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...