St. Patrick's Day upon the legs of Tryst:
1. Unpaid power bill = power ceasing to exist = cold house + dark house = no hot water = cold shower = exit from cold + dark shower into freezing cold + dark house = many unhappy moments of drying + naked tripping over things in the dark.
2. House hunting = finding the house of Tryst's dreams = application = excitement = doom = one roommate decides to back out of entire plan = frustration + anger for other roommates + sadness for Tryst = many wasted hours of searching for four bedroom houses = many future hours that must be spent searching for three bedroom houses.
3. Sleep = hiding from the bitter cold under two thin sheets because the cats pissed on the comforter = four hours = worrying about whether the cats are too cold or not = restlessness + the impending doomthought of work in mere hours.
4. Work = St. Patrick's Day parade of drunks lining up for hotdogs = screaming girls wearing ugly green tank tops = their drunk boyfriends pinching the Tryst even though she was clearly wearing camo, which is in fact GREEN = moody, unhappy Tryst = severe doubt in Tryst's mind about the value of such a holiday = more moodiness = 14 smokes and 1 beer on the sly in the cooler.
But, oh yeah, I fucking heart St. Patrick's day. A big cocksucking hooray.
1. Unpaid power bill = power ceasing to exist = cold house + dark house = no hot water = cold shower = exit from cold + dark shower into freezing cold + dark house = many unhappy moments of drying + naked tripping over things in the dark.
2. House hunting = finding the house of Tryst's dreams = application = excitement = doom = one roommate decides to back out of entire plan = frustration + anger for other roommates + sadness for Tryst = many wasted hours of searching for four bedroom houses = many future hours that must be spent searching for three bedroom houses.
3. Sleep = hiding from the bitter cold under two thin sheets because the cats pissed on the comforter = four hours = worrying about whether the cats are too cold or not = restlessness + the impending doomthought of work in mere hours.
4. Work = St. Patrick's Day parade of drunks lining up for hotdogs = screaming girls wearing ugly green tank tops = their drunk boyfriends pinching the Tryst even though she was clearly wearing camo, which is in fact GREEN = moody, unhappy Tryst = severe doubt in Tryst's mind about the value of such a holiday = more moodiness = 14 smokes and 1 beer on the sly in the cooler.
But, oh yeah, I fucking heart St. Patrick's day. A big cocksucking hooray.
VIEW 11 of 11 COMMENTS
hobocop:
it could be worse. you could have cockroaches. giant cockroaches. giant cockroaches that sit on the wall and watch you, daring you to fuck with them. cockroaches that are so bad-ass, if they could talk, they'd say "if i so much as think you're going for the bug spray, i'm flying right up your fucking nose."
dietotzeit:
Response:
