I wake up relatively early, at least compared to the majority of my aimless alcoholic peers, but this morning when I went downstairs to make my morning meal I espied through the window two people not only up, but dressed (in a fashion). They were those kinds of people who run. YUCK. GO TO BED, CRAPS. If you are up that early, and outside, you should either be homeless or working as a donut delivery driver. God, I fucking hate running. And I hate people who run. Stop. Do you know why running was invented? To get away from wild beasts. And you know what else I hate? When people complain about running in a designated run-zone, like on a track at the gym or on an elliptical trainer. They always say that they hate organized (i.e. civilized) running because “it is boring.” I’m not arguing that an elliptical trainer should be renamed the runland funmachine, but what is so fascinating about running outside, in your own neighborhood? In the dark? And the cold? Unless you are somehow magically transported to the land of your favorite tv shows where you get to take part in the action, this looks so boring. And dark. And cold.
Then I got downstairs and found that one of my William Sonoma mixing bowls had been shattered in the night. Not only had it been shattered, but the big shattered piece still lay on the ground, while the rest of the bowl sat nestled inside of another bowl on the counter. These are heavy-duty plastic, so after the anger subsided came the fascination. I just don’t even know how you would go about breaking this bowl without some effort. Anyhow, I came in and told Clown Coffee about this bowl incident, and just like the chicken incident, he had to play roommate-horror-story one-up-manship. And, just like last time, he easily defeated my bowl story with the story of his friend who lived with three chicas who loved to party, only to come home one day and find that they were BURNING HER FURNITURE IN THE FIREPLACE.
2 points: Clown Coffee
0 points: Worker #3116
-1 points: My William Sonoma Mixing Bowl