[:I bet they call him 'Dick' a lot:] I was awakened this morning by a rumble above me. At first I thought -- good God! Hurricane! -- or something equally stupid, but then my head de-fogged and I realized it was only our upstairs-neighbors that was causing the raucous. These are the people who, at two in the morning on Tuesdays or some random school night will, to no fail, play loud, disturbing rap-rock "music". That hasn't happened in a while, but whatever, they're on my shit list again. To my sleep-deprived ears, it sounded like a stampede of elephants or worse, Richard Simmons leading a class of grumbling fortysomething secretaries and perky teenaged moms through another round of Jazzercise.
At any rate, I thought it was necessary to get out of bed and poke the ceiling with my lacrosse stick.
HA! First of all, I don't poke ceilings. When we lived in our NY apartment, our downstairs neighbor would pound on his ceiling like there ain't no tomorrow. It was so annoying. We couldn't understand why, but we had a blast Rollerblading on those smooth wooden floors all live-long-day. Second, I do have a lacrosse stick, but it's at home. You know, *home* home. And why would I get my ass up out of bed when I can just turn up the Remy Shand and pray to the sun god Ra to stop the rain? Ra, Ra, sis boom bah. Oh my, I need more sleep.