it's under my bed and my mom never cleans there

Today when I got home from work, I discovered that someone had broken into the building. I was relieved to find out that my apartment had escaped unscathed. Finally, someone else gets to pay for the broken window! This will finally get me off my ass about renter�s insurance because next time I will not be so lucky.

I am not afraid of having my belongs stolen as much as I am afraid of someone breaking into my home and killing me out of anger and frustration after having found nothing that would making having broken into my house worthwhile. I not only need renter�s insurance but life insurance as well. It will be a busy day on Monday.

Here is an excerpt from The Onion which would sound like what my would be assailant would say, should I be burgled or robbed again:

Mugger Can't Believe Crap Victim Has On MP3 Player
BOSTON�Following the successful mugging of a jogger in Franklin Park, petty criminal Derek Mesker announced Monday that he cannot believe the shit he's found on his victim's Philips 20GB MP3 player. "3 Doors Down? Maroon 5!" Mesker said, scrolling through the songs. "The new Counting Crows?! Man, I'm glad I pistol-whipped that motherfuck." Mesker added that the first thing he did was toss the device's "gay-ass" teal neoprene case.

For the record there is no �3 Doors Down� on my MP3 player. There is Maroon 5 due to peer pressure from Dan and Kipp and Paula�s �Jedi Mind Trick,� and by Jedi Mind Trick I mean, �being an unavailable, unattainable, attractive woman.�

So, someone broke into the lobby and encountered a stairwell and more locked doors � but without windows. Pretty much they were screwed as far as stuff to take. Maybe the trashcan is missing but I am not going down to check.

I have enough strange noises in my apartment to creep me out right now. There was this tapping, every couple of seconds there would be this tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Then I realized that I had washed my belt with my pants (again) and it was just the buckle whacking the dryer at it turns about.

Then there is the noise the toilet makes as it refills which I had not noticed until I was here sitting around waiting for my violent home invasion, every noise keeping me on the edge of my seat.

I feel like I am Jody Foster in that movie that I did not watch and cannot name or maybe like that washed up child star from Home Alone. I want to go down fighting and leave a big, bloody mess for my crime scene photos. I hope that whoever invades my home to kill me and take my things is cleverer than a ten-year-old child star.

I hope they never find them and the story of my death and dismemberment is on shows like �Unsolved Mysteries� along with the other quality television on �Lifetime: Television for Retards,� which I should not mock because life is no the same without Golden Grahams and Golden Girls for breakfast. Blanche, you ignorant slut, I miss you most of all. I also hope that my mysterious assassination is the stuff of legend like the Kennedy Assassination.

I hope the crime against literature, which will be my assassination, is horrific enough to be made into an episode of Law and Order � ripped from the headlines!

Princess, I want you to wear a very ridiculous hat to my funeral. I want copious amounts of grief.

I want my friend, M, to give my eulogy and even though she will be there I want her to give her eulogy via videotape. I want her to be wearing a hat that would make Margaret Thatcher GREEN and prevent the people for rows and rows behind her to being able to see. I would also like the Philosopher, Dan, to give a eulogy because he is brief and insightful.

DO NOT ask any of my friends with Downs Syndrome because none of them really liked me. They were using me to get to Jennifer Neely.

Kipp, when the police interrogate you (and they will) be sure to wear panties because doing the whole, �Sharon Stone� bit is old and obvious. Be sure to smoke and use someone's purse as an ashtray through the entire funeral. If my mother�s mother shows up, burn her with a cigarette. Do not let the French get away with a �boycot� when they do not show up because they are not invited.

Justin, make sure to arrange the seating so that people who hate each other will be forced to sit by one another. Troy and Edie Bratcher should be pallbearers since the dislike me the most out of anyone. Find a way to get them to stand there and hold my big, fat corpse if you can while pretending like you do not know where they should go.

I insist that everyone play themselves on Law & Order, except for me because I will be dead. I would like Elijah Wood to play me because he makes a good pansy and a better corpse.

The air conditioner on the roof just kicked in and that scared me to death.

The entry you were SUPPOSED to get about my night at work.

Today at work there was a sign up to go to Six Flags with the people I work with. If that does not sound horrible, I do not know what does.

I was not going to go until Lily said to me, �You know you want to come with me to Six Flags. I just get crazier, louder and ghetto-er outside work.� I knew then that I was smitten. It did not even bother me that �ghetto-er� is not a word and she should have said, �more ghetto.� I knew I would have one hell of a time and a killer entry to follow it up but then she said, �You are my Pooh Bear� and I was pretty creeped and decided to maintain my agoraphobia.

I though agoraphobia was a fear of Al Gore elected to be public office (typed �pubic� before cursory editing) but that is actually called �Common Sense.�

Well, then our friend Donkey came in. He was wearing a cowboy belt buckle. Cowboy belt buckles look stupid on white people and they look worse on Rick James impersonators.

The only real fun I had was convincing my co-workers that it was national pickle appreciation week sponsored by the American Pickle Association and we should anticipate people ordering extra pickles until next Saturday. One person challenged me and I shouted them down, and I do mean shouted at them about their flippant attitude towards agriculture and pickles. I went on and on about how pickles saved the pilgrims, made the vital difference at the Battle of Gettysburg and were dropped across Afghanistan to prevent starvation during our ouster of the Taliban. All of this I do off the top of my head but I cannot get your special order right.

When I clocked out I went to get my employee meal. This is the time you just take food and leave. I was reaching for some French fries when our boss, Charlene, said, �Don�t take those.� I was pissed, I really wanted fries. She said, �Take THOSE, the ones you were going to take have been there for a while. You want fresh ones.� I love that woman, char broiled scalp and all.

As I was getting in my car I noticed that Donkey was smoking pot in his car. I hope he was clocked out because it bothers me that other people get to goof off when they are on the clock if they are not being clever as Mr. Kenobi and I would.

People just do not seem to appreciate what we bring to the work place. Sure, it is more productive when we are not goofing around but it is also boring. We keep MORAL up and that is more important that employee productivity.