Darwin's waiting room

Not to put too fine a point on it, the intellectually challenged See-You-Next-Tuesday across the hall -- Sonny, or Sammy, or whatever his name is -- partied like it was 1999 last night. Or should I say this morning. Ho hum.

The real story of the day (because being awoken 2:30 - 4:30 AM on a nightly basis is no longer news) is that the fire alarm went off just now. Twice. In a row. And of course by now we've become so inured to the false alarms that no one wanted to leave. Least of all myself, who was in the shower at the time.

Except this time there was a real fire. Naturally.

Apparently some arsehole on the 4th floor decided to light a candle and put it in the window sill, naturally in direct contravention of the terms of the lease. And naturally the dickwad's curtain caught fire, but the scum-sucking, mono-browed, knuckle-dragging mouth-breather had covered over the smoke alarm (naturally in contravention of the law, as well as the lease terms) so as not to get caught doing something she/he/it shouldn't have been doing in the first place. Hence the fire. Resulting in the eventual arrival of three big-ass fire trucks and everything.

Welcome to Flat 88, Harrow Hall of Residence: Darwin's waiting room, where we engage daily in experiments in adaptive living to determine the fittest of the species -- who will survive and who will race to extinct themselves by acts of the sheerest bald-faced, dim-witted, numb-nutted stupidity.

Let's hope they don't accidentally drag some of the rest of us with them.