Anybody know the plural form of hiatus?

I feel the title of this post is necessary due to how many times I've gone days, weeks, even months between posts. This thing used to be like a religion to me. Go out into the world, piss someone off and/or get pissed off, come home, write about it, drink, pass out. It was cozy. It was familiar.
But alas, those days are gone, at least temporarily. See, instead of being an unemployed slacker mooching off of my old man, for whatever that was worth, I'm now an unemployed slacker mooching off of my friends. Friends who, unfortunately, don't have internet access, and apparently live around a bunch of fucking yuppies who are so inconsiderate that they encrypt their wireless signals so that fine, upstanding young people like myself can't e-five finger their bandwidth. Some people just have no sense of decency. So, here I sit in a public library, mourning the loss of immediate access to pornography and wondering how many times I can type the word fuck before the elderly meatsack sitting next to me looks over and has an anuerysm.
Aside from my somewhat involuntary relocation, I have to admit the last couple of weeks haven't been completely suck factor. I mean, there's the cool not sleeping in my car and eating scraps from various fast food restaurant garbage cans, which is definately nice. Coming in a very close second, however, was when I was visited by a very good friend that, by sheer force of will, has managed to put up with me for almost thirteen years running. She didn't even get mad when I stumbled over to my neighbor's house and tried to pull him out into the street so I could paint the sidewalk with his teeth. I mean, c'mon, nothing says friendship like someone laughing their cute little ass off while you chalk up a Class C to your already impressive legal record. Bonus props for not crying like a little bitch, Rach. You're all kinds of rock 'n' roll.
Since I'm sure you're wondering, I'll go ahead and explain the misdemeanor. Apparently, at some point in time, someone decided it should be against the law to man up and try to take care of business yourself. See, the man living across the street from us is a douchebag. Not just any douchebag, though; this is a special variety of douchebag. We're talking Level 80 Elite-level douchebag (and if you know why that statement is worth major geek points, shut the fuck up; you're obviously just as bad). Anyway, after weeks of walking around with a pistol strapped to his hip, a-merrily strolling about his yard screaming obscenities at the preacher who lives next door and his wife, calling out a man three doors down who walks around with a urinary catheter hanging off of his junk and hitting the panic button on his oversized truck when girls who weigh about ninety pounds soaking wet get within fifty feet of his yard, I'd had enough (I think the twelve-pack I'd pounded earlier that night probably helped, too). Nothing came it, really; I knocked on his door, told him to come down into the street and try mouthing off to someone who both could and would do something about it, he pussed out, and that was pretty much the end of it.
Until the cops came.
Yes. He called the cops. Which wouldn't have amounted to much, if he hadn't apparently had a tape recorder directly next to his door running smooth as silk, creating a perfect duplication of every threat, rant and physically impossible description of what he should do to himself. Who does that? Tell me, please, someone just tell me what kind of a waste of carbon walks around with a .44 holstered at his side, but still has audio surveillance on the off chance that someone comes over to call him out? I honestly thought I was in trouble until half the damn neighborhood came over and told the cop what kind of a piece of shit his caller was. As of today, I still haven't heard anything from the city, county or state. Yay for neighborhood comraderie.
Aside from those two incidents, the last week or so has been pretty quiet. I'm still living off of your tax money (and your ad clicks, hint hint fucking hint), but working to change that. I'm still living off of someone else's kindness, though they don't seem to mind and, in fact, seem to think I'm carrying my own weight fairly well.
And I still say the word cunt at high volume at various intervals.
Business as usual. Phoenix out.