A party last night. Lots and lots of (cheap) vodka. A wicked hangover today.

And a chainsaw ten feet away from my window this morning at 9am.

Hungover and pissed is not a fun combination.

Crotchety Old Man Bill has the reins this morning, and, hoo boy, is he ever in a mood. This isn't a typical hangover, either. This is worldclass. This isn't a "hey, let's walk down the street very slowly and quietly and get some pancakes in us," hangover. This is a "please surgically remove my Everything, because it hurts, and hey...why are my teeth numb? And, dear Lord, why does my penis seem to lack any sensation whatsoever?" kind of hangover. Fucking Smirnoff, I think it was. Never, ever again.

It's a Saturday morning. This couldn't wait til a work day? When no one was around? Those trees had to be chopped into mangled ugly messes this very morning?

Even worse, my apartment faces the sunset. It gets bloody fucking hot in here at the end of the day. I used to be able to find a bit of respite out on my porch, where I would sit in the shade of the tree and smoke a cigarette while reading a magazine. It was a nice way to be outside without being under direct assault from the sun.

No tree, no shade, and now the temperature in my apartment will go up another 500 degrees.

Bastards.

The trees look horrible, too. It looks like they're leaving the trunks and just cutting off everything above six feet. The chainsaw was unnecessary. The same results could have been achieved by throwing a grenade straight up.

Beautiful way to start the weekend, I tell you.