN THIS BUILDING NO ONE IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD STEAL YOUR HIDEOUS COLLECTION OF KHAKIS AND CARDIGANS!" I'd probably finish it with a kick to his nuts, just for good measure.
The worst part is he always seems to be doing laundry when I am. So every week for the past month I have made a quite a spectacle of myself carrying my white plastic bin of dirty laundry towards the laundry room, noting the closed and locked status of the laundry room, turning around, and heading back to my apartment with a look of pure rage that grows more fierce as the weeks grind on; I actually scared a women last night.
Well, that also could have been due to how much profanity I was unleashing. Oh, old ladies! You're so prude!
-Thomas
Sorry, but I don't think it's possible to be bored by the idea of
Lawless Monkeys! Lawless Monkeys! Lawless Monkeys!
I mean, how could you not be excited by that phrase? Barring sheer excitement, you should at least be filled with fear.
I have on-site laundry in my building, which is pretty fucking sweet. I don't have to haul crap to a Laundromat, I can do laundry in my pajama pants, and I can do it whenever I get around to it. Those are all fine features, but the best part is: I don't have to camp in front of a washer or drier to fend off potential laundry thieves. My building has an awesome machine to occupant ratio, where there is almost always at least one open washer or drier variety and so nobody is going to flitch my machine or my laundry. That fucking rules. I can go back to apartment, cook, read, watch a DVD, whatever, and get up after the appropriate interval and either move to a drier or bring the laundry back to my room as needed.
So, all and, a perfect setup for cleaning my garments. However, there is one guy who closes and locks the door to the laundry room while he does his laundry. This isn't really a huge problem, as the door can be opened with a building key, but it is soul-shiving obnoxious to be carrying my hamper only to the do my wash only to have to walk back and get my key. I want to grab him by his shiny, balding head and scream, "NOBODY IS GOING TO STEAL YOUR FUCKING LAUNDRY! EVEN IF WE DID HAVE A LAUNDRY THIEF IN THIS BUILDING NO ONE IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD STEAL YOUR HIDEOUS COLLECTION OF KHAKIS AND CARDIGANS!" I'd probably finish it with a kick to his nuts, just for good measure.
The worst part is he always seems to be doing laundry when I am. So every week for the past month I have made a quite a spectacle of myself carrying my white plastic bin of dirty laundry towards the laundry room, noting the closed and locked status of the laundry room, turning around, and heading back to my apartment with a look of pure rage that grows more fierce as the weeks grind on; I actually scared a women last night.
Well, that also could have been due to how much profanity I was unleashing. Oh, old ladies! You're so prude!
-Thomas
posted by T Kwong at 3:07 PM
9 Comments:
Generally speaking, monkeys are not bound by laws.
I think lawless in this context implies a level of mayhem. I suppose I could go with, "maruading," like the first does, but, "Maruading Monkies," just doesn't have that same ring to it.
-Thomas
What size does he wear?
Marauding Monkies absolutely has a ring to it. It's got that whole assonance thing going for it, and you really don't hear the word "marauding" nearly enough. That story is, by the way, awesome. Mainly because I'm all the way over here and don't have to worry about the actual threat these monkeys might pose and can simply laugh at their shenanigans. Hee hee. Monkeys.
Dwynbexe! (The recent first place winner of Alabama's annual "Cover-alls 'n' Square Dancing For Rhubarb Pie competition)
Noah: Dumpy White Man.
Jack: I just like the fact that they're beating up lawyers.
-Thomas
It's alliteration, not assonance.
Said the English major...
That's my size exactly!
Ooops, forgive me.
fish abortion, baby.
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