Thursday, November 18, 2010

Mmm. Pizza

I was up late last night hanging out with some people in our apartment and we decided to order some pizza. I left two pizza boxes with a few left over slices in the kitchen at the end of the night and went to sleep. The next morning I walked into the bear’s den to find Bill had clearly enjoyed a few slices of the pizza considering the boxes were now on the floor in the middle of the living room. I’m sure after rummaging through the refrigerator in search of some of MY orange juice to wash down some of MY pizza with, he simply gave up when he couldn’t find any and collapsed in his hibernation-like coma on our couch as usual. End of story? Not even close..
I walked into the living room and breathed in thick, salty, heavy smog that can only be compared to three week old salmon left in the sun on the shores of the Passaic River, then trapped under a homeless man’s rotting corpse after having been “sleeping” there for a week himself. It was clearly Bills feet considering his shoes were at the edge of the couch desperately trying to crawl away from him and his socks were blacker than Barack. Bill usually smells like sh*t but something today pushed me over the edge. The conversation went as follows;
Me: Bill, It smells like complete sh*t in here.
Grunting and rolling over so his shirt could flip up and expose the hairy keg that is his stomach;
Bill: O.. Yeah, I guess it does. I’m pretty sure it’s the pizza.
The pizza!! Yeah Bill! A plain cheese pizza left out for maybe 6 hours smells like Indian food covered in burning hair. My patients was at its end so I flipped open a pizza box, took a big whiff, and said;
                  Me:  It’s not the pizza. When the f**k was the last time you showered?
                  Bill: Uh, Maybe like 2 days.
                  Clearly a lie
                  Me: Take a f**king shower already the whole apartment smells like sh*t!
I took the garbage and slammed the front door as I left. Then it hit me. What did I just do? I snapped on a heavily medicated nutcase and left him alone in OUR apartment. I immediately started to think;
a)     That was all he needed to finally snap and I’m probably going to come home to find him hanging from our ceiling fan.
b)     He snapped alright, but he’s going to be waiting for me to get back with a roll of duct tape and a variety of torture devices.
c)     This is exactly what he needed, a wakeup call, and he’s probably in the shower right now ready to apologize to me and turn over a new leaf.
So I figure my chances are 50-50 between (a) and (b).

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Wake Up, Sunshine

I was sleeping peacefully; enjoying every minute of the well needed rest that my college schedule allows me. The door to my room suddenly opened loudly, and Bill stood tall and proud before me and said "Hey John?" My eyes opened up wide and I panicked, like a parent being woken up in the middle of the night to a loud noise.
"What!?" I said.
"Oh, I just wanted to tell you that there's left over Pepsi in the fridge from that event I did, so you can drink it if you want." He replied.

Left over Pepsi!? Are you f**king kidding me!?

"I don't drink soda." I said while turning over in my bed.
"Ok, well it's there. Just wanted to tell you."

It's nice to know that my roommate prioritizes authorizing the consumption of tooth rotting, diabetes causing cola over letting me sleep. He was clearly trying to redeem himself since "That's My Orange Juice", by "allowing" me to drink his Pepsi. Well thanks but no thanks Bill; I still want my victory jug of orange juice.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

You Better Watch Out

I forced my friend Kyle to come hang out with me at my apartment to play video games. He was hesitant because he had heard of my roommate situation and I told him about how dirty the place was, but he still made the bad decision to come. Once he got there he planted himself on the couch. Let’s get one thing straight: I never, ever, sit on the couch. By now you should know why, but if you don’t, I’ll go into a little more detail. Bill spends roughly 80% of his time lying on the couch, most times shirtless. He spends 15% of his time in the cafeteria, and the final 5% of time in class. I dedicated no time towards showering/personal hygiene for a reason. As soon as Kyle sat on the couch I immediately jumped out of my skin.
“Don’t sit there!” I proclaimed.
 “Why not?” he asked.

 Bill, and whatever he carries with him, lives on that couch. That’s why Kyle.

Kyle moved from the couch a few moments later, and left after we hung out for a while. The next day I was surprised to see Bill calling my cell phone. I answered, and he sounded panicked. This is how our conversation went:

Bill: Do you know a Kyle Murray?
Me: Yeah, he’s my friend. Why?
Bill: Well, I found his wallet here.
Me: Ok? He must have left it last night.
Bill: Yeah, well he should be careful. You never know who’s hands it could end up in and what could happen. There’s a lot of important stuff in here so you have to be careful.

Really? I thought people should be reckless about their belongings that have connections to their personal assets and identity. Good thing I was enlightened.

Me: All right, just keep the wallet there and I’ll give it back to him.

Kyle had left his wallet buried in Bill’s couch, which of course he found after laying on it. I gave Kyle his wallet back that very same day, and I was surprised once again to receive a call from him ten minutes after giving it back. Kyle sounded creeped out.

Kyle: Dude he went through everything in my wallet.
Me: What do you mean? Like your cards?
Kyle: Everything. All of my credit cards are in different spots. My license isn’t where it normally is. He looked at every single thing in my wallet.

Good thing the wallet didn’t end up in the wrong hands.

Question of the day:
How many legal forms of identification does Bill need to know whose wallet he’s searching through?

Two. Only Kyle’s license and social security card are actual forms of legal identification. Better hope he didn’t memorize your social Kyle.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Oh My God

Have you ever woken up with a song stuck in your head? Was that song stuck in your head because it was appealing, and your brains natural reaction was to memorize it and repeat it over and over in your head? Or are you like me, and you woke up to a ten second segment of a song playing over and over for a half hour. I heard the same segment approximately one hundred and eighty times before I got out of bed and walked into the living area, only to find Bill lying on the couch replaying the chorus to Usher’s “OMG” again and again. “What are you doing?” I asked. Bill immediately rolled over, making a tremendous amount of noise, and said: “Sometimes I like certain parts of songs and so I replay them.” I wanted to scream “OH MY GOD!!”.

Well Bill, I’m glad that tickles your fanny, and pokes the sh*t out of mine.

The final question:
Have you ever learned to hate a song in thirty minutes?

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Saved by the Sh*t

My girlfriend and I were watching Jersey Shore (wonderful show) on my laptop, since we missed it's airing on television. My bed is in the left corner of our room as soon as you walk in, and the headboard is in the corner. We were both laying with our heads touching the headboard, and my laptop approximately two feet from our faces. Bill heard Pauly D shouting his traditional "Oh yeahhhhh, champaign yeahhhh!", and immediately walked into the room and gave us his famous "I'm going to speak to you for about ten minutes about nothingness" stare. Since our attention was luckily focused elsewhere, he decided to chime in and get a little closer.

"Are you guys watching the new Jersey Shore episode?" he asked.
"Yes" I replied.I already knew where this was going.
"I didn't see that one yet."
"Oh, it's pretty good." I guess he mistook my statement and thought that I really said, "Please come join my girlfriend and I in this claustrophobic space that we chose to avoid confrontation with you and watch the show with us!"

His next move was to stand over my girlfriends shoulder (I was on the inside of the bed, against the wall) and twist his head into a viewing position, like one of those flexible desk lamps. The awkward meter was warming up, currently at five. Once contortion viewing became tiring, he then proceeded to crouch down to get an even better view of my 13" computer screen. The awkward meter was now going above seven, so it was time to make a move.

Me: You know they put all of these episodes online right?
Bill: Yeah, but I don't think this one is up yet.

I was practically speechless . .

Me: Were watching it online right now. It's up, on the MTV website. Anyone can watch it there."
Bill: Oh, cool.

He continued watching the show. What does a guy have to do? Common!
I was getting desperate and had to think of something fast. I couldn't enjoy watching Angelina's televised humiliation while this guy was hovering over my girlfriend and I. What did I do? What any full grown man with half of a college degree would do: "I have to take a sh*t."

I paused the computer and made my way to the bathroom. I didn't really have to go, but I was already in the bathroom and you might as well use the time wisely, you know? A few short minutes passed and I came back to Bill standing in the center of the room. When I laid back down and prepared to press the play button, he was in the process of pulling a chair over to my bed to continue watching. Luckily I hadn't unpacked yet from my trip home that weekend and there was no space for a chair. After taking forty five second to process the circumstances, he left the room defeated.

Saved by the Bell? Not today. I was Saved by the Sh*t.