I'm So Serious. We're Moving.

I finish posting an entry about the quality neighborhood I live in, making sure to comment on the unsavory elements making their presence known.  I go to bed thinking happy thoughts about idyllic sub-divisions full of Stepford wives and Ward Cleavers with neatly manicured lawns and gardens full of produce where everyone smiles and calls you by your first name.

I wake to find that some "person" got in my truck while I dreamt and stole every last one of my CDs.  Every one. 

Look, knock on the door and you can have the big screen, computer, and jewelry.  Act mean enough, and I'll give you what's in my wallet, even check the couch cushions for loose change. Ask nicely and I'll help you load everything up.

But take my music?  

You rat $#@@%^&*&^%%$$#**@! with tiny little $$#@^&***^!@#$##@ and ugly %$#@&^!!(*&) who can't ##@$%^^%$#@*&^ cause you're so $$$#%^&!!!@#$*&. 

They left Rascal Flatts only because it was in the player.  Didn't think to look there did you, you %%$#@!^^&^%$$$.  Had they taken that, I'd be three kinds of Vigilante ninja right now. No one could escape my wrath.  

As it stands, I'm consolable only with this one thought.  My collection is so boring that I hope the hooligans fall asleep as they make their getaway and wrap their car around a tree.

Every last CD gentle readers.  Every one.....