WW III is coming

...or at least it sounds like it from below us. although we no longer have to put up with the antics of the slug, we have new housemates who are gamers. and not just gamers, but avid gamers. like gaming-in-any-spare-moment gamers, which roughly translates to about eight hours a day, usually from about 3 pm to midnight. and they often play different games, too (in the same room). one on the computer, one on the xbox 360, both with their volume cranked to levels that make our floors shake and sends our cat to hide in the drawer that houses our skivvies. yup, it's that bad.

of course, their games of choice are RP (role-play) games where they, inevitably, have to blow things up, fly airplanes, and use most of their vast arsenal of weapons (which we guess ranges from handguns to uzis to cannons) to save the world. typically, their virtual survival is punctuated by screaming, yelling, howling, cheering, and sometimes, top-volume expletives that would make ozzy osborne blush.

we can't figure out which is worse - the slug, or the gamers. the slug is definitely winning in grossness, but general annoyance? it's a toss-up.

i'm too old for this shit.

it's official, folks

it is with great joy that i annouce that as of 22 hundred hours and seven minutes last night, we received notification that the slug is indeed moving out on july 1st.

the delight we feel is only outweighed by the fear that the entire house may need an exterminator to rid it of residual slugliness.

and there are some concerns...i mean, how will our guests find us, without the trail of slime up the mountain to guide them? will our neighbours miss the pornographic bass-line that nearly constantly eminated from our basement? will i never hear the opening to 'superman' in mind-blowing surround sound again?

almost unmentionable...

...cuz it's so exciting. the slug might be moving out!!!!!! wahoo!

from comatose to furious in no time flat

as many of you will know, i am a passionate person, but not unless i am descending into the depths of one of my terrible depressions does this passion fuel rage. however, there is one person who can make me go from comatose to vibratingly murderous in about 0.243 seconds. his name is kris, and he lives downstairs.

b and i have taken to calling him 'the slug' because frankly, that's what he looks like, and i would estimate that his intelligence is at slug-like levels as well. (do take note of the fact that the slug in the diagram below is heading away from the maze entrance.) the two things that differentiate him from a slug, however, are a huuuuuge ego and a thunderous voice that he uses to announce/trumpet/bellow the details of his life to our entire neighbourhood. and because we are so fortunate to live above him, we are privy to every. fucking. thing. he. does. and yes, that includes sex, watching porn (we wish this was an uncommon occurrence, but alas, no.), using the bathroom (far less gross than the porn and sex), singing really terrible songs on his untuned guitar (almost worse than the sex), and other similarly revolting things that we could all do without hearing - and i mean ever.

kris' whole ego thing is odd, cuz i'm thinking most slugs have probably seen themselves in a mirror, and have the good sense to know they are slimy, lumpy, and pretty much disgusting to anyone--except other slugs, that is. enter kris' girlfriend, kristina (yes really. kris and kristina). she too, is from the sluggus grossus family, but is paler and has more hair. i know waaaaayyyy more about this girl than i know about some of my best friends, and there is a reason for that--it's TMI. contrary to popular belief, i don't want to know what you sound like at the height of ecstasy. i really don't want to be able to hear about (and then, actually hear the soundtrack for, your preferences for porn). i don't want to hear the sweet nothings you whisper/holler into the ears/tentacles of your lover/slug. i will like you better for not knowing that stuff, believe me.

speaking of being better for not knowing things...i just have to say that i didn't need to learn that slugs are hermaphrodites. i also didn't need to read ANY of the section on reproduction, and i'd suggest that you don't either.

as i am typing out this tirade, i can hear more of the daily slug-drama unfolding: "HEY KRISTINA DO YOU WANT SOME TEA?" "YEAH WITH LOTS OF MILK AND SUGAR, NOT LIKE LAST TIME. I ONLY SEEN YOU PUT IN 3 SPOONS OF SUGAR YESTERDAY." note that the hollering comes from our living room, which means they are probably next to each other on the couch. earlier they were watching 'superman,' which is one of the two movies they loop continuously on surround sound (the other is 'moulin rouge'). thankfully, he has not played anne murray today, nor has he played the CD recording of himself singing...but wait! hark! as he does like clockwork each day, he is launching into a million-decibel lecture at his seven year old daughter (yes, the same one whose bedroom door opens out to the oily futon where hermaphroditic slug-intercourse takes place). this time he's ragging on how sick and tired he is of cleaning up after her. (as an aside, she is actually pretty cute. from the looks of her, i don't think she is a full-blooded slug, but i worry about her prospects, given her custodial parent. which reminds me: what court of law in this godforsaken province determined him to be the better guardian?!) aha, just on time...she is now sobbing. so the slug should stop now--he usually keeps it up until she dissolves into helpless tears. it turns out that this is a win-win situation for everyone.

we need to get out of here. seriously. this is a violation of human rights on a number of levels, i'm sure of it. i think we will have to start a non-profit organization (entitled 'rescue mission: from slugs to safety') and an accompanying bank account for donations. you've got to help us get out of here. you know we'd do it for you. just follow the trail of slime up the hamilton mountain...but knock loudly, as we are holed up in our bedroom (located above the kitchen - the least disgusting noises come from there), wearing earplugs covered in cotton batting under our headphones with our heads pressed to our white noise-blaring sound machines.

p.s. does it help our cause to mention that we share a washing machine, and have started to suffer from strange, mysterious slugly symptoms (e.g., laziness, weight gain, affinity for parading our bloated bodies for all to see, etc.)