Friday

 

So, these are all "after " photos. Like, Jared from Subway type "after." This is how Mister Robert L. left his room when he mercilessfully vacated the premises after being evicted by yours truly when he adamantly refused to clean up after himself. Nine large trash bags were required to transport the spoiled and festering debris of his life to the dumpster where it had badly needed to go for far too long already. The maids bill for dealing with it? $235. The joy of having him gone, priceless.


I couldn't resist a black and white shot, crime scene style. Again, this is AFTER he left. This is the mess he left for me to deal with, even though I had been paying his rent for him.
He says he was depressed--so sad he couldn't find it in himself to get a job or clean up.

Normally the proper word for somebody like that is "homeless."


He left dirty pans, filled with the stinking spoils of some white trash buffet he had concocted. Half an onion and a small rotting chunk of cheese laid waiting for me on the cutting board when I returned home from school. It was like one of those Rapture movies--except this one took place in a trailer park, which just so happened to sadly double as my apartment.

I think the photo of a blank employment application says it all. Sadly, the small forest of his pubic hairs which adorned it didn't show up in the photo. Which begs the question, what did he do with those things??

Magically, he found a way to blame me for his sad state of affairs. He felt bad and I didn't help, I just payed his bills,and asked him to do his dishes. I'm such an asshole.

Man, now that he's gone, I gotta wonder what would happen if I ever had kids for real??

Okay, I'm done ranting for now. Who's next?

Thursday

 
There was a homeless shelter in an abandoned sewer in the room next to mine, and I got to pay its rent.

The Verdict:
Didn't pay rent: Check!
Turned Filth Creation into an Art form?: Check!
What Utilities??: Check!
Forced his underwear and the carpet to mate and bear offspring?: Check!


For weeks I've been a white hot ball of "Get The Fuck OUT!!?!?!" every time I considered the outrageous situation of my roommate, Mr. Robert L.--Mr. Can't Work Because The Sadness is So Sad, has been staying in his room longer and longer, only the thin reek of sweat and tobacco smoke filtering through the door crack alerted me to the fact of his continued existence. No rent, no comment, only the unsettling reek. . .Finally, $1300 poorer because of my stupid, stupid continued patronization of R.L., I decided to crack his door open, and see just how he'd been living. . . .

I've seen squats with better hygeinics. Dumpsters with better class. Roach motels with livelier tenants. Behold, THE HORROR. . .


So that's where all my dishes were! His room had been slowly transforming into an extraterrestrial petri dish over the past few months--how rude of me to think that he should have been looking for a job and paying his bills when he was obviously on the verge of some exciting scientific breakthrough!

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