This article is part of the Anime Roommate series.

ACHTUNG! This is part 7 of an embarrassingly bad series you shouldn't bother reading. To start from the beginning, click here, here, here, here, here and here in that precise, calculated order.

Jerry, I was just clearing some space in my room. Nothing more!Jerry, I was just clearing some space in my room. Nothing more!No, no, no, Jerry! Jerry, you've got it all wrong!

I never meant to keep you out. That's just absurd, Jerry. You live here, just like me.

What I was doing, Jerry -- and this will make perfect sense -- was rearranging my room. I've got so much anime I had to take it all out to give myself some space to work out. Yeah, I set it in front of the doors, but that was because I had to put it somewhere!

Heck, Jerry, I didn't even know you were outside. I figured you were asleep in your room, hung over or something on account of your rampant alcoholism.

I mean obviously an accidental barricade wouldn't keep you out, Jerry, since you still got in. By the way, Jerry, you didn't have to break my window to get in. You especially didn't have to knock my carefully stacked piles of anime down in a fit of rage, either.

I admit I didn't hear you knocking, but that was because I was enraptured by Nobuo Uematsu's mesmerizing compositions, so epic in nature that they blocked out all other sounds. Have you played any of the Final Fantasy games, Jerry? No? I guess that makes you something of a virgin. Heh. Of course you haven't played one. They require reading, empathy, and a willingness to open your imagination and explore the dazzling possibilities of the unknown. It's like sports for your brain, Jerry.

Look, Jerry, you're missing the point. Even if I did block you out intentionally, Jerry, I would have just cause. Living with you is like being trapped in prison with a mad man. Sometimes, Jerry, you look at me with those crazed eyes and I'm not sure whether you're going to rape me or kill me.

I've talked to my therapist a lot about you, Jerry, and through reading between the lines of what he says, I'm pretty sure he thinks you're crazy, too. A therapist, Jerry. A real therapist basically says you're dangerous. If that's not a sign you need to get help, I don't know what is.

Jerry, you need to calm down. Screaming and throwing stuff around isn't going to help. Think of all the times I've forgiven you for your actions.

More Front Page News

This Week on Something Awful...

  • Meditations from a Movable Weiner

    Meditations from a Movable Weiner

    Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.

  • BarkWire.com Dog Reviews: The Barquis de Sade & Cleaver

    BarkWire.com Dog Reviews: The Barquis de Sade & Cleaver

    Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.

About this series

A blob of rotting flesh writes passive-aggressive letters to his roommate Jerry waxing poetic on the undeniable beauty and cultural importance of anime.

Other articles in this series

Copyright ©2014 Rich "Lowtax" Kyanka & Something Awful LLC.