Wednesday, November 18, 2015

larynx shmarynx

Quick! Someone make plans with me so I can cancel with a LEGIT excuse and not feel waves of guilt! My excuse is that I have laryngitis. It is the truth, too! Isn't it great? Hey, I may even call in sick to work tomorrow and then just chill the frick out, drinking honey tea and coloring one million mandalas. Last time I had an inflammation of the larynx, I was at the Happiest Place on Earth with the Lamest Rich Children Ever. I shall not say which famous politician was the grandfather to these children, but some of you already know. Who cares, doesn't matter. All that matters is that I am under no obligation to hang out with one single soul for at least the next two days! Hoooooray!

Work is a little bit better. It's calmer. Calm is, in the long run, better than chaos. My roommates, however, are still a pain my cute, nicely shaped ass. They sneak into my damn bathroom while I am away at damn work and use my damn toilet and damn shower and who the damn knows what else. What really gets my goat is that they are sneaky about it. It's creepy. But not the good kind of creepy. I am thinking of being the good kind of creepy and leaving doll heads hanging from my bathroom ceiling and riddles written in fake blood in the shower so that the next time the upstairs goofballs get the goofy idea that they want to be highly disrespectful and march into my bathroom, they will be shocked! Horrified! On the verge of vomiting! But vomiting in their toilet -- you know, the toilet that they are supposed to be using and which I would never even think of using. Because I am polite. Because I know better. Because I'd rather look into the soulless eyes of a doll while I urinate thankyouverymuch.

Five minutes until I have to wrap up this post and go to my job where I feel like a nameless peasant. Rich people, man! They have boring kids (but not the ones at my school, just the ones who have politician grandfathers) no desire to acknowledge you if you aren't a member of their exclusive country club. Nice feelings. Three minutes! Do you think three minutes is enough time for me to rip the heads off of some dolls and dangle them from some chains attached to the ceiling? Probably. It's at least worth trying. Have a spooky, inflamed larynx Wednesday!

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