It’s 2:16am on a cold New York night. My overly expensive Brooklyn apartment smells of burnt napkins (I set them aflame to help calm the air, as my girlfriend has server diarrhea and some very toxic gas. Even her burps smell of dead fish and horse urine. (Pause) Did I mention I love her)? My roommate and longtime foe, Jt, is cooking a can of my soup, in a pot that I know will sit dirty on the stove until I clean it. Has he ever cleaned a dish…I can only wonder. We have all slept most of the day after along night of parting, which ended in a drunken consumption of a couple dozen White Castle burgers and fries at 5:17am (These also happened to be breakfast the following morning).
I find myself sitting here frustrated that all the savings I have enjoyed by stealing toilet paper from local hotels instead of purchasing it from hippie health food stores, have amounted to nothing because I was forced to buy a bulk pack a couple of minutes ago for my “wipe happy” girlfriend. If there will ever be a sour point in our relationship, it will surely arise from her lack of proper toilet paper procedures. For years we have debated what way one should wipe when cleansing fecal matter from thy anus. She believes the wiping motion should go front to back(makes sense because she has a vagina). I know it should go back to front (I just lift up my handsome hairless balls and everything is in the clear). I also preplan how many squares of hotel toliet paper will be needed for each bowl movement, while she on the other hand is just like her father, carelessly wiping with no sense of how much anal tissues are being wasted in the process. Oh how does one love?
I took a pause between paragraphs. It’s now 3:04am and the burnt napkins could no longer fight the awful odor blasting from the bathroom and into my nostriles. A shirt dowsed in fabric softener has been fastened on my face with ropes and small twine. This is my last defense. I hope I’ll make it. In the pause I also decided to use the dirty pot to make some soup, like my previously stated lifelong enemy and pedophilia fascinated friend, Jt. I warmed up some Chicken, Cheese, and Broccoli, with Hearty Potato Chunks. 10-12 mouthfuls into consumption I realized Chicken, Cheese, Broccoli, and Hearty Potato Chunks are all equally the least desirable things to be eating as I fiercely fight off my girlfriends invading flatulence. I put the pot back on the stove and will blame the mess on the evilness that is Jt.
I find myself drifting and am not quite sure if I am getting tired or if the fabric softener I stole from that dirty Mexican laundry mat on South 2nd Street is just a pastel colored brand of ammonia. If all is right I should survive the night to tell my story once again. Till next time.
Keeping it Gangster
Daniel Dickey
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