WHY can't I live in a lawless society and be able to take a bat to Dipshit's head?!?!

Is that too dark a thought? I am SO struggling to recover from the RAGE of my morning and early afternoon, when for some 3 straight hours, Dipshit grated on my last nerve at every turn. Thank GOD I actually had a restful sleep before the rage began. First, he proceeds to have his usual 17-point breakfast. At ONE time, I heard -- from bed -- the microwave whirring, the stovetop sizzling, coffee percolating, and the toaster popping. To put an exclamation point on this Noise Extravaganza, I half expected a motherfucking cow to trot into my kitchen so he could milk it for his coffee. God forbid the stupid piece of shit has a simple fucking bowl of cereal and OJ. So at that time, I already wanted to shove his hair-dyed head onto a fucking piping hot skillet. But it only got more annoying once I got up. For TWO hours, I waited to have my toast in peace. I managed, admittedly, to have my cereal and initial cup of soothing tea without interruption. But I wanted to chew my toast in private, too. In he comes, ready to wash his whopping 3 dishes...which somehow takes him 10 fucking minutes...and they're usually not even clean once he's done. Cue me reading the same paragraph of the business section of Wednesday's TIMES over and over, unable to process a word. Then, apparently finding NOT talking awkward, he opines on tomorrow's SOPRANOS. Not a syllable of what he uttered was a thought necessary to vocalize. But I issued my patented, curt, increasingly non-interested-beyond-human-belief "YEAH." I mean, to anyone with half a brain, it'd have been obvious YEARS ago that I don't care to partake in throwaway "conversations" to fill up silence. Shut the fuck up, and let me enjoy my cereal, OJ, toast, and endless cups of tea, please. And maybe eggs. Or pancakes. Either way, don't talk to me until, oh, 4pm...and even then, keep it short and make it noteworthy. THEN, he asks if the toilet was running last night 'cause he noticed it running when he came home, but then it stopped, and he wanted to tell the landlord. WHAT?!?!? WHAT?!?!?!?!??! I have NO idea what he's talking about. The toilet's fine...for once. When there IS a problem, it takes him 7 months to notice, and now when there's NONE, he wants to drag the landlord up!??! I began to wanna cry at this point. I left to make my bed while he finished washing his 3 dishes. Once back in the kitchen, I try to resume my breakfast. But HE is now in the bathroom...shitting...as is made painfully clear by the silence-grunting-silence-grunting rhythm. We HAVE a goddamn fan in there...PUT IT ON, YOU FUCKING MORON...so I don't have to HEAR you. I was nearly at the end of my rope...so I took a time out and soon took a shit, too...WITH the fan on. I TOLD you that Irish soda bread would come out about midday today. As soon as I opened the door to attempt for the 27th time to resume my breakfast, I hear this GODAWFUL noise. Four-Eyed Fucknut has decided he'd VACUUM now...for like the first time in months. I ALMOST made a running leap through the window, but decided to go into the living room and gaze out at the soothing water. He was soon back in the kitchen...radio on, chopping up cantaloupe...FURTHER delaying me. And THEN...he left. And I instantly made my toast, logged on, checked my email, and began this rant. I CANNOT tolerate living with this idiot much longer. SOMETHING must be done...and, no, not a bat to his head. Excuse me as I sip cup of tea #6...