Missy Stank-Ass Matt
Stamped: September 1st, 2005 | Toggle Similar
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I live in a shit-hole of an apartment on a shitty-looking street somewhere in Hollywood where I can periodically hear prostitutes talking about the rips in their stockings. It's really wonderful stuff and that's why I have those Bose noise cancelling headphones which are damn phat and keep the hoo-ers from keeping me from getting the beauty sleep. Oh, and apparently the whores in my neighborhood don't think that "Johns" notice the rips. I could never be a whore, because I think I'd be too concerned with looking good.
Anyway, we don't have protected parking, it's just a bunch of spots out in the back underneath some overhangs which is a rape-scene waiting to happen, but I have to say that I always enjoy my walk from the dark overhang rape spot to the key-sticks-in-the-lock of the gate attack area to the slippery you're-going-to-fall on your ass and paralyze yourself stairwell. Oh, there's a buzzing half-working flourescent light in there somewhere, too. But the best, most awesome-ist part of walking up to my place, is that I get to walk past my neighbor Matt's door.
Not. Matt's an asshole and so are his bastard USC fraternity roommates. (I hope you read this Matt, because you deserve to know how desperately I feel you're hanging onto the youth that has passed you by.)
So Matt's got a mat. A door mat. And a lot of fucked-up people have thrown up on that mat. And rain has fallen on that mat. And mold has grown on that mat. Walking past it is like working out on a stairmaster next to a steamy-hot B.O. master of the Universe but like ten times worse. And you know what, it's the only pathway to my place. So what's a girl, who doesn't give a shit, supposed to do?
You take their damn welcome mat and you throw it in the fucking garbage out back.
This morning, I walk out of my apartment and what do I see — the damn mat is back in front of the apartment. These boys, and I don't know the thinking here, realized at some point that their Center for Disease Control, ebola-mold virus holding plastic $4.99 Home Depot foot rag meant something to them. So they went down into the garbage pail (after looking for it like idiots for an hour) and pushed the old pizza and orange chicken off it and put it right back in front of their friggin door.
Tonight on my way home I am going to go get lighter fluid and light it on fire and see which of the SC idiots decides to smother it out with their own body.
That should be fun.
Last 5 posts by Missy
- Bad Week, Part II - September 8th, 2005
- Possessiveness - September 5th, 2005
- No, You May Not Suck My Toe - August 30th, 2005
- Bitch Has Claws And An Enema - August 26th, 2005
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— 26 February 2008 @ 6:05 am
Comments
Why not just buy a pair of gloves and move the welcome mat to the next door over? So, when the frat guys come back all drunk on Saturday night, they try to open the wrong door for a half hour, not realizing that the mat is in the wrong place. If you can video-tape it and send into America’s Funniest Home Videos that would even be better. What a laugh you’d get at those losers’ expense!
Just make sure they don’t try to put out the fire by urinating on it.
One of my old roommates was the same way about this giant ridiculous-looking poster that he got out of someone’s trash and thumb-tacked to the wall in our foyer. When it finally ripped almost all the way through (thanks to his poor hanging job and the poster’s own weight), I took it to the dumpster out back, which was garbage- and fly-infested. Sadly, when I got home from work that night… the poster had returned to our wall.
I don’t know what the hell is going through these garbage hoarders’ minds. Maybe separation anxiety. Possibly really fucked up decorating skillz.
Occupy them by suggesting they light firecrackers in their mouths, or insist that they let you funnel beer with them in a white t-shirt. When they turn around to scurry on to their new, wonderful thing-that-young-guys-do-so-we’ll-do-it-too-only-really-drunk, you’ll light that bitch on FIRE.