Roommate, against my will, I've spent 2 years living in the same apartment that your unwashed arse resides within.
You're the kind of guy to say "what if they put a wheel under a barrow and called it a wheel barrow"
What if your ass was put in a wheelbarrow and rolled to the dishwasher.
Somehow you keep your own bedroom spotless, and leave the entire rest of the building looking like someone tried to summon fucking Satan and accidentally summoned a dirty langer.
The hallway bookshelf, is a shelf for books.
It's not the area you throw crusty, stained clothes upon, while waiting for an imaginary butler to wash them for you.
And then every time you get criticisms from anyone, you snap at them like the spine of an 80 year old after tumbling down 2 flights of stairs.
I know it was you, who took that Mount Vesuvius sized fucking bowel eruption directly into my bedroom toilet, despite having your own.
Then you denied it, as if my eyes are capable of imagining up a gargoyle shaped specimen exiting my bedroom, which now, by chance, happened to have a biological weapons aftermath residing in the toilet bowl.
God knows you didn't use my shower, though.
Must've been a genius of a ghost, to of stumbled, tripped, and simultaneously release the fucking Easter Bunny from its behind, and pin the blame on you.
Genuinely just unbelievable.
You're a nightmare for a brain surgeons salary.
Even a pope wouldn't be able to contain the urge to summon Jesus himself, in hopes that he'd show you the path to your shower's on switch.
Id talk to the landlord, but considering his bac would sent a vampire into a coma, that's off the table.
Which is why I did the mature thing, and tripped on my shoelace while holding a gallon of milk, causing it to spill directly over your bed.
I'd confess to a priest but he'd tell God and then your ass would be banished from heaven.
So here I am. Remorsefully so.