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Jett Superior laid this on you on || September 18, 2004 || 12:47 am

The one about how I taught my filthy roommate Chris to clean up after hisdamnself.

Firstlies, howdy, Muffin-nuts! I’m usually over at Unxmaal.com, but today I stopped by and found that Jett had left posting privs enabled. SQUIRT!

Back in the day, [er, 1995ish], I had a college roommate named Chris. He was filthy. Cleaning was “women’s work”. Not enough of a picture? Tall dark gruesome with longish thin brown hair, a straggly moustache, never went a day without wearing black, or without wearing his inverted pentacle, or without wearing his cowboy boots. Which were black. Yeah, that guy.

Chris smoked all the time. Sometimes, he’d smoke two cigarrettes at once. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even inhale — just leave ‘em burning in the tray. He “liked the smell”. He was the type who, after finishing a fag [my petty revenge, yes] would thump the cherry into the tray, squeeze the tobacco remnants onto it, then arrange strips of the filter into a little bonfire. Burning cigarrette filters makes such a nice impression on the cute waitress at the local sports bar. Really.

In between butts, Chris drank Coke. And he’d spit into the cans, and then he’d ash into them. He didn’t throw a can out for the duration of the school year.

Since I’m such a nice guy, I let his filth, his stink, and his random bodily fluids slide, so long as they didn’t slither over to “my side” of the dorm room. Too bad we shared a bathroom.

For all of his “I’mnotfromtheSouth” pretensions, Chris was a big ole redneck — a redneck who grew up used to septic tanks. One Sunday afternoon, coming back from my family’s home, I was greeted at the door to the dorm room with a horrid, acrid stench: three-day-old urine, left unflushed in the toilet.

Chris pranced in shortly after.

“What. The. Hell. Is wrong with you,” I asked.

“Uhh…”

“Why didn’t you flush the toilet before you left?”

“Oh, well that’s how we do it at home. We’ve got a septic tank. You know: ‘if it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.’”

“So.. you let it … mellow… for three days.”

“Yeah.”

The following Thursday, I made sure that I dined well on Two-For-One Footlong Meatball Subs at Subway. With jalapenos. And extra mayo.

I got in late on Sunday. Chris had the door open and a brand-new box fan in the window.

“What did you do, shove a dead cat up your ass?!” he yelled.

I just looked at him.

“All my clothes smell like … like SHIT!!”

“Sorry, man, I must’ve gotten confused about that rhyme. How’d it go? ‘If it’s brown, let it mellow…’”

“NO! If it’s BROWN, flush it DOWN!”

“Oh, yeah, that’s it. Tell you what. You remember that we’re not on a septic tank system here, and that you should flush after you piss, or I might ‘forget’ again.”

Chris wasn’t the brightest wet mouse in the sack of hammers. Even after this ‘tutoring’, he was still a slob in the bathroom.

Chris didn’t put the lid back on his toothpaste. Ever. And he used that goddamn tube kind, white, that squozed and left little minty slug-trails all over the sink.

I went to the grocery store, and picked up some raisins.

When Chris was out, I used a toothpick to shove some of the raisins down into his toothpaste tube, then squished em all down inside the tube.

Days later, I heard a “What the fuck?!” from the bathroom. Chris ran out, holding his toothbrush. “What the hell is this?!”

On his toothbrush was this horrid, black, shrivelled thing, coated in white toothpaste.

“I dunno, man. I saw bugs crawling around in there yesterday. I think they were roaches but they were pretty frickin’ big. I whacked at em, but they ran.”

Chris stared at the bug embryo on his toothbrush in horror. “Bugs…” He ran back to the bathroom, and started squeezing all the toothpaste out of the tube, into the toilet.

Plip. Ploop. Plop. Out came more black, wizened little minty bug-turdlets.

“You know, I hear cockroaches eat feces. I bet those are egg-sacs. I’m going to work.”

When I got home, the bathroom was spotless. And Chris kept his toothpaste and toothbrush sealed in a Tupperware container until the end of the semester.

3 worked it out »

  1. Chellee 9.18.2004

    That’s great! What a twisted and amazing way to get someone to stop being a slob.

     
  2. gjoe 9.18.2004

    Brilliant! Great post!

     
  3. CJ M 9.22.2004

    BWhaha.

    And that, ladies and germs, is why *I* stayed the fizzuck away from the dorms, a-yup.

    -CJ “Slick me down and call me Chernobyl” M

     

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