Dear Roommates


Dear Roommates,
I like you guys. Well, I like one of you more than the other… but that’s neither here nor there.
I like you and I want living together to work.
But ya know what’s not gonna work?
The two of you getting wasted after I spent the whole morning cleaning the place, and trashing the place again.
Cuz then I spend the next morning cleaning up again.
And this morning? This morning I found actual dog shit on the carpet. In two separate spots.
How does that even happen?
Okay, yes, I know one of you has a dog and I understand the digestive process so I understand how it works, but how the hell does that not get cleaned up?
But ya know what is the worst offense?
String cheese.
I woke up this morning to find a string cheese wrapper casually strewn on the table.
That was my string cheese, goddamnit! I’ll put up with a lotta shit, but dairy is sacred, you motherfuckers!
… okay, I got a little carried away, but seriously, you touch my cheese again, I take away something you love.
You’ve been warned.

Dear Teeth


Dear Teeth,
What’s the deal?
I mean, didn’t I just brush you?
Actually, no, I know that I did.
Right before I went to bed. Since then, I didn’t eat anything, I just slept… yet here we are again.
Ya know, you’re really starting to get on my nerves with all this attention you need, although, when I consider the alternative… ya know what? Fine, I’ll let this one slide, but still, don’t think I’m too happy about it.

PS While we’re talking, what’s the deal with Madonna? I mean, I know I don’t fix the goofy gap in my teeth cuz I’m broke as hell. What’s her excuse?

Dear Coffee Shop Patrons (Pt. 2)

Dear Coffee Shop Patrons,
Oh, that smell? You’re right, it does kinda smell like a cheap dive bar in here…
What? You just noticed that when I walked in the door?
What a strange coincidence! No, I haven’t the slightest idea why that might be.
It’s certainly not because I spent the better part of Monday in a bitter, drunken rage.
I mean, can you imagine?!?
… okay, yeah, that was a lie.
But I swear, I wasn’t just pissed because I spilled vodka on my pants and that’s valuable alcohol wasted.
… yes, I am wearing those pants today.
Look, like you smell so freakin’ great?!?
I’ve had it with your judgment games! Yeah, that’s right, I’m talkin’ to you, old man!
You wanna throw down, we can throw down!
… wow, this escalated quickly. Ya know what, there’s a good chance I’m still a little bit rage drunk from last night.
My bad.

Dear Karl

Dear Karl,
I know we’ve only been living together a little while now, but I feel like we need to lay down some ground rules.
Naturally, having this discussion face-to-face would have been ideal, but I couldn’t get past the whole awkwardness of the situation.
It’s nothing we can’t get through it’s just, well, some of my requests are of a more personal nature.
I get that you’re an affectionate guy, I do, but we hafta draw the line somewhere because this is just starting to get weird.
Like, the crotch-licking? I’m all about the hygiene, so I let it slide despite the horrifying slurping noises I hear coming from your corner of the bed.
We only start to have a problem when you finish up, then promptly come over and try to lick my face.
That, my friend, is not gonna work here.
But while we’re on the topic of licking, as much as I appreciate you trying to get me up in the morning, there are appropriate ways to do it and there are inappropriate ways.
Example of an inappropriate way? When you come up to the side of the bed and start to lick my nipple.
Seriously buddy, I’m gonna hafta start sleeping with a shirt on at this rate.
Other inconveniences include the howling whenever I leave, the gassy nature of your daily routine, and your tendency to drip all over the floor after you drink from your water bowl, but these are issues for another day.
For now, let’s just try and get the licking under control, shall we?