You'd think that in a place where arbitrary jets of fire spray from the walls without warning and where rivers of lava pour across the kitchen floor while you are making a sandwich, that the local fire department would at least have the common decency to take some responsibility and recharge some of the fire extinguishers around this place, since they don't bother to show up at my house most of the time. Which is constantly on fire.
Why does nobody answer my phone calls?
Do you people all have some sort of a problem with me? My whole house is burning down like every other day because it keeps sinking into various pockets of magma (yes, they appear underneath you at the most inopportune moments) and I called the fire department like five hundred times and they couldn't even be bothered to show up with their hoses and Dalmatians to save me!
"Well Gary, maybe if you didn't like your house constantly being on fire, you would've have had the foresight to NOT build your little housing development in the center of the earth," Chief Barry always tells me, as if I like living in the center of the earth or something.
Well Chief Barry, who do you think I am? An engineer or a city planner or whatever? Where do you get off? It's like the economy is so bad I don't know where people expect me to live anyways. Up with Jees and the gang? No way am I cool enough to hang out with them, much less live with them.
If you have a job, DO IT!
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