The Shrill Cry of the Banshee

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"HELP ME! SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE! I'M BEING ASSAULTED HERE!"

Paula screams outside my door. I yawn. This is probably the seventh time this month that she has been assaulted in her room by the same man that she has a restraining order on. Somehow he constantly ends up in her room, day in and day out. And then one day, out of the blue, she is screaming out the above again in the corridor.


Strike that! Not ONE DAY, but late in the fucking night! I'm talking about 3:00AM! This bitch has the nerve to stick her water-head out of her door and scream. Honestly gang, I want to go over there with a baseball bat...and HELP HIM! If this man is such a fucking recidivist, what's the point of bringing him into your house time and time again? Are you a glutton for punishment? I guess you are because he still is beating your dumb ass!



It never fails with her. Time and again. I wouldn't mind if he hospitalizes her, but all he does is slap her in the face after she slaps him. Or threatens him to do something dumb, like slap an apple off of her shoulder. Trust me people, it hasn't turned into a violent act as of yet. It's that dumb, childish, I'm-crazy-in-love-shit that this is about. They slap each other around and argue and the next day they can't live without one another and making babies with all of those stupid assed Skek names, like Rolandshaka, and shalinda, and Lexus. I love Lexus. They're naming their kids now after cars that they use their dampened socks to wipe their windshields with to get a buck.


Oh yeah, don't put it past Paula to go out side with a squeegee and her underpants and dab them in a curbside puddle. Then come to your car and wipe down your windshield and scrape off the filth. Then roam to the driver's side of the car with their hand out. When they used to come to my car with that shit, I used to turn on the wipers. And being homeless, I never did that shit.



Yeah, like I said, I wouldn't mind if she had her ass whipped. Then she wouldn't invite this dumb fuck into her home every fucking day, and then when he gets out of hand, comes and stands in FRONT OF MY DOOR at 3:00 in the morning shouting for someone to call the police. Why doesn't she call them? She has a cell phone. Or simply leave your house and go downstairs and tell the security guards on the first floor to call the cops and stay in their office until they get there.

No, this bitch yells and then goes back into her room and argues with the fucker. Two minutes later he storms out of the room. Five minutes and the cops arrive asking her what is happening and she says that the guy has already left. This scenario plays out over and over again, time and again, to the point that it's a joke. Like the boy who cried wolf. After awhile you pray that the wolf does appear and the boy is eaten.


This is also to annoy if not to incite me to action. Which it does not. But honestly, I couldn't care less if I heard her body pummeled to death against my door. I still wouldn't move from one ass cheek to another. Fuck that. She steps outside, screams, wakes me the fuck up, and my normally two hours sleep is curtailed to one. Now I'm tired all day long. All day. That shit is painful. Now I have to try to sleep during the day, where it's lawful for everyone to make as much noise as they wish.



Try to sleep during the day and you know what I'm talking about. Even your kids make fucking noise that they don't at 3:00AM. So what are you going to do now Hobo? Start boiling a pot of water when I hear him knocking on her door and she lets him in. When she hops out to scream for someone to call for the police....well actually to do nothing more than to wake me from slumber, I'll jump up, grab that pot of scalding water and throw it at her face. And as she screams bloody murder, then I'll call the cops and blame her boyfriend.


This will work because they no doubt have a rap sheet in the precinct by now of domestic sort-of violence an arm and a leg long. The police will say that it was only a matter of time until it became physical to the point of abuse and no longer love taps.

Problem solved. I told you I have the answers to everything that ails you.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2011/03/shrill-cry-of-banshee.html
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