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Last night the neighbor two doors down decided to blast the extended dance version of Born Slippy. Nice. That song must last for 27 minutes.

He should’ve put down the bong right then, because his next decision would cause him to enter a world of pain. That’s right, people. He put {brace yourselves} U2 in the CD player and turned it up to eleven. I vacuumed through most of the CD, then took a nap and completely missed the local police showing up at his door and giving him a friendly tap on the door with their nightsticks to remind him he lives in an apartment complex with other people who don’t share his musical tastes.

They didn’t bust him for having an apartment that smells like Otto’s jacket, though.

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