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CHICAGO - LIFE IS GOOD


I have lived in piles of shit and super crappy crack houses (literally) and in toxic wastoid dumps, but I was finally getting out, finally moving on up. A friend invited me to live in a place that was nice, a place with cable, a big TV, a human-size fridge, not a fridge for hobbits, and a REAL FREEZER. We had not one but two working toilets! I actually got to decide which toilet I could take a shit in. Or I could shit in one, piss in the other, and do it during commercial breaks of a Dog the Bounty Hunter Marathon. No more waking up and having to step over fugitives in the hallway sleeping on pillows of crack. No more having to hide my cash in my crotch at night and having Air Jordans as pillows. Things were going to be different here…

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And then this guy Duwayne showed up. What a flaming piece of hot garbage straight from the fucking back dumpster. My roommate took pity on him and let him stay with us. At first it was OK. It was nice to have some little suck-ass washing my dishes. We even became friends. And then of course he started disappearing with large amounts of my roommate's money. Even though we all knew what was going on, he kept reappearing in the house, again and again. I could have sworn that my rich roommate had become all tingly in the ballsack for this little dipshit, because there was no explaining the fact that he was letting little fuckhead suck all his money out of him. I suspected maybe my roommate was letting Duwayne suck on something else as well.

After Duwayne had stolen a couple hundred dollars, three laptops, the small crumbs of dignity my roommate had left, and most importantly the key to the apartment, my roommate finally decided Duwayne was OUT.

We had gotten the locks changed since we knew he had the key so he could not get in. And one rainy night when of course I was alone I heard someone at the back door. I thought it was my roommate knocking because he'd lost his key, so I opened the door. I got the taste of puke in my mouth when I beheld the heap of filth that stood before me. I said in my most polite grand hostess voice, "May I help you sir?"

He had informed me that a dickwad named Duwayne had sold him this key to our house for $20 and he was there to rob the place. He honestly told me that, that he was there to rob me and was bummed because the key didn't work. He looked like a kid whose birthday party was ruined. I actually started to pity him.

I politely informed him the key didn't work because the locks were changed, and he started cursing Duwayne about getting ripped off. I told him what Duwayne did to us and we rallied together in a shit-talking spree about him. We had something in common. I was about to invite him in for a drink when I remembered, "Oh yeah, this guy is here to steal everything I own."
I asked for the key back—I mean, it didn't work—and he said he wouldn't hand it over unless I reimbursed him for his investment. I told him I didn't have any cash in the house and he responded to that by telling me I looked I was high on heroin. I spent far too long trying to convince him that no, at that time I was in fact not high on heroin, and then I realized I was wasting my time talking to some low-life fuckface.

Our little jovial conversation turned a bit violent so I decided to bid the gentleman goodnight and hope to god he wouldn't return to beat me over the head, come into the house and take all our stuff, and then cut off my boob and use it as a mantelpiece. After a little while I retired back into my palace and resumed watching the Dog and fantasized which toilet I would use to drown that little fucker Duwayne in a bowl full of shit. And it wouldn't be a big deal because there'd still be another working toilet. Life is good.

LI'L PRINCESS