A while back I blogged about M. Stinky Man. Monsieur le Stinky lives across the hall with his girlfriend who apparently has a job a housecleaner, although I’m not sure when she works as she’s always home. She loves her 80’s pop music. She loves to play it very loudly. That would be fine if it was The Smiths or something but as with most people on this planet, she has unironic, shite taste in music. She seems to have amassed a huge collection of K-Tel’s “Awesome 80’s” (or whatever they’re called) compilations. As I write this, it’s Loverboy. I, too, am working for the weekend when I can consume enough Ceasars to drown out Mike Reno’s tortured vocals. Or right now, Rick Springfield.
*oh, it’s stopped. Monsieur Stinky Man (l’Homme du Skanque?) has returned from his pretend day job (probably just hangs out at the Legion). That means the music is turned down to a tolerable level and the arguments peppered with colourful church-related profanities begins.
That’s my cue to go in the kitchen and start currying up those scallops.