This article is part of the Anime Roommate series.
This could have been ME, Jerry. I can hear you through the walls laughing that big foolish laugh of yours, with spit spewing out of your dumb mouth. It makes me sick to think about. I can't imagine what the TV must be showing. Maybe some orphan being hit in the groin with a football or maybe a man getting his brain bashed in.
Laugh it up, Jerry. I'll just be in my room, alone, with nobody to comfort me. It doesn't matter that she said "No." You knew she would after your little stunt. You probably also anticipated her blocking me on AIM and turning the whole goddamn chatroom against me.
Why, Jerry, did you have to take pictures of my sweatpants and email them to my one true love??? I told you, Jerry, that there would be intermittent bleeding while I recover. I told you that there would be a viscous discharge as my inner thighs scab over. I explained this to you in detail the day I got home. I also explained that during this time, because of the medications and the change to my anatomy, I would have limited control over my sphincter.
SHE DIDN'T NEED TO KNOW THAT, JERRY! By the time we were to meet, I would be a month into my diet, fully healed, and in great physical shape.
But no, rather than be supportive of my healing process, you had to make dumb comments like, "You're supposed to put shit in the toilet, not the other way around." Hilarious, Jerry. And no, Jerry, I haven't been "straddling the world's greasiest burrito" either. Honestly, I don't know why you continue to embarrass yourself with such idiotic statements. Don't you realize how stupid you sound, Jerry?
You could have been supportive of my plans to settle down and start a family instead of going out of your way to find my dirty clothes, photograph them, and email them to my one true love. I guess you want me to die alone and miserable! How very nice of you, Jerry!
I have put up with you terrorizing me over and over again. When you found my pregnant Goku fanart and hung it on the fridge for your friends to laugh at (pregnancy is no laughing matter, idiot, it's how species propagate), I bit my tongue. When you and your friends brought that diesel generator into my room and hooked it to a power strip full of air fresheners, I let you have your fun. When you'd intercept my copies of Shonen Jump in the mail and insert torn out pages from Playboy, I just felt sorry for you. What's that supposed to do, Jerry? Maybe I missed the memo, but since when has the act of degrading women been sexy? But all that's nothing compared to to this last stunt.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Do you hear that, Jerry? That's the sound of me powering up to punch your stupid face off. I'd like to see you try and laugh when I unleash a great wave of Kamehameha that will wipe you off the planet, Jerry. Whoops, I forgot: you'd be a pile of ash before you'd even have the chance to laugh. If you did have time to think before you disintegrated in my giant energy wave, you'd realize how wrong you were about me, and how stupid you were to awake a sleeping giant.
You literally grabbed my heart, ripped it right out of my chest, and poured acid all over it. That's okay, I guess now that my legs are no longer necrotizing it wouldn't hurt if my heart was. Jerry, you are lucky. You are so lucky to be incapable of experiencing normal human emotions.
it's hard to shake the feeling that I've always got five stars in this Grand Theft Auto known as life.
Now, inexplicably, season three is looming over us like some sort of dome. Season one's plot asked whether or not the town could get out from under the dome. Apparently the answer was "no". Season two asked "I guess we're really stuck, huh?" and the answer was "yup".
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A blob of rotting flesh writes passive-aggressive letters to his roommate Jerry waxing poetic on the undeniable beauty and cultural importance of anime.