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// "Let's Get Michelle Pissed Off, Shall We?" \\
(( 20/01/02 by Michelle anada503 ))
\) ________________________________________________________________ (/
I hate my roommates right now. Every single last one of the damn
bitches.
Little miss smug Erika and her boyfriend whom I'm beginning to think
does not have a fucking home considering I see him so much, who doesn't eat
meat, whose mother is a hippy, and who thinks I'm going to kill myself
because of a fucking Iggy Pop lyric I wrote on my computer. Vapid little
waste of organic materials.
Or how about, oh thank you for the rabbit, Marissa. She doesn't come
to me when the dorms start threatening to do room checks for animals, nope,
she gives the damn thing to a petting zoo instead of letting me give it back
to the old owners, like I mentioned if something like that ever arose. Yep.
Fucking smart.
Or Pam. Oh yes, let's not forget Miss I love rap and mtv so much,
yippee, oh I dress so trendy, ladee motherfucking daa. I work at a bar, I
invite my buddies over, all six of them to hang out in the room until
Michelle comes home, I don't care if they're sitting on her bed or not, I
have my friends. So they're messing with her stuff, she doesn't care. Oh
yea, I don't care, I don't care until I come home and tell them to get off
my fucking bed before I start cracking skulls. Not to mention I catch the
fuckers touching my computer to try to check their trendy little emails and
I'm going to use that dagger I have stashed in the closet.
Also I hate MTV. It's not music television, it's a bunch of crap
about people with poles up their asses and bands that sound all the same and
the trendy folks who I wouldn't even consider braking for if I saw any of
them in the streets. I liked old videos, I loved The Maxx and the cartoon
with the demon living in that guy's head. But no, now it's shit, and it
puzzles me to no end that kids watch that crap.
Now that you know the players let me give you the setting, I left on
Sunday with my mother and boyfriend to drive down to Key West, hang out, get
drunk all in all have fun before finals drive me fucking loopy. Fine by me,
I come home.
Now the shit hits the fan. There are signs all over the kitchen.
Little signs about sanitising, and sweeping, and remembering to throw out
things, cleaning the lint trap as well. And closing the door, (to keep out
the weirdos of course). Oh yes, of course, Jeasuz H Christ, why worry about
the ones outside? There are three of you living in here already, what's it
going to matter if you try throwing another party anyhow for the rest of
them? What the fucking hell is wrong with this picture?
First off, all of us are well around the age of twenty. Second off,
last time I checked I didn't need little signs around to remind me to do
things that a fucking ten year old should remember to do. Third off, you
want to piss me off, not to mention hurt my feelings at the same time, then
let all three of these fucking bitches sit down and decide to do all this
shit at five in the morning and leave it so the fourth comes home to such a
big wonderful surprise. One that ruins the fact that I finally had a good
weekend that didn't have work, let alone the fact that I came home with a
bottle of wine and a smile on my face. I hate house rules. My mother
bossed me around enough, I don't need three strangers telling me what to do
either.
And I tell you now, if I have to read those little signs, and abide
to these little reminders that the rest of the household needs to survive,
then I'm going to gladly add on to their little list of rules. Starting
with:
Rule #1: The managerial wanker lords of this household can Bite Me.
Think that'll go over well enough if I happen to post that at five AM
for them to find?
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( @ @) anada503 has been brought to you by Michelle.
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/ ||| (c) 2002 Anada E'zine www.anada.net * Anada is cat-friendly.
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