Oh, Jesus. It’s that guy again. That guy who clumsily jiggles the door open every night at 2am with the stink of Pabst and failure on him. Come on in, idiot. Sit down on the couch that I’ve been shedding and relaxing on all day, as you check your friendless facebook account on your broken, outdated Powerbook G4 Macintosh laptop missing it’s shift button.
Hey, moron, I think I’m going to walk across your keyboard and stick my ass in your face. ‘;.lpk,ijnuhbtfceszaz. Ha! I just made it look like you typed a bunch of gibberish like a 6-year-old pretending to know how to type. You like that, prick? Now I’ll scratch on the back door until you open it, and then I’ll pretend to lose interest and walk away from it, just to hear you murmur to yourself like a confused mongoloid.
Did you see what I did in the kitchen yesterday? I vomited. That’s right, that was me. I totally vomited all over the floor and then pooed a few feet from that. You like that, asshole? Did you have fun cleaning it up? Jerk? I don’t even give a shit. God I love having no sense of responsibility for my own stupid actions. I’m going to go into your room now and destroy something.
Oh, did I just needlessly rip up your cardboard file full of resumes with my teeth and claws? I guess I did. Oh well. I suppose I’ll take comfort in the fact that if you did anything bad to me, your room mate would kick you out of this house, where I would again sprawl out on this couch and watch as you meander down the street in the rain, homeless.
I have plans for tonight, you know. After you go to bed, at the exact moment you fall asleep, I’m going to run up and down the hall on the hard-wood floor right outside your room as noisily as I can. Yep. And then I’ll find something to bat around with my stupid paws, like that cat toy you tried to hide from me. You remember the one. The tiny, dirty, fur-covered stuffed duck with the little bell inside that jingles every time I hit it. I found it in your closet when I went in there to piss on your box of photos from home. I think I’ll toss that toy around for a a big chunk of the night. And maybe at around 4:15am, after meowing at odd intervals like an injured banshee for three hours, I’ll jump up on top of the fridge and knock over that bowl of receipts and opened letters. It’s going to be loud as fuck. God I hate you.
I noticed you bought a package of ear-plugs from the drug store. Was that so you could have a nice, silent night of deep REM sleep? Are you wondering where the earplugs went? Well, while you were out, I went into your room and I ate them. I absolutely did. I ate those little, orange, squishy, foam cylinders. Even though they’re not food. And you know where they ended up? In the puddle of puke in the kitchen that you cleaned up yesterday. Fuck you, you dumb dick.
Oh, you just turned the TV on. Great. Don’t mind me, I’ll just jump up on top of it and dangle my tail across the screen and obstruct your vision for a while. Is this your rented DVD you left up here shiny-side-up? Well I just ruined it with my claws and dropped it behind the entertainment system. That’s going to be a pain in the ass to retrieve, and you’ll probably get charged for the damage. Well, I best be off. I have to go to the window sill and stare out at the world with my weird, creepy, demon eyes and think of ways to slowly destroy your life. But I’ll be back though. I’ll let you know of my return by silently sneaking up, like a ninja, and biting your Achilles tendon for no good reason. Farewell, idiot. I hate you so so much.
