This article is part of the Anime Roommate series.
Jerry, Jerry, Jerry. What can I say, Jerry? Jerry...
You thought you had bested me. You thought you were rid of me forever, but I'm back. Yes, Jerry, I'm back for good.
Modern elegance, old world charm. It's practically steampunk.We need not discuss what happened that fateful night in the club. I barely remember any of it. Well, maybe I remember getting dressed up for a night on the town with my bro and his friends. I dusted off my finest fedora and put on my trench coat expecting a night of drinks and brotherly bonding.
Well, let's just say I didn't expect the club to have a racist bouncer who wouldn't let me in. You would think an African American man would sympathize with the Nipponese, the ethnic group of which I consider myself an honorary member. And don't think I didn't see you, Jerry, laughing at the sight and pretending like you didn't know me, like we weren't united by step blood as step brothers.
I need not go over the ensuing chaos, which somehow saw me divorced of my sweatpants and nearly strangled to death with my own underwear. Let me just say that the bouncer seriously over-reacted to me trying to get past him, and misinterpreted my squirming and screaming as an attack, which it obviously was not. Anyway, Jerry, none of that is important. The important part, Jerry, is what happened next.
I'm reunited with my muse, Jerry. I'm reunited with anime.They could only hold me for 72 hours, Jerry. And let me tell you, those 72 hours were pure hell. I'm out now, and I'm ready to re-enter your life... forever, Jerry. You know, while I was in that awful place with all those truly crazy people, there was one thing that comforted me. That's right, Jerry, the knowledge that there is a better world out there. A world, Jerry, called anime.
It all came rushing back, Jerry, and it hit me like a tsunami. All those old friends and faces, those incredible stories of awesome heroes, beautiful heroines, diabolical villains, giant robots, and multi-tentacled monsters! I was ready to leave that world behind for you, Jerry, but thank God I saw the light! Suddenly I felt like Yukinari being transported to the mystic world of Seiren, and Miharu-chan represented the entire world of anime: the only thing that could touch me without causing pain.
I also came to another important realization during my 72-hour hold. Jerry, I am an asexual, and I don't need to worry about winning the affections of the so-called fairer sex anymore. And, Jerry, you must understand from my newly-discovered persuasion that I cringe just typing the word "sex," even in this innocent context. It's gross, and I neither need nor want any part of it.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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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.