Crass shinglers. The lone toilet in the loft, lurking at the end of a long, empty hallway. A stolen drill. Pasta stink bomb. FREEDOM. The room with bars on the windows, a bare light bulb, and a drain. Calming down the enraged accident instigator with hot chocolate. Crash Dummies, and swordfighting filing cabinets. HOUSE PARTY, the ultimate role playing game. Dirty dishes filling both sinks and spilling out onto the countertop. NECCO WAFER?!? Dangerously low ceilings. Black mold creeping across the floor in the basement shower. Tentacles in the pantry. The Nowhere Men. Hiding in the darkness from trick-or-treaters. Drawerfuls of damaged cans of brown beans. Overdue bills. Mood swings. Disintegrating cars. "Chapter 47 - More of the Same."
This was life in the Bleak House of Blahs.
3 comments:
You must mean the pantry ooze, as opposed to the shower ooze.
What about the liquid lettuce?
"When I said I wanted a liquid lunch, this isn't what I meant."
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