#5. Forced creativity. I have a difficult time being creative under pressure. Whenever I write, I rarely plan it out. I just suddenly have an idea, and then I write about it. Simple as that.
#4. Forced comedy. When I write something humorous, it is that way generally because it is spontaneous. When Friday gets here and I can't think of something funny to write about, I have to stop and think about what might actually be funny. Hence, the unfunny nature of this current post.
#3. Too much assumption that there is anything in my life that would actually fall into the category of a 'Top Five.' My life is boring of late. Top five...chicken burgers I ate this week? Top five...times I got pissed at "the Destroyer" during the last few days? (The destroyer is the name which I have given my room mate.) Actually, that one might work for a top 5. What the hell. Here we go.
#5. Wadded up rotting army cloths in the front yard. Not much explanation needed for this one. Its pretty much what it sounds like. Nothing projects classy like wadded up dirty cloths laying around the yard.
#4. Each day upon entering the bathroom, the rug is folded over into a wad in front of the toilet. This is apparently done so that the Destroyer might weigh himself. Instead of simply rolling it back when he is done...it remains folded over. Every damn day. Without fail.
#3. Moldy bagels on the counter. One day when I woke up around noon, I stumbled into the kitchen feeling fairly worthless, as one usually does upon waking up at noon. To my pleasant surprise, a half eaten moldy bagel lay upon the counter. The rest of his moldy friends were sitting contentedly in the bag, mold spots here and there, seeming to mock whoever ate half of one without noticing. Is it so difficult to, once one realized he has ingested mold, simply throw the bagels away? Or was there a hope that some other unsuspecting fool would accidentally devour one of the filthy bagels? Then he could say, "Hey! Guess what?! You just ate a moldy bagel! Dumb! You are dumb! Not me, but you! Mwaahahaha!"
#2. "Fish. Can I use your blender?" "Yes," said I, "as long as you clean it after." "Are there any secrets to cleaning it?" said he. "Umm...not really. Just clean it." I am pretty sure that the secret to cleaning the Cuisine Art food processor/blender is not to let it rot in the sink for 3 days. Finally I cleaned it. After which, there was a message left upon the board for the Destroyer. It said something like, "Dear Destroyer. Shall the blender be used again and not cleaned immediately after, you shall be banned forthwith from any future blender usage. This is your last and final chance. Love, Fish" He bought his own blender shortly after.
#1. Rotting George Foreman. I was craving a chicken breast. Not so much a breast-rib combination as found in the chicken burger, but real, pure, unadulterated chicken out of a bag. Frozen. Cajun seasoning, cracked pepper. I retrieved the jumbo-tron bag of frozen chiggins out of the freezer unit. I plugged in the George Foreman. Within moments, there was a filthy rotten stench that began to permeate the air. "Why does it smell like a mouldering pile of dead chickens?" I thought aloud. Because I do that. I mean, think out loud. Suspiciously, I walked over and opened up the G.F. Low and behold festering, mephetic chiggin crustings were cemented all over said Foreman. Later on when confronted about it, the Destroyer replied..."Yeah, had to eat and run today." As though any such repugnancy could be created in such a short amount of time.