(I wrote this whole entry as if I were Frank (my roomate)… fuck I’m bored.)
I swear to God I have the weirdest roomate ever. He just does weird shit, at weird times. The other day, all of a sudden this fucking box appeared. I don’t know what he had in it, maybe airplane stuff or something, but it just suddenly appeared. This isn’t like a small box, this is like a HUGE box. Maybe 3 feet by 1 foot. This is a lot when you consider how small a room we live in. Sure, he keeps his ‘box’ on his side of the room or whatever, but still, it’s fucking unsightly. I knew if this thing stuck around it would be a magnet. I was right. The other night, he decided to use the box as a makeshift table to eat his Wendy’s on. He’s going to die an early fucking death always eating that shit and sucking Coke.
Speaking of Coke. He always comes home with a fountain drink. I don’t know where he is getting these things, but they’re always huge, and he can’t manage to throw any of them away. So they sit. Like little time bombs. And then they explode, and leak soda everywhere. And then of course, he’s never around for me to be like … hey your cup is bleeding. He’s off doing weird shit. Sometimes he doesn’t come back for days at a time. Then he’ll come in at like 1 in the morning, with like 3 planes, some of them with lights on them, throw them under his bed, and crawl on top of his little pile and under his sheets. He’ll be unconcious for the next 16 hours.
When he gets up, he’ll wrap himself in his skanky ass sheet, and sit at the computer for the next hour mumbling about how he gets so much spam email, and how Gmail manages to catch everything but one or two. Or how he hates this stupid ass 14 year old on Ezone named Thomas Manson or something.
Then he’ll take a shower and run out the door. Something that’s becoming increasingly frequent. And I won’t see him again until it’s late and he walks in with a ton of planes.
Joshua Ziering