Some people can be very inconsiderate. That’s understandable. The world needs asshats to make the rest of us look better. What is frustrating is being on a receiving end of the constant inconsiderate acts committed by said asshats. And just because I am who I am, my tolerance for that corner of the general population is null. Magnify that by a million when you factor in my roommates as the inconsiderate pricks.

You see I am a passive, quiet individual. I generally opt out of getting into confrontations and avoid situations that would make me go super saiyan. It is a well known fact that I am very good at dodging and blackballing people (I once cold-shouldered my mom for a year and a half). But once I can find no means of avoidance, I use other measures to solve my problems. gunReally: Just daydream of kicking ass. Sometimes I wish I had superpowers. #superserumplease.

As of late, it has come to my attention that one roommate, who will hence forth be called “Webbie”, has completely annihilated my supply of ziplocs and saran wrap. I found this out about a week ago after overhearing her jubilantly say to our other roommate, dontsteponmyfootfatshit “Chubbs”, “there’s lots of things in here” as she opened the very draw that USED to contain them. And then there was the recent “I didn’t pay for these”. The obvious here is that the aforementioned thieving scalawag helped herself to my possessions without asking me. Not the first time either. What’s the kicker is that said scalawag hates it when other people “touch my shit”. That is a direct quote from that time Chubbs’ boyfriend stole some of Webbie’s peanut butter. Hypocrite.org. Cunt. Or is bitch better?! (Think Kathy Griffin’s impersonation of Teresa Giudice). Kathy

Now, I could just go up to her and ask her to replace my goods. But, somewhere deep down I feel I shouldn’t because you’d think after having your own shit stolen you’d know better. But over the past semester I have come to realize that this Webbie individual is quite the rogue; very sketch and would probably half-ass her way from taking responsibility for her heinous crime. I witnessed her take as her own mail from a previous tenant, for which she thought might have contained money (it had characteristics of a birthday card). She had divulged to me her disapproval of Chubbs’ not-so-healthy eating habits behind her back (all I wanted to know is why Chubbs wasn’t cleaning shit that didn’t belong to her and she throws this at me) yet these two are supposed to be friends, hence their choice to be roommates. #Twofacedscorpionwoman. Or how about all those times I overhear (it can’t be eavesdropping since they’re apparently not very stealthy) her and Chubbs talking about how they hate running into me, yet beam when I make an appearance? I PAY RENT TOO! Let’s not forget my almond milk debacle. And I am also not so sure punching babies in the face isn’t on her rap sheet. But I digress.

As I write this I am conflicted about my proposed solution, which is to add some toilet water to Webbie’s PUR.  At least I have the decency to consider using toilet water from her own bathing facility, right?. #shadefortheshadybitch. Shade Sure this is not how people solve problems, but it has been 4 months with these two. Not to mention graduation within the next month and grad school applications in tow. I just can’t. Those who chance upon this entry (if you read this far congratulations) might think I’m kidding, but I really am not. It’s either these two or unloading cases on the Wal-Mart in town. And I don’t think there is enough hours of Mortal Kombat to relieve my stress right now. I am all out of ideas. Four years of this constant roommate bullshit has indefinitely made it clear for me: STUDIO FOR GRAD SCHOOL!!!

‘Peace’. This ninja walked off like it was a fucking concert.

                                       -Kevin Hart


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