Living conditions

Imagine, if you will, a bachelor pad of some repute, where non-bachelors come to evade their female-types. A magical land full of computers, TV's, stereos, alcohol and caffeinated beverages. A place with no women to ever tell the boys to do their chores. Never-neverland in a more urban, modern environment.

Now imagine that magical refuge's bathroom.

Yeah. Well, it only took me about 30 minutes to clean the hell out of it. I mean really, really clean the hell out of it. I delivered a righteous beatdown to the grime growing around places where water once traveled. And now, so help me god, that bathroom with stay in its pristine condition or I will scrub it with someone's goatee next time. I can't begin to describe what level of filth it takes to make me freak out and clean something. Third world countries would condemn conditions as reproachable long before I lifted a finger.

Next stop is the kitchen, but, since it's a large kitchen it's going to take me at least 2 hours to clean it, probably all day factoring in dishes. Trying to wrangle my roommate into helping is useless, he's so despondent lately I don't know how to reach him, let alone coerce him into putting effort in to anything. I'll do the kitchen this weekend.

For the record it's really obnoxious having to take care of myself, let alone an entire house. When I move out of here it's going to be into a small apartment, and friends will only be allowed to visit for 5 minutes while I gather my things for us to leave (thus circumventing them from laying waste to the delicate balance of keeping my own place clean I imagine I'll employ). That is unless I win the 200-and-some-million dollar powerball jackpot. In which case I'll build a zepplin and hire a crew that includes maintenance people to clean up for me. They won't have clearance to the death ray deck though, that's for henchmen and kidnapped scientists only.

Anyway, I'll leave plotting world domination until tomorrow, I still can't sleep right, but, I need to give it a chance.