FISHSTICKS REVENGE.
Three months ago my roomate,Fishstick, moved out (I gave him the nickname about 9 years ago. I looked at him and saw a giant fishstick. He said he didn't mind the name so it stuck). He pretty much made my life Hell with his complaining about his life, body and feet oder, not cleaning up after himself in the bathroom, leaving dirty sweat socks on my hand towl and bullshitting around. I yeld at him, a lot, and we parted ways. We are still good friends but there is NO WAY IN HELL I'll live with him again.
He left a number of items that he just would not pick up and says I could throw away. I go into, what was, his room and proceed to gather coffee cups, remote controles, a huge bottle of mouth wash and other odds and ends. Then I notice and old GAP bag. I grab it and notice it's not empty. In fact, it's quite heavy. I look in it, expecting to find computer equipment, to find two pairs of handcuffs, a ten foot long bull whip and a bottle of KY Jelly.
My overactive imagination kicked in in overdrive. I tried to stop it but I was flooded with disturbing images of which no one should be forced to endure. Wave after wave of twisted visuals bombarded my mind like being splashed buckets of rancid chum. The room started spinning. My knees grew week. everything went black.
I awoke shivering in a pool of my own bile. How long was I out? Minutes? Hours? Days? Bagheera was giving me a look that said, "You shouldn't have looked in the bag. Now feed me." The offending bag sat not three feet away from me. Grim flashbacks threatend to comeback full force, so I ran to the back porch for air. Sweet air.
I called Fishy. "Why, of all the things to leave behind in a persons home, would you leave your 'bag of tricks?'"
He laughed. The son of a bitch did it on purpose.
Three months ago my roomate,Fishstick, moved out (I gave him the nickname about 9 years ago. I looked at him and saw a giant fishstick. He said he didn't mind the name so it stuck). He pretty much made my life Hell with his complaining about his life, body and feet oder, not cleaning up after himself in the bathroom, leaving dirty sweat socks on my hand towl and bullshitting around. I yeld at him, a lot, and we parted ways. We are still good friends but there is NO WAY IN HELL I'll live with him again.
He left a number of items that he just would not pick up and says I could throw away. I go into, what was, his room and proceed to gather coffee cups, remote controles, a huge bottle of mouth wash and other odds and ends. Then I notice and old GAP bag. I grab it and notice it's not empty. In fact, it's quite heavy. I look in it, expecting to find computer equipment, to find two pairs of handcuffs, a ten foot long bull whip and a bottle of KY Jelly.
My overactive imagination kicked in in overdrive. I tried to stop it but I was flooded with disturbing images of which no one should be forced to endure. Wave after wave of twisted visuals bombarded my mind like being splashed buckets of rancid chum. The room started spinning. My knees grew week. everything went black.
I awoke shivering in a pool of my own bile. How long was I out? Minutes? Hours? Days? Bagheera was giving me a look that said, "You shouldn't have looked in the bag. Now feed me." The offending bag sat not three feet away from me. Grim flashbacks threatend to comeback full force, so I ran to the back porch for air. Sweet air.
I called Fishy. "Why, of all the things to leave behind in a persons home, would you leave your 'bag of tricks?'"
He laughed. The son of a bitch did it on purpose.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
lumenagerie:
My thought exactly!
moonlite:
Hahaha.....I guess you can't look at handcuffs whips and K-Y without thinking about him......