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My Roommates




For the love of god, someone please buy a bottle of ketchup...or catsup. Shit! I'm not picky
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The "good" thing about having moved back in with my parents is that I have way more freedom than I had when I was in high school (and I once threw a smallish homecoming party in our garage-bedroom, with both of my parents at home and copious amounts of liquor on hand. The party resulted in me puking in various spots throughout the house and hitting my head on the bathtub before passing out on the bathroom floor, where my mother found me the next morning...and amazingly almost no one was the wiser).

The "bad" thing about living back at home now (and here I'm talking about everything aside from the shitbox that my personal life has become...so really just the petty stuff) is that it's like I've got 3 crazy-ass roommates.

Take for example this ridiculous "condiment drawer" that we've accumulated. I mean, why doesn't someone just go out and buy some damn ketchup?! How the hell does that not ever get on the shopping list?

Sometimes a girl just wants some ketchup on her scrambled eggs. Looks like we've cleaned out the drawer of ketchup packets...so now our choices are: Duck Sauce, Hot Sauce from Taco Mayo, McDonald's Pancake Syrup...and an ungodly amount of Tartar Sauce.

Speaking of which, who the hell keeps getting all that fucking Long John Silver's?! I'm sneering at you, Cristal...this is why I stole your Phat Farm sneakers. That and because you still owe me $90, bitch. Give me my money back and stop getting shitty seafood. Or at least, get some damn ketchup packets for the rest of us while you're at it.

Nobody wants to admit it, but when you can't find the mustard and you're squeezing out a soy sauce packet on your ham and cheese sammich...I swear you'll be whispering, "Die, you goddamn bastards" under your breath.

But hey, at least we have the TP situation on lockdown.

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