stealers, stealers, go away don't come back another day

ANGER. FRUSTRATION. LOATHING. This is what I feel when people steal my parking spot. Tonight it was a white Camry pimped out with random stickers. If I acted on the anger, frustration, and loathing I would ram them with my car. This would benefit me three fold: the stealer would understand that what they are doing is wrong AND suffer the consequences, I would have a much needed release of all this pent up anger (seeing that my parking spot is stolen approximately every other day), and third, a warning would go out to all would-be stealers "DON'T PARK IN E24 ... IT'S NOT YOURS!". So, as I hiked in from the open parking spots in Timbuktu (out near the garbage) I grumbled about the lameness of living somewhere where my spot is continually stolen right from under me. (Dominic and I are in the process of finding a new home ... preferably outside of the the ghetto). I forgot to mention the weird smell that was lingering in the air, which I later realized was good ol' marijuana that my neighbors are so fond of. Yes, on top of having my spot stolen I have to inhale marijuana at eleven o'clock at night after a 15 hour work day. AH! AH! AH! That's that. I'm tired and off to bed ... after I make Dominic's lunch. Oh, to have lunch made for you. That would sure make up for having your parking spot stolen. BEWARE WHITE CAMRY (or anything other stealer-to-be) ONE OF THESE DAYS I WILL TOW YOU! THE APARTMENT MANAGER SAID WE COULD AND I JUST HAVEN'T GOTTEN UP THE GUTS TO YET. BUT ONE OF THESE DAYS ...