I AM BECOME DEATH, THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS

I’ve only lived in 2 share houses, and now both times I’ve gotten fucked over by flatmates.

They say the way you spend Chinese New Year will affect the rest of the year.  So I guess I’m in for a year of being flat broke and having people fuck up my well-laid plans that I’ve worked hard to make possible because of their own selfish cowardice and laziness, and not show one skerrick of regret on their face as they do it.

I will never live in a share house situation again, even if I was single and childless.  I know people who have more positive experiences in share houses.  Some of my friends live in a magical place we call the Pony Club,  where reality no longer exists and people fly around on rainbows taking photos of each other – the kind of share house I idealised in my head during high school when I dreamt of life after living with parentals.  Even He Died With A Falafel In His Hand tends to glamourise the difficulties of living with other autonomous adults.

But no, not for me.  I always get fucked by it, in the most unglamorous, uninteresting ways that I won’t even care to explain them.

Warren, fuck you.  You have to be the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever known.  Get AIDS and die already.  If my son ever asks about the fat annoying fuck we used to live with, I’ll pretend that he must have imagined you.