My Roommates Are Trying To Kill Me: Day 2

As you are well aware, Fussy Joe, Fridge, and his idiot brother K-Rock have concocted a plan to end my life. They are well aware of my weakness for bets, money, and food and have chosen to exploit this in an attempt to break my psyche and weaken my otherwise superior physical makeup. If this were me pulling off this bet, I can assure you that there would be Danny Ocean-esque precision involved using certain combinations of food that would assuredly get the results I wanted. While I will not divulge any of that information here (for these three idiots are no doubt reading this), I will tell you that my cronies have been somewhat lacking in their creativity.

If you remember, Monday night I was greeted when I got home with a peanut butter and sour skittle sandwich along with a vicious energy drink. I then told Joseph that I really didn't like the whole "sour" aspect of my meal, so what do you think I got for breakfast on day 2? You guessed it. More sour skittles. The imagination that could have gone into something like that probably could have produced several high-end Tim Burton movies, right? Bravo boys, you got me. A little water took the sourness right off those little things and I was on my way to work another twenty hour day.

As an aside, I made 60 bucks slingin' pies last night and my girlfriend now refers to me as Papa Gino. Moreover, I met my first legitimate whore last night. No seriously. She came into the establishment last night from the halfway house around the corner and bought a Pepsi. I couldn't imagine what she needed to chug a soft drink for, but she seemed hell-bent on drinking it as fast as she could. Weird, right? I wonder what she was up to. Perhaps she was parched from the walk. She was a real handsome gal though, a classic beauty. 5'3" 300-400lbs, crooked teeth, and a "mom" tattoo on her boob. Charming gal.

Moving along, I got home and what did I find was for dinner? Oatmeal, cumin, pepper, and YOU GUESSED IT...sour skittles. The Brain trust really broke the bank when they came up with this plan huh? I swear to God you'd find more originality in an hour of Carlos Mencia stand up. You'd find more creativity in a special needs classroom on bouncy-ball day. I swear I come up with better plans to smite my enemies during a mid-afternoon nap. Basically everybody sucks but me.

However, my dear reader, the lack of creativity and originality has only awoken something hidden in me for a long time. When I was a boy of seventeen (thirty years ago?!? HAHA you're hilarious K-Rock! Old jokes are funny!), I was notorious for taking jokes too far. That boy has been gone for some time now, but it seems as though he is on his way back home. When I was a kid, I had a colleague who could get me to jump off roofs of summer camp bathrooms by uttering the simple phrase "you won't do it." Well, that boy is on his way to Waltham with each passing day, and he has enlisted the services of some very powerful and sociopathic allies.

And then there was evening, and then morning. The second day.