It's Party Time - II

The Fortune is not in my favour. I would suppose this has to do with my quite recent obsession with homicide. But, then Fortune must also know that I have been driven to that by desperation. Or it could be because I was coward (or in this case, lazy) enough not to throw those stones last night. Or this morning. Or this afternoon.... and seeing that this has been a never-ending party... I haven't even screamed across from my balcony, "Shut Up." Fortune, after all, favours only the brave.

Yes, I was invited to the party again. And even though I didn't RSVP, I was, of course, in attendance — although not so much physical present. (Does it become another party if it only took a small commercial break and started again at 11 am?) Strangely enough, there seemed to be lesser number of 'guests' over this time around. I am certain the number was halved from last night.

And, did I mention about the host's taste in music? It's horrible. I will rescind my statement from last night, when I complimented my host for his eclectic collection of good old English rock. I speculate, the music, last night, was rather to impress, than a show of his taste. Today, as of this afternoon, I am sure is the true presence of his very unimaginative .... likes in music.

Please forgive me if I restrain from mentioning the songs... there are too many and I am trying not to be any more irritated than I already am. I am trying to concentrate over the blare and blast of those drums and boom-booming woofers.

I have, of course, discussed homicide with a friend. Asked him if it would be alright if I killed this ... psycho DJ-in-the-making. He said I should invest in sniper rifle, or bazooka. Sniper rifles are really really looking quite attractive right now.

This, after I have tried stuffing Megadeth and Sepultura into my ears — through headphones. I will not be uncouth enough to inflict death metal on any of my neighbours. And definitely not after midnight and continue the torture in daylight.

Once, long time ago, my boss had yanked the earphones out, saying I should be listening to the ... noise of everyday. Sorry, boss. No can do. If this is the everyday noise, I wish I could get my earphones glued to my ears. I do not want to hear extremely irritating dhinchak songs — Chiggy Wiggy? Oh Please! — while I am trying to work.

I am, right now, contemplating how to get across to this .. this... nincompoop... that his preference in music is not shared by everyone. I can, of course, scream it across: My vocal chords are evenly matched with his crappy music system. But that would mean waking up the other neighbours. I know I am loud in the daytime. At nights, that loudness can be positively thunderous.

I could use the brick. Only problem is, I know I won't be able to hurle it that far.

Oh how I wish his crappy amplifier was capable of spontaneous combustion. It would solve the problem in the long run.

Sigh. I am definitely going to dream of ways to kill someone, without getting caught.