Strange noises come from the apartment above mine. At first, I assumed it was my upstairs neighbors having sex because it sounds like someone bouncing on a large piece of furniture and lasts about seven seconds (am I right, ladies?). But the noises recur so frequently--every couple of hours--that I have had to discard that theory. I can only think of two other plausible explanations:
1. The washing machine belonging to my upstairs neighbors has the world's fastest spin cycle;
or
2. A giant toddler lives in the apartment above mine. She has a tiny attention span and thus rides her giant rocking horse for only a few seconds at a time. Her name is Kimberly, and though her father loves her, he can't help resenting her a little for the fact that his wife died trying to push this monstrosity through her birth canal. He knows Kimberly can't be blamed for getting born, but, on the other hand, why can't she?
I don't know about you, but I'm pulling for explanation #2.
ELSEWHERE:
My short reviews of Chemically Imbalanced Comedy's Cartoon and Chicago Shakespeare Theater's Twelfth Night are in this week's issue of the Chicago Reader.
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