Hello folks. Now, you know I don't like whining and moaning about my personal problems during these articles, but I am faced with a serious problem that I have to get off my chest. I'm sick of my stupid roommate! You heard me right, I am really fed up with my lazy, sloppy, ill-mannered roommate. It's gotten to the point where I just can't take it anymore, and I need to vent it all out before I explode in a fit of rage, or perhaps even a colorful multitude of confetti. I have been patient and forgiving with him long enough. He has used my kindness to his advantage, abusing the trust I placed in him. For the first time in my life, I can totally relate to Cousin Larry's plight on the hilarious sitcom "Perfect Strangers". I always wanted to stab Balki in the face for terrorizing poor Larry, and for having a really hot girlfriend even though he was a total spaz. What was up with that?
Unfortunately, having a roommate is a necessary evil in order to split the cost of rent for an apartment. Living with somebody else is unavoidable if you are a struggling artist such as myself. Recently, my live show, "La Nation des Mensonges!", an anti-war performance piece of social commentary in the form of hand crafted sock puppets, was cancelled from the local coffee shop because it "sucked, really, really, really, bad" (their words). It seems that anybody that speaks their mind against Amerikkka these days gets shut down, labeled as an unpatriotic terrorist sympathizer. If you ever see me mysteriously vanish from the sock puppet protest scene, I'll probably be at Guantanamo Bay getting raped in ass by some Al Qaeda queens. So while I reorganize my show by printing a couple dozen fliers at Kinko's to maximize my exposure, and raising money by selling my plasma, I'm stuck with the roommate from hell. I know none of you can fully understand why I'm bitching so much about him, so I'll tell you just some of the super annoying stuff he does on an almost daily basis. I think you'll agree with me that he is way, way over the line.
Things my roommate does that piss me off:
Neglecting his chores.
He is such a lazy bastard. We both have a clearly outlined list of chores and tasks we must perform. Frankly, he is not living up to his end of the bargain. Dishes pile up in the sink, the garbage never gets taken out, which results in the closet becoming a trash heap rampant with rats and filthy orphan children, and he never cleans out the tub every Sunday like we agreed on. Meanwhile, I'm stuck with the laborius task of cleaning up after him, doing the laundry, and picking up all the glowsticks and empty water bottles after one of his "house party rave-a-thons". Also, whenever the cops get called because he is playing his music too loud or screaming for no apparent reason, I have to explain things to them. I tell the cops that it's all my roommate's fault, but after they see him, they look at me like I'm crazy, usually asking if I'm on any sort of drug. They try to tell me that he's just a little guinea pig and could not have made all that noise, and set fire to the sofa before tossing it off the balcony onto the children below. However, my roommate is so smooth with words, he can get away with almost anything! It always gets pinned on me, and it's no fair!
Shit is absolutely everywhere said Reidly McPaskie; it's on the carpet, it's on the couch, it's on the counter and in my pouch, it's in the shower and in the drawer, on the chair and on the floor, it's in my hair and in the air, shit is absolutely everywhere!
Thank you! That's a piece I wrote for my "La Nation des Mensonges!" show but people said I was copying off of Dr. Suess. That guy was a hack and a Communist anyway. But I digress. Truly my apartment is full of shit due to my roommates rampant bowel movements. I cannot take a step without stepping in a raw nugget of pure feces. It's disgusting! I can never bring a date over unless I keep the lights off and explain that I had a Raisinette party that got out of hand. This only works if they are really stupid, or are desensitized in the area of smell. Most of them excuse themselves at some point to go to the bathroom, or flip a light switch before I can stop them, and then they totally freak out when they see hundreds of pieces of poo poo everywhere. Whenever I try to explain my situation while clawing at their purse strap as they try to flee my apartment, I always catch a healthy dose of mace in my eyes, usually resulting in me falling down three flights of stairs right on my head. Of course, I've tried cleaning up after the bastard, but he poops so goddamn much that it's a full-time job, and I already got a job at the coffee house. Well I "had" a job at the coffee house, but I bet I can find another one that sees my great talent. Anyway, it's his shit, so why do I have to clean it up? Seriously!
Cheats at Madden 2004.
There's nothing I hate more than cheating. I like to unwind after a long day doing sock puppetry with a nice game of Madden 2004 for the PS2. Unfortunately, my dickhead roommate always wants to play too. First off, he is always, without fail, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I like to mix it up a little, just so I can get to use a wide range of players, but I am usually the Kansas City Chiefs. Secondly, he uses a 4-3 defense with a red dog blitz every single goddamn defensive play, and with Tampa's defense I have about 1.2 seconds to throw the ball before I get sacked. And then the little bastard starts chewing on the controller in glee when he sees my poor quarterback crumpled in a broken heap. Whenever I get up to grab another beer, or go to the bathroom, he unpauses the game and I get like, 5 consecutive delay of game penalties. It's so cheap.
Downloading furry porn.
Let me get this straight. My roommate is barred from using my computer, period. I paid for the computer and pay for the cable Internet service. When we moved in together, I had him sign a document stating that he would not use my computer unless he had my permission to do so. As a precaution, I set up a secure login with a super secret password only me and my old uncle Eddie know. Well, somehow the sneaky fink hacked my computer login and was using my computer to download the most horrible and pathetic porn out there; furry porn. I found out his secret when I had a group of friends over, and wanted to show them my fantasy football team. Strangely my computer was on when I clearly remembered turning it off. This should have tipped me off that something was amiss, but I continued anyway. There was a Internet Explorer browser minimized on the screen so I opened it. Boy was that a mistake. In front of me was the most vile furry pornography imaginable. My friends just looked at each other, quickly muttering "ahhh, dude we have to split". I tried to explain that it was my stupid roommate looking at furry porn and not me but I could see they didn't believe me. Since that day, my friends have not spoken to me, fearing that the next time they see me I'll be in a crusty fursuit, and try to hump their leg. This happened again while my mother was visiting. Right now she is in Providence Hospital recovering.
Murdering prostitutes and then not disposing of the body.
Maybe I'm just old fashioned, but where I come from, we dispose of our prostitutes properly after we murder them, not just let them decompose on the living room floor. My roommate often gets very lonely, especially on warm summer nights, sitting on the couch eating a tub of ice cream and watching reruns of McGuyver. He tried dating services to no avail. He told me they were all chubby witches that tried to touch his secret spot and steal his precious baby making fluids. When he started murdering prostitutes, I don't know, but the first body showed up a few months ago when I got up in the middle of the night for a bowl of "Honey Nuts & O's". In the pale shafts of moonlight coming through the blinds, I saw a macabre scene. My roommate was sitting on a fresh victim, warm blood running from open gashes across her back and neck. I was like "dude you better clean that up". Guess what, I wake up the next morning, and the dead whore is still on the living room floor, reeking up the place. And guess who cleaned it up? That's right, ME. Anyway, I'm just saying my roommate should properly dispose of his dead prostitutes after he is finished with them. It's just good manners, that's all.
As you can see, I am clearly in a very tough predicament. This behavior is unacceptable, and I will not, and cannot let this continue unabated. I want to kick him out, but I think he would get violent and he knows Kung Fu. As stubborn as he is, I'm sure it would end up in a Judge Judy courtroom, and that's the last place I want to go because she is a mean lady that will hurt my feelings by yelling really loudling and confusing me. I could always move back in with my parents, but I don't think I could even take the coordinated effort of my parents screaming to each other between three floors investigating the whereabouts of the can opener. It looks like I'm stuck for now until my show "La Nation des Mensonges!" gets the fanfare it deserves in the national press and around the world. Soon they will all know the genius of my art, or they will see their children's blood boil before them in a sea of fire.
Please, if you have any ideas to help me out, or just wacky roommate horror stories of your own, send them to my email account at Frolixo's North Pole Hideout. I will forward them to my uncle Eddie because he is really lonely and has nothing to live for. Thanks, and have a good weekend!
Return of Og
Hi there folks, this is your State Og Representative Dennis "Corin Tucker's Stalker" Farrell. Hopefully our absence last week didn't cause any serious harm, but if it did, we hope you caught it on videotape and will send it in to us. We also hope there were lasers involved, along with ninjas on snowmobiles which happened to be on fire. Come to think of it, we do hope our absence caused harm. That sounds pretty badass.
A Better You, Much Better Than the Current You, Which Needs Improvement is a self-help program with a difference. The difference: somebody else does all the work. Everybody knows that only a moron would actually walk all 22 steps to a better you, and what's the point of doing all that work bettering yourself if you're just going to end up a moron anyway?
You can't argue with logic like that, mostly because this is an inanimate page on the internet which you literally can't argue with. Now go check out this week's State Og!
Editor's Note: Due to a freak power outage, this obituary of Barbara Bush was written without the benefit of research. In order to pay our respects to this great woman in a timely fashion, we have decided to post this piece as-is. We hope you forgive any errors on our part.
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