"They're Trying to Kill Us!"

So we have this theory that Boston is trying to kill us. I think it's a well-founded theory. First, there is the fact that no one in our lot can park, evidenced by the fact that Mike's (brand new) car has been hit four times in the last month. These people are too rude to even leave a "I'm Sorry" post-it. I mean, geez. We have assigned spots. WE KNOW IT WAS YOU. Second, let us not forget Saturday's incident at the Bruins game. Even leaving out the fact that we got kicked out for no reason, what the hell is up with the arena doors? It wasn't even like Mike hit it that hard; he just assumed it was one of those gravity controlled doors that closed slowly. Which it was not, and it closed on his face. I'm sorry, you just do not expect that in a public place. Third, for the second night in a row we couldn't sleep, and the following conversation took place at 5:30 AM:

M: Sweetie?
S: I'm awake.
M: Me too. I can't sleep on my right side because of the tetanus shot.
S: Aww. I can't sleep because I'm still composing nasty letters in my head. (Thumping and crashing sounds outside in the parking lot.)
M: They're... trying... to kill us.
S: Could the trash BE any louder?
M: Do you think it could take less than half an hour? What the hell are they doing out there?
S: Farting around.
M: You think? You think they're just standing out there farting?
S: (Rolls around in hysterics.) Sorry, it's just the mental image, the trash men stalking around our lot in parkas, farting. It's not that funny. Wow, probably 'cause it's 5:30 AM. I think they're trying to kill us.

Memo to Boston: We're onto you now.