Pieces of Faeces.

I woke up today feeling particularly bright and shiny on account that I didn't have any nightmares and got enough sleep.

Cheerful, I decided I was going to blog like a ditz and ramble about why I liked American Idol finalist David Radford and how cute he is.

But now I'm not.

Because that's how I am when things don't go my way.

You see, I thought we (Moob and I) had found a place to rent for the time being. Having confirmed with the current tenant to move in at the end of this month, we've stopped hunting for other places.

Then Moob calls and tells me the lady had an argument with her roommate, and now her roommate doesn't want to move.

Screw. You.

I swear that if you don't change your mind, I will do something drastic when I come over.

I will let the air out of your tyres (if you have a car).

And lurk around Carrefore's aisles and run you down with my trolley (if you shop there).

And throw paintballs mixed with rotten eggs through your window (assuming I know which one it is).

People aren't allowed to do things like that without suffering consequences.

I hope you get nightmares of rotting genitals every night.

I really wanted to blog about American Idol.