Glitter is the herpes of craft supplies.

People downstairs, you were doing fine with the whole "not being loud, obnoxious bastards" thing up until five minutes ago. Then you went back to being fucktards and playing your godawful music (which is shaking my bed, by the way) and shrieking like babboons having unlubricated buttsex. Do not make the fat girl go get the RA again. I am tired, and I need to be up in five hours and forty five minutes, you insufferable curs. I know you don't care, but you should remember that cranky fat girls usually find the most vindictive forms of revenge. I WILL break out the sharp, pointy things if I have to, and when I am done with those I have some nail polish remover that would like to get to know your wounds rather intimately.

Fuck you with a rusty, jagged flagpole,

The fat girl upstairs who keeps stomping on the floor.