Congratulations Infuriating Roommate!

He’ll come home while you’re chewing with your mouth open, eating out of the pot that belonged to his mother before she finally caved to breast cancer after six long years. You’ll be smacking your lips and making long, mournful moaning sounds while you eat.

“Motherfucker, this is good,” you’ll declare. “Don’t take any, though. Need it for leftovers for lunch this week.”

You know you won’t actually eat your leftovers for lunch (what are you, poor?) but give a man an inch and you’ll lose a mile or some shit like that. Your roommate will look at the pot, then you, then the pot again. He’ll open his mouth like he’s going to say something, but he’ll think better of it, tromping off to his room where, according to his history when you were on it earlier today, he’s been looking up new places to live for several weeks now.

You’ll give him about five minutes to settle in there before you come up and pound on his door. “It’s time for you to pay the power bill. I paid half of it last month.” You’ll wait for him to respond, but he won’t say anything. You’ll just hear soft weeping from inside. After giving him a few seconds you’ll enter without knocking again and find him in a ball on his bed, weeping openly over a letter. It wasn’t there earlier in the day, so you’ll know that it must be new bad news that the selfish prick you live with just received.

“Oh,” you’ll declare loudly. “I didn’t know it was ME time. I’ll come back when it’s more CONVENIENT for you.” Then you’ll slam the door and tromp downstairs to watch TV too loudly and wait for your roommate to emerge from his room so that you can harass him about how you can’t pay your half of the cable bill this month, and how the garbage disposal seems to be clogged.

This will continue for roughly another five to seven days, whenever his background check clears and he comes home and shoots you repeatedly with a pistol.

Congratulations Infuriating Roommate!