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Right now I'm cowering in my fucking closet with no food, no electricity, nothing but dirty water to drink, and my crazy ass roommate is pounding the shit out of the people next door. And the thing is, they're my best friends.

Who am I kidding? They're my only friends.  And they're getting their ass kicked for sticking up for me. So they say, anyway. I just wish they had found some better way of showing me their love than heaving rocks through the window at my roommate all hours of the day and night. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the solidarity, but shit, I have to live with this fucking maniac. And as long as they're fucking throwing shit, how about throwing some food, or a pack of Marlboros, or a magazine to read in this fucking closet? Or maybe a job or something...
   Sometimes I think my friends don't so much like me as they just hate my roommate.  I went to stay with them once and they made me crash under a plastic sheet in the back yard. Excuse me, in one corner of the back yard. With a fence around it. Some friends.
   I had to use wire cutters every time I went out to steal a paper from own fucking former porch. Then my roommate found me out, and man I took an ass-kicking that makes me sob just to remember it. Sabra.
   How did I get in this shithole mess? You wouldn't fucking believe it if I told you, but I'm going to tell you anyway.
  I'm chillin' at the crib one day, knockin' back some dates and watching the goats fuck in the back room while my wife was shingling the roof and some guy knocks on the door.
   I go to the door and the guy says, "Hey, son, you're an Elvis man, aren't you?"
    I said, "Why yes I am, what of it?"
    He says, "Well, I'm a Beatles man."
    I said, "Yeah. Okay."
    He says, "I happen to know from the liner notes of this Special Bonus Album that only I have, that this here house you're living in, used to belong to a Beatles fan. Like me."
    I looked at him like he was batshit. Which he is, by the way, but that's not the cause of our disagreement, just the symptom.
     He says, "This dwelling place has been reserved in perpetuity, all time, and extended play for Beatles fans."
    I said, "I don't dislike the Beatles, I just like Elvis better. Truth be known, I favor the Stones over the Beatles as well. I just don't see how that adds up to me giving over my house to you."
    He says, "Let me put it to you another way, Slick. I have been dreaming about living in this house since before you even moved in. That should close the case. It's my house."
   Maybe I should have heard him out, but I just slammed the door in his face, except he stuck his big foot in there.
   He said, "I wasn't going to bring this up, but it just so happens that my previous landlord kicked the shit out of me, and killed half my family, and I figure somebody owes me. That would be you."
    I wish I could say I opened the door and my heart wide with compassion and welcome, just like the Indians  did for the Pilgrims, but I'm not that way. I didn't like the motherfucker then any better than I like him now, and I slammed the door and triple bolted it, and went to drag my other wife off kitchen duty to guard it with a poleaxe.
   Thing is, I forgot about the back door, and the next day I had a roommate. Which wasn't so bad, until all his friends and family showed up. And then we got in a big fight, and the landlord tried to give him my third wife's room, along with half the yard and the goat pen.
   Roommate said, "Look at you, you with those scrawny goats in that pen. I can put a hydroponic tomato garden in there and put the whole thing on a paying basis. You don't deserve this yard."
    So we got in a big fight and I had to beat a quick retreat to the shed out back. Figured I'd get my shit out of the house later. It's still there.
   Along with my date tree, and now the motherfucker treats me like a damn dog, makes me show papers everytime I leave the yard, steals my money, killed my grandfather and 3 cousins, and I'm crammed into this shithole closet with no food and now no electricity.
   I feel like a goddam ghost. But my crazy ass roommmate is real, and tell you the truth, if he thinks up any more ways to fuck me in the ass, I think I might just kill myself. And I might just take one of my motherfucking roomates with me. That is, if my friends don't kill me first.  

   

Originally posted to AWhitneyBrown on Tue Jul 18, 2006 at 04:00 PM PDT.

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