Finals Week Bitching: Day 1 of 4



Chris Hansen:
Fatass's mortal enemy
and worst nightmare.

 So it is officially that time. It's finals week, which means that I'm in an intense state of studying. However, I think that it's more than appropriate to update all of you on the dumb shit my roommate does. Shall we start with when he came back last night? After all, that's when all the bullshit started again.

Well, it first started with him closing the blinds and glaring at me, because in his mind, it's a sin and a felony that I don't fear The Red Truck. So you knwo what I did today after I got back from my final? That's right, the blinds are open again. Funny thing is that there really is a red truck out there. I kinda want Fatass to see so that he'll start panicking, but I don't want to deal with the smell of him shitting himself.

Back to last night... I'm sitting at my computer reading over some notes and watching an episode of "The Office" on my computer as background noise. I hear Fatass bang his hand into the door as he enters the code, which makes me snicker. He lumbers into the room and guess who's in his wake? That's right, it's Bitchface! Obviously you've seen that he has no problem stepping over lines. Habitually. He's a habitual line-stepper (thanks Charlie Murphy). So why would last night be any different? Well, for one, I put a kabosh on that bullshit right away. I said, "Whoa now. I'm studying here."

"Oh, it's ok. We're just going to eat and then she's going to leave... if that's okay with you."

Oh yeah, sure. How about I knock all your teeth out so you can eat through a straw from now on, you fucking prick? How about this. How about for once in your miserable life, you decide to be somewhat respectful of someone else's need to study and get out.

I mean, he walks around this room like he owns the place, which is pretty pathetic. He owns this room which is smaller than my room at home and it's like he's the king of it. Well, unfortunately the world has news for him: just because you're a fat fuck does not mean that you're entitled to everything on earth. Being a big man does not mean that you've got a big personality. Honestly, he's nothing but a bitchtit swinging bully who needs to grow up. If it was anyone else, they would have punched the kid in the face. I, however, have more enjoyable ways of tormenting his soul... like leaving a little sticky note on his pillow with the link to my blog when all is said and done.

Therefore, it's time for an open letter!

Dear Fatass,

I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOUR MALODOROUS PATHETIC LIFE.

Cordially,
Pissy

P.S.: Chris Hansen called. He wants you to have a seat over there.

So... what the fuck?

My room when Fatass is here.

Apparently it's now cool for anyone and everyone to come over to my room on the GOD DAMN WEEK BEFORE FINALS. His junkie brother is now in the room just standing around and talking to Fatass, and of course, Bitchface is here. Why wouldn't she be?

So she begins by saying, "I wouldn't be over here if it weren't for my suitemates being bitches." Oh I'm sorry, but you know what? That's not my fucking problem. If you have problems with your suitemates, you talk to the RA or do what I do and make an angry, passive-aggressive blog. But you do NOT come to other people's rooms on the week before finals and be obnoxiously loud and play video games!

Seriously, it's like I live in a world where respect and courtesy have never even been heard of. But seriously. What. The. Fuck. They're talking at obnoxiously loud volume about a fucking flashlight. I guess we haven't comprehended the concept of "light" around here. And now they go ahead and talk trash about the same kid again. I guess they need to compensate for their lack of dicks by continuing to make idle threats.

Yup, and we're still being obnoxious douchebags, and now my urge to kill is rising. Seriously, no goddamn courtesy. And you wonder why they got kicked out of Bitchface's suite. Fuck. This. Shit.

To my Cousin, the Fed,

Get your ass up here. NOW. Gun is preferred but not required.

Thanks,
Pissy

I am done with this shit.

Hmmm... Open letter or video link?

Well, since Tuesday is the day where Fatass is off picking his nose in places that are nowhere near my room, I don't have much in terms of blog fodder today. After going back and forth on the options of posting a video or an open letter in place of a posting today, I've decided... both. Read in your best "dramatic reading" voice.

Dear Bess and Bitchface,

Next week is the week before finals, which, for a broadcasting major, is basically finals week. While you will be studying for tests, I will be completing my projects and working my ass off, so that when finals week DOES arrive, I will be able to lounge back, play video games, drink Diet Mountain Dew, and laugh at your misery. Yes, I know I'm awesome.

However, if you so much as have the tiniest inkling of an idea that it's okay to come over to my room next week, you are sorely mistaken. I have been nice all god damn year and have not kicked you out when you have deserved it a million times over. You show up at my door and I'm slamming it in your face. If Fatass is there when I slam the door, I will make sure it breaks his teeth.

Get your fucking, your annoying laughter, your snooty attitudes, and your disgustingly low standards out of my grill and there will be no problems. Party it up now while you still can, but again, you're not doing it here. I know Bess doesn't understand because she's still, you know, in HIGH SCHOOL, but Bitchface, you should know better than to mess with someone during finals.

To put it in easy words for your simple brains to process, here it is: DO. NOT. SHOW. UP. TO. MY. ROOM. I don't care if you need stress relief, a break from studying, a break from whatever. You don't have to go home, but if you come here, I will flip shit.

Thank you.

Go jump off a cliff and die,
Pissy


And now for our video portion...

Enjoy. Complete blog likely to follow tomorrow.

Littering, plus Fatass masturbating. Fatassturbating?

So it appears that Fatass's busy day is Tuesday. Why am I just realizing this? Because I generally don't care about his life in any way, shape, or form. I didn't see him at all today, save for when I got home from work. I've been thinking lately, and I've come to the conclusion that in order to make my blog more well-rounded, I have to release my anger about more things. K-Star says it's theraputic, and I tend to agree.

Anyway, The Pissiest Workplace is in one of your typical supermarkets that doesn't have a goofy fucking * in its name anywhere. Tonight I had the good fortune to both clean the bottle return room AND round up all the fucking carts in the parking lot. You may think that the worst part of the night was the bottle room, but you'd be wrong. That was actually pretty tame, compared to what I found in the carts. It was so nasty, in fact, that it's time for another open letter!

Dear Fuckass Twatwaffle Customers With No Sense of Decency or Respect,

If you leave the box to your kid's newest Barbie doll, your food, or your fucking used tissues in your god damn grocery cart, you will be put on the automatic shit list. If you are ever CAUGHT doing this, you will be shot on site by the staff. Got it? Good.

I mean, it's one thing to litter. Just take your damn boxes and put them on the ground in the parking lot. The maintenance guys will be pissed (and rightly so), but you will not be the subject of an open letter on an angry blog.

But about the food. Seriously, do you really think that it's my fucking job to handle those last little bits of watermelon slices you couldn't shove into your fat mouth? What about that yogurt that was half eaten? We have trash cans all over the god damn place, and you had to leave it in your cart? Seriously? How about you do what normal people do and just finish your god damn fucking food! Am I really the only person whose parents told him that wasting food would kill kids in Africa or some stupid thing? It was total bullshit from Ma and Pa Pissy, but it did get the picture across. But even still, you don't fucking leave it in your grocery cart for the help to chuck.

Used tissues. Seriously, that's a what the fuck right there. Sure you could be an old lady who has no business driving a car, let alone a grocery cart. But if you leave your bloody snot tissue in your cart, you're just creating a breeding ground for disease and another opportunity for public humiliation. If you are using tissues, yes they're disgusting after one blow of the horn. PUT THE GOD DAMN TISSUE IN YOUR GOD DAMN POCKET. I do not want your biowaste anywhere near my person, and I swear to Christ, if I find you leaving your tissue, I will sit on the hood of your fucking car until you remove it. If you try to drive away, the cart will be flung as hard as I can into your doors.

Are we clear? We better be.

Yours,
Pissy


So anyway, I get back to the room, and I'm nearly on the floor due to the raunchy smell of rotting fish in the room. I... don't think that's the smell of rotting farts. I think Fatass tried to rub one out, but since he eats so much beans and cabbage, it can't help but smell like high tide at the wharf. First thing I did without even fucking talking to the bastard is throw the window open. If he's going to finger his clit and stink up the joint, I'm going to make sure that he doesn't get to enjoy wafting in the stank of it.

People like Fatass should've been genetically designed to never be able to experience pleasure.

And there it is!

It hasn't been seen for two days... It's disappearance has become the talk of newspeople, entertainers, college professors, and professional observers everywhere. But today, it made its return, seemingly bigger than ever before.

My friends, the crack is back. It's staring at me, trying to get me to look at it. The coarse back hair that trails down to it is attempting to tease me. It's as if his whole body thinks that it should be looked at, as if some sort of genetic marvel that combined the tits of a woman with the body hair of a man. Too bad it hasn't realized that it's disgusting and OH MY FUCKING GOD! He's got red sores on his back. Like bleeding red sores. I guess that's what happens when you don't shower, but fuck! John Mayer, in all of HIS creepiness, would say that his body is a hideous wasteland. Oh, and now he notices he's bleeding, wipes up some blood, looks at it, and rubs his ear. I may just vomit.

Oh, I forgot to mention that he's on the phone with Bess. It's a miracle, because she hasn't been here for two days. Maybe Bess got upset enough that he got the picture. So I'm trying to mind my business, but he talks awfully loud, just like most of the other things he does, so I can't help but eavesdrop.

Oh, here's something else that makes me want to lock him into a port-a-john and set it on fire (quote courtesy George Carlin)...

K-Star and I are a normal, loving couple (as far as I know). When we wish to proclaim our love over the phone, we say, in a normal voice, "I love you." This is just like most people in America. But Fatass, and I think this may go back to his desire to pork young girls, says, "I loveums you..." in this singsong voice that makes me want to slap him in the mouth. And when Bess doesn't do it back, he gets mad. He insists that she say, "I loveums you" back. Maybe it's all a part of the preteen sexual thrill for him, but for me it's something that makes me want to stab him in the throat.

Now Fatass is attempting to give Bess homework help... for the HIGH SCHOOL homework she has. HIGH SCHOOL!!!!!!! Please tell me I'm not the only one who wants to call Chris Hansen on him! But apparently, she's attempting to do homework, and he's on the phone distracting her. There it is again with the "I loveums you". Here's the deal, Fatass - say that one more time, and then I'll be saying "I killums you" while stabbing him with a disposable plastic knife. Dirty fuckhead.

And now he's laying down on his back, so his hairy mantits are sticking straight up. I think he may be giving himself a self breast exam, but I'm not about to look over his way. So now, an open letter.

Dear K-Star,

Please send me a pic of your boobs so I can remember what real boobs are supposed to look like. After seeing all this manboob, I'm afraid that I may be turned off to all boobs. I need to make sure I can still get a boner from boobs. Thanks!

"I loveums you" Love,
Pissed

Seriously, it's not just my sanity that's being affected by this fuckhead. Being forced to look at his disgusting bitchtits may have turned me completely off to all tits. What Fatass does the second he enters the room is take his shirt off. Sometimes he forgets to close the door before doing so. I think he may be in love with them. I haven't seen any push-up bras around here, but I figure he's got a drawer for that. Another open letter:

To my cousin, the Fed,

Can you please come cap this bastard and make it look like an accident?

Thanks.

"I loveums you" With much family love,
Pissed

That's right. Who's got two thumbs and is in rare form tonight? This guy. Now he's saying that The Giver is a good book. Honestly, I never read it. It was required reading in 7th grade, so I obviously blew it off and made up my book reports. So I'm not sure if it's a good book, but all I can think of is homosexuality. Is Fatass seriously trying to come on to me? I'm beginning to fear for my cornhole.

To my cousin, the Fed,

Please come cap his ass ASAP.

"I loveums you" Please hurry,
Pissed

Fatass now says that he's got a lot of work to catch up on. You'd never know it, seeing as he's either on the phone with Bess or with Bitchface whenever he's not in class. Have you ever had one of those moments like in the movie Liar, Liar, where Jim Carrey's character has the convict on the phone asking for advice after being jailed again, and he just yells into the phone, "STOP BREAKING THE LAW, ASSHOLE!!!"

Yeah, I'm feeling that right now. You want to actually get your shit done? "STOP BREAKING THE LAW, ASSHOLE!!!" Stop talking to your barely legal girlfriend. Stop hanging out with Bitchface. Stop trying to come on to me. Maybe shower with soap every once in a fucking while. And for the love of all things holy, stop playing with your nipples, you disgusting inbred hillbilly fuck.

Here's where I'm going to have to leave you, my friends. I think I'm going to go throw up now. I leave you with one last open letter.

To my friends,

Normally I would ask you to come kill me now to put me out of my misery. However, I don't see any of this shit as my fault. If you can send all your rays of hatred toward my roommate, maybe he'll just spontaneously combust.

"I loveums you",
Pissed