Brought to You by the Letter F and the Number 0

I wish I had had a tape recorded last night when I woke up at about 3 AM to the sound of the neighbours across the street in all their drunken splendor. The place has about five appartments in it, and it doesn't seem to matter who moves in or out, they always end up being the loudest house on the street.

Last night they were partying hard. My brain was all cloudy when I woke up, and I thought I must have been dreaming as I tried to make sense of the drunken screeching that was broadcasting loud and clear through the open crack of my window.

Sometimes I wish that I could get drunk like that and wallow majestically in my own ignorance for the enjoyment of the entire neighbourhood. Not that it was really an enjoyable spectacle to witness, but there was a kind of sublime fascination about the whole scene. And of course, the liberally employed showcase adjective of the evening--the only really intelligible component of the entire discourse--started with the letter "f".