I Hate My Roommate - Part III

I sat down on my couch one evening, relaxing with a beer, when I felt something sharp poking my leg. I got up, looked down, and saw a big sharp toenail clipping sticking up from the cushion. I look down at my gnarly talons at the end of my feet, and realize that the clipping isn't mine. I find myself gripping the toenail in my fist while grunting and cursing Phil's name. Boy, is he ever going to get an earful.

He comes in the door and goes straight to the bathroom; no doubt another episode of explosive diarrhea. He exits the bathroom 30 minutes later, and I corner him. I'm about to pull out the kleenex wrapped toenail in my pocket, when I notice something strange.

'Phil, are you wearing guyliner?'
'huh?' he quickly rubs his eyes, checks his fingers, then shows them to me as he angrily responds 'NoOOooOOooOoo!'
'um, you had to check first?' He starts to blush furiously. I realize I can't talk to a guy wearing guyliner, so decide to instead get another beer.

3 beers later, I decide to confront him again. I go to his room, ready to shove the filthy toenail in his face, when I start to smell something from the nearby bathroom.

'Phil, what the fuck did you eat?'
'what? That's normal!' he replies. I look over at the bathroom, and realize the door is closed and the fan is on. Impressive. I run out of there while I can, and grab another 3 beers and go out on the deck for some air.

Once the dizziness and nausea subsided, I head back inside. Phil is cooking up a storm. There are two frying pans, a large pot, three plates, and two cutting boards with various veggies and grated cheese.

'Wow Phil, what the hell are you cooking?'
'I'm making a cheese quesadilla.'
'ONE quesadilla? Why do you have two pans and a pot?'
'Well, because you didn't have a third pan.'
'what about the plates?'
'its to keep the veggies separate after I cook them.'
I shake my head and sigh. He seems annoyed at my critical looks, and angrily asks if I want something from him. I pull out the toenail clipping and hold it up wordlessly.
'Oh,' he says, 'I thought I got them all.'
'Why were you cutting them on my couch???'
'Well, where else am I gonna cut them?' he stares at me, wide eyed with anger and confusion. I shake my head again, wait for him to go back to his cooking, and drop the toenail in his pile of grated cheese. I should probably clip my own toenails soon. That'll be good for ten meals...

I Hate My Roommate - Part II

It's Day 23, and as I stare at my recycle bin, I'm horrified as memories of past events come together to form disturbing images in my mind.

On Day 4, Phil asked me if I had any spare wastebaskets. I told him there was one in the bathroom, and one in the kitchen. He asked if he could have one for his bedroom. I curiously asked why he needed one in the bedroom, and naively pointed out that I didn't have one in the bedroom. He awkwardly insisted, so I rolled my eyes and went out to buy him a wastebasket for his bedroom.

On Day 6, Phil asked me if I had any Kleenex. I shrugged, telling him that I didn't have a cold. I asked if he was sick, and he awkwardly shook his head and walked away. I went to my linen closet, and grabbed a box of kleenex and put it on the breakfast bar in my kitchen.

On Day 10, I walk into my home to see Phil watching "So You Think You Can Dance". I laugh at his lack of heterosexuality, and he replies that he only watches it because of the hot chicks. I laugh again, and he stands up somewhat crookedly, grabs a kleenex, and hobbles to his bedroom half hunched over. I assumed he went to his room to cry, since I may have been a bit mean to him.

Today, I stare at an empty box of Kleenex with the words "140 Sheets" glaring up at me. It's been less than three weeks. That's a lot of kleenex. Phil must cry a lot, since he hasn't shown any signs of having a cold the whole time he's been here. I look back over at the kitchen counter, and notice that a bottle of lotion that someone left here seems to be missing. I shrug, look around, and am suddenly hit with horrible realization.

10 minutes later, Phil finds me curled up on the kitchen floor, my eyes wide with shock and disgust. He says something to me, but all I hear is "140 Sheets". He holds his right hand out to me to help me up. I stare at it and scream.

I Hate My Roommate

As I walk into my home, I hear my roommate doing something in the kitchen. It's 11 at night, and I can't imagine what he's cooking at this hour. I wearily say hello without looking in his direction. He excitedly asks me if I would like to try one of his brownies. I turn to him, and am met with the sight of him half naked in my kitchen covered with chocolate. He's holding a brownie out to me with his right hand, his chest and shoulders smeared with fudge. His face is downcast, accentuating his large pointy noise, and his eyes are looking up at me while he smiles with an evil yellow grin. He looks like a half naked chocolate covered pedophile goblin. I should have kicked him out right then and there, but it was only day two. How much worse could it get?

I hate girl guide cookies

So i'm on a road trip to regina as I type this, and I think i'm free of the pantry full of girl guide cookies at home. Lo and behold, a box appears. I swear these things multiply and follow me.

Trevor's eating the brown ones, and I'm stuck with the white ones. Wtf? That's not right. Since when do white people like brown ones better, and brown people like the white ones better?

Oh wait, nevermind.

---
Raj Phangureh
Mobile email
mobile@rybex.com

I hate ChristWire.org

ChristWire.org is either the greatest satirical website I've ever seen, or the scariest bunch of racist neo-nazi religious freaks on the web. The content on the site is absolutely absurd, and although I've been assuming that it's all just a brilliant joke, they have been unwaveringly consistent in their extremist views.

For example, when I see a picture like this, I can't help but laugh hysterically.



However, the people at christwire.org seem to believe that Marvel Comics put the blow-up valve there on purpose to help promote the "Gay Agenda" and turn young boys into "Homo Queers." Hilarious? Definitely. Scary? Only if they actually mean it.

Their site also has an advice column called "Ask Amber" where readers send in their questions, and receive valuable christian advice. One reader asked if it was ok for her teenage christian daughter to masterbate. Amber's reply was as follows:

Studies show that 87% of the women who become prostitutes did so because of unbridled masturbation as a teenager, and over 90% of girls who become pregnant as teenagers did so because of masturbation loosened their morals and made them more apt to engage in unprotected fornication.

Again, hilarious but scary. These are just a couple of mild examples from the site. There are dozens of creepy articles there that I haven't had the balls to read yet. With titles like "I Am Extremely Terrified Of Chinese People!" "Men Beware, The Gays Are Out To Get You!" and "Scientists Have Created Gay Pink Dolphin Species," the only thing worse than the writers are the zealots in the comments area that agree with all these articles.

Of course, the funniest part of all this is that this seemingly racist, intolerant, homophobic website seems to have triggered the Google Ads on their site to show a lot of banners ads for gay dating sites. Gotta love keyword searches.

I just got an e-boner

Wow...



This is the Microsoft 2019 vision, and someone at Microsoft must be on crack. In 10 years, the only person I could picture reading their e-paper at their e-table drinking coffee from their e-mug is me. I am by far the biggest geek I know, and if I actually ended up with this much technology, I'd punch myself.

Of course, I could definitely find a use for that handheld screen that acted like an x-ray viewer. Daaammn...

I hate the border

As most Canadians know, the best place to shop for bargains is practically anywhere in the United States. Since my job doesn't let me take extended trips anywhere decent, I frequently order items online and have it shipped to a parcel pickup service in Pembina, ND. Although I've gone across the border many times this summer with nary an incident, yesterday's trip made up for that.

My first mistake was thinking I would have an easier time at the border if I drove my parent's relatively empty car across the border, instead of my SUV full of computer parts and power tools. My second mistake was thinking I wouldn't be profiled with my terrorist good looks. My third mistake was not bringing a white person with me (as I usually did) to lend me some border credibility.

After an hour wait at the US Border, the guard seemed suspicious of me driving my parent's car, and briefly questioned me on this before sending me to wait another hour at the inspection garage for my anal probe. Once inside, all my pockets and belongings were searched, and I was questioned yet again. I then had to wait in a waiting room/holding cell while they searched every inch of my parent's car. When they finally came to the door of the room, I briefly thought my wait was finally over and I was allowed to finally go. That changed when I saw three border guards waiting for me, one with his hand on some dangerous looking device on his belt.

"So," one of the guards said, "who's open alcohol was hidden under the front seat?" I stood there with my jaw on the floor, cursing the mystery alcoholic in my family.

"Uhhhh, I dunno...?" was my skillful defense.

"When's the last time you had a drink?" Asked the shorter guard with the hand on his gun/taser.

"Uhhhh, I dunno...?" was my backup defense, "About 2 weeks ago...?"

The guards looked at each other, sized me up, and then asked if I'd be willing to take a breathalyser. I nodded mutely, silently congratulating myself on my negotiating skills. They told me they'd be back, and left me in the room after presumably locking the door. 3 more visits and 5 pages of paperwork later, I was finally able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. The final hurdle was to drain the bottle of alcohol (which ended up being an 80% full 40oz bottle of lemon Absolut Vodka) outside while being escorted by two armed guards. As I dumped it in the sewer drain outside the garage, I looked up to see a car full of people smiling and waving at me.

"Hey, I know those people!" I said to the border guard at my left.

"Yeah, I kinda figured." He said.

"I guess I can't really stop to say hi?"

"No. Not really," he said as he opened the clip on his holster.

As I finally left the border and made my way to Mike's Parcel Pickup in Pembina, I was still shaken up. After getting my parcels and filling up on cheap american gas, I started to realize how hungry I was. Not seeing any nearby restaurants, I decided to take a chance on some Gas Station Pizza. As I took my first bite, I realized that this might've been the greatest pizza I have ever eaten. Or perhaps it just tasted that much better after my border ordeal, a "Freedom Pizza" if you will. Either way, I savored every amazing bite of it.

After waiting and paying my taxes at the Canadian border, I was finally on my way back home. Although my tastebuds told me that I just had the greatest pizza in the world, my stomach was telling me a different story. Still shaken up, I stupidly tried to settle my grumbling stomach with a litre of bottled water. That didn't have the stomach soothing effect I thought it would. After just a few minutes, I realized I had to pull over before I puked all over the dashboard. As soon as I got out of the car, barely had time to get to the side of the road before my pizza came shooting out of me. Have you ever heard of the phrase "Don't piss into the wind?" Well, that day I learned it was also true of vomiting.

After finding nothing by glossy paper flyers in my parents car, I used nearby leaves and shrubs to clean off my pants and shoes. Once I was somewhat cleaned up, I made my way back to Winnipeg, with the windows open of course.

A few minutes later, my hands started to get extremely itchy. I ignored it for awhile, until I noticed they were getting red as well. Thinking back, I realized I had no idea what kind of plants I grabbed to clean my vomit covered shoes, and I quickly pulled over to wash my hands with whatever was left of my bottled water.

Thinking that this trip just couldn't get any worse, I realized that my stomach wasn't feeling any better. In fact, it was feeling like I was ready to have another eruption, but this time on the other end of my digestive system. I nervously looked around to see any sign of a nearby town or gas station, but there didn't seem to be anything around. Then, like a beacon of light, I saw an empty highway construction area with a gleaming blue porta-potty. Finally, something good was happening to me. I quickly drove off the road towards my blue heaven, and I noticed that the porta-potty was tied down and secured to a two-wheeled trailer. My heart dropped, thinking it was locked up and unavailable. As I ran up a makeshift ramp to the plastic outhouse, I was relieved to find that not only was the door unlocked, the inside seemed fresh and practically pristine. I got in and smiled as I raced to get my pants undone. My gut seemed to gurgle a sigh of relief as I committed myself to sitting down. As soon as my butt touched the toilet seat, something happened. Well, something else happened. The outhouse started to tip. I couldn't believe it, and I pictured the porta-potty as I saw it outside, securely strapped down to the trailer, with no possibility of movement. Then, I pictured the trailer... the two wheeled trailer.

Sitting there, with my pants around my ankles and my hands bracing myself on either side of the porta-potty, I felt like I was on a carnival ride. The worst carnival ride in the world. I felt like crying.

So, who wants to come with me the next time I go to across the border?