My Revelation

Holy shit, I think he's reading the bible to himself under his breath every morning.

sort of makes you wonder if any atheist has successfully gotten a room switch because their roommate so devoutly believed in god that it made them uncomfortable, you know?

My Window

There is an outright majestic view from my room. This view is of course ruined by flies. A lot of flies.

At all times.

It doesn't matter if you spend a weekend disposing of them, because they have a 36 hour lifecycle. This means you need to spend at least three days of constant vigilance fly killing in order to ensure total destruction.

Which means four days if you actually want them gone.

The little fuckers are now coating my window. yes, coating is a bit melodramatic, but shit in heaven, I don't want do deal with these things! Now, I had been taking care of them all weekend with a vacuum that Dude accidentally stole from the sign-in people downstairs. I now have to deal with more than ten flies, spontaneously generating onto my windows, and those little shits are still going to be alive when night falls and they're gonna be all up in my lamp and overhead light, and GRR

Flies suck.

Hard.

HARD

in other news, I can taste his bodyspray in my mouth. you know that scene in Anchorman with the Panther cologne? THIS SHIT SMELLS THAT BAD--WOMEN OF THE WORLD, SPARE MY FUCKING FACE HAVING TO DEAL WITH IT AND LEARN TO ACCEPT GUYS FOR HOW THEY SMELL

My Mornings

My mornings are usually spent either rushing to an 830 class, barely making it in time for a 930 class or sleeping until the afternoon. Once a week, however, I get the privilege of my roommate's one-sided conversation.

Now, I don't know how many girls he's had over to his old place in the middle of the night, or how many public sleepovers he's been involved in, but Dude doesn't snore. Well, yes, he does, but only when he's getting to sleep. If you think it's weird to notice something like that, try sleeping ten feet away from someone who snores like a motorcycle for an hour or two every night. Then get back to me on how prying and invasive I am when I'm bleary-eyed at 830 in the morning from getting to sleep at 3. No, what he does is a lot more Freudian.

Dude talks in his sleep.

I've yet to put a microphone on him, record it and make millions with his underground rap skills, but the day isn't far off. The worst part is that I don't know if he's actually asleep or not. All I know is that he's one of the chattiest sleepCathys ever. Not to mention, Dude won't wake up for love of pussy. He just hangs out in bed all day talking to himself. I can hear him over my music.

And he often starts just after his phone rings, so I'm not sure if he's trying to maintain an actual conversation or if that's just his alarm and he still has issues with letting his entire body go numb when he sleeps. The same problem is the cause of sleepwalking.

I wish he was a sleepwalker so that he'd notice it in the mornings. Then again, I like my stuff untrampled. . .--

Oh, Dude's up. Seeya.