To my roommate,
I feel that, of the three people sharing this apartment, you and I get along the best. We never have screaming matches, we never threaten each other with moving out, and we generally treat each other with respect. While I certainly don't want the good aspects of having you here with us to stop, I feel there are a few issues I need to address.
You spend an awful lot of time online. I know you're lonely, and I know that you have the social skills of a retarded rock, but it just isn't healthy for you to spend so much time online. Especially when you spend all your time talking to some chick from GA who has all the bad characteristics of your ex-girlfriend. Of all the people in this house, I do believe that you are online the most -- like, 80% of the time.
And getting call-waiting just isn't working like I thought it would. My friends like to talk to me on the phone sometimes, and it's very frustrating for them when you're online all evening long, talking to all the bimbos and skank-ass punk wanna-bes you cull from such amazing chat rooms as "Alien Abductions". Have no doubt, I got the call-waiting with YOU in mind; specifically, to knock your ass offline as often as possible. But it isn't really working, and you aren't even smart enough to know about the little override of *70.
Of course, this isn't my only concern about you vs. the online world.
Now, I understand that young, (theoretically) virile young men such as yourself get....um....urges. And when you've been single for as long as you have, and possessing the lack of social skills that you do, it's perfectly understandable that a certain type of web site would be favored for...visual aides. I'm talking about ‘net porn here. I don't care if you look at the stuff, because I certainly do, but I have a favor to ask: could you please store your family-sized jar of vaseline in your room? I found it behind the couch yesterday, and I actually picked it up before realizing what it was. It's bad enough that I sometimes touch your underwear when I take it out of the dryer so I can put my clothes in, but I don't want to be touching something you use when you jerk off. I mean, I don't leave my vibrator lying around for your viewing/handling pleasure, do I?
I also found a vaseline fingerprint on the shift key of the keyboard. That's just disgusting. I cannot purge the mental image of you sitting in front of my computer in the living room in the throws of ecstasy. I don't want to picture that. I shouldn't have to. On my comfy computer chair, no less! Your naked ass is sitting on my comfy computer chair while you masturbate? Jesus, that's just disgusting.
Now that I've scrubbed my body with a brillo pad so that I don't feel dirty any more, there's another thing I'd like to discuss. I know you're cooking-retarded; you both are. However, when you spend nearly a quarter of the grocery money on items for the only dish you can cook, I expect you to damn well cook it, instead of complaining about the lack of food and eating all the ice cream I bought. I did not buy the ice cream with the intention that it should replace any and all meals.
Before I end this friendly little missive, I'd like to protest a couple of your other habits. Please don't urinate with the door open; I have no interest in hearing or viewing this spectacle. I would also appreciate it if you wandered around the apartment wearing just a bit more than your open-fly boxers. I don't want to see that at any time of the day, especially considering the above- referenced mental images that I will require therapy for. Get a robe or something to cover your pasty white ass up with.
So, I hope you'll take these requests seriously, if only to promote amicable relations within this household. Otherwise, you may find your mouth filled with Sea Monkey eggs.
