fucking car break in

Summer 2001: Hoodlum breaks into my car, tries to steal CD player. Luckily, hoodlum is stoopid and can’t figure out how to get it out. Steals a cell phone.
September 2002: Hoodlum smashes left rear window, breaks into my car, successfully steals CD player. Also randomly pours a bottle of Coke on my backseat.
August 2003: Hoodlum smashes right rear window (thank heavens for variety!), breaks into my car, successfully steals my CD player. Also takes about $40 (estim.) in change. Leaves my TollTag and my Texas state map.
Last night: You’ll never guess! Hoodlum smashes my left rear window, breaks into my car, successfully steals my CD player. Completely rips apart the car’s central console in the process, ripping out my air conditioner and fucking up the electronics so that my turn signals (and god knows what else) don’t work. Steals about $60 (estim.) in change. Leaves my TollTag, my Mapsco, and my Parking Spot repeat-customer card.
Those motherfuckers who run my fucking apartment complex did their usual blame-the-victim schtick when I called them a minute ago. (“Oh, you must have left some valuables in clear view!” Um, actually no, fuckface — even took off the detachable face on my stereo.)
At least I’ve established a number of meaningful business relationships with auto-glass repair shops, thanks to all the smashing experiences Post Uptown Village has provided me. I think this is the latest in a long string of incidents conspiring to tell me something: It is time to move far, far away from here.
I’ve said it before, and if history tells us anything, I’ll probably say it again. But to Hoodlums No. 1 through 4 and the mind-blowing cretins at Post Properties, I give a rousing:
Thanks, assholes!