This afternoon, Daleyacunt and Fuckin’ Fuckhead were gobbing off at each other outside my kitchen window again… sigh… yes again! Though I am no longer surprised by it, I’m still exceedingly agitated by it. I am so sick of hearing them carrying on like squabbling fishmongers nearly every day. I shouldn’t have to listen this absolute garbage, and feel quite strongly that the Small Child shouldn’t be unnecessarily exposed to language that would make a roughty toughty tank soldier blush either.
“I fuckin’ hate that cunt, what’s he comin’ here for, ya Fuckin’ Fuckhead?!” and many other equally fatuous observations appear to be a normal everyday conversational gambit for these people. On and on and on it goes, until you can’t even follow what they’re talking about – because ‘fuck’ appears comprise about 80% of Daleyacunt’s entire vocabulary so he presses it frequently into service. It seems to be the only verb, noun, adverb, adjective, pronoun and term of endearment he possesses and as such he trolls it out with alarming regularity. How much of this banal bullshit can we be expected to put up with? Seriously? 🙁 It’s so depressing to have this daily reminder of how the hairy unwashed choose to conduct themselves.
Well, after weeks of this, I’ve had enough. And have no desire to hear it anymore! I don’t want to know these people and I don’t want to know what is going on in their lives. I don’t want to know about their petty disagreements and I don’t want to hear them planning their future domestic arrangements. I don’t want to know about their complete inability to communicate with a modicum of decorum and I really don’t want to know anything about them at all. And yet, because they do not appear to be in possession of ‘inside voices’ here we are!
So, while primarily motivated to preserve what little sanity remains to the long suffering inhabitants of Azerbaijan, and in a slightly retaliatory mood, I put on the stereo and cranked up some of my favourite opera classics. Ostensibly I planned to merely drown out their gutter sniping, but it turns out, Dalyacunt and Fuckin’ Fuckhead mustn’t be overly fond of opera, as it had the added benefit of driving them indoors; and with then went their profanity peppered pugilistic palaver. Bonus!
The moral of today’s story? Music not only does music tame the savage beast… but it also bests the brain dead bogan!
