Over the years, I’ve had my fair share of roommates and housemates. Most of them were downright terrible, but a few were actually quite serviceable. Coincidentally, the very first website I ever had, roughly 15 years ago, was a blog of sorts (before the term even existed), wherein I chronicled how terrible one of my college roommates was at being serviceable. It was a pretty funny, lemme tell ya, but you’ll have to take my word for it, because I have no idea what the address was, or if that data even still exists on a server somewhere. Save for a few college buds, I’ve never mentioned any of these roommates, but I’m gonna mention one now, so prepare your anal bits accordingly.
Back in the day, I lived with a fella in a townhouse, in a city, in a state, in a country that was more than likely America. This fella was nice guy, but would do the most ridiculous shit. Now, when you live with somebody, you expect a little bit of tomfoolery and shenanigans, but sometimes a fella just takes it too far. This dude, who we’ll call Melk Templeton, or “Melk” for short, was a real pain my my keester. He was constantly finding new ways to make me want to slap him in the gosh-darn mouth parts. Generally, I’m fairly accepting of a housemate’s quirks, but when they have so dig-dab many of ’em, you just gotta write a passive-aggressive blog post on the world wide web, and air out the grievances. So here is a somewhat partial list of all the stuff this dude would do, that I don’t miss at all.
Does my fan bother you?
I have always preferred to have a fan running in my room most of the time, both because I get hot easily, and also because I enjoy ambient noise. A few weeks into living in a house with Melk, it started to get warmer outside, and I decided to start running my fan. Now keep in mind, this was a small, plastic fan, about a foot in circumference, and slightly louder than a computer fan. At some point, I went over to Melk’s room, which was on the other side of one of my walls, to ask him about something. As I’m leaving he says “Hey man… do you hear that?” “Uh, no. What exactly are we listening for?” I question. “There’s some humming sound. Are you running something in your room?” he derpingly questioned. I told him I had a small fan going, but other than that, no. “Oh. Man it’s driving me nuts. Why do you have it on?” he blathers. “Because it’s hot out. And it keeps me from being hot.” I reply. “Alright. Man it’s annoying. I can wear headphones though I guess.” Yes you can, Melk. You can, and you will.
You tryin’ to become my doppelganger?
I shared a bathroom with ole’ Melk, and as you can probably imagine, he was annoying in the bathroom as well. I had somewhat long hair at the time, and as such, needed to use conditioner to keep my unruly hair from tangling up. A little while after living together, I started noticing that someone had been getting into my conditioner other than me. Perhaps it was a racoon or something. Nope. I could tell Captain Melk was using it, because the cap was always open. I always left the cap closed, and racoons didn’t even get into our bathroom. The best part of all was that my buddy boy here had hair that was like half an inch long. You ain’t even need conditioner, bro! So why were you trying to be like me?
That ain’t all though. Soon after, he went out and bought my same shampoo so that he could complete the fan-boy transformation. Now I gotta remember which shampoo is mine, you big goof! You should grab a sharpie and draw a “CCM” on yours to stand for Copy Cat McGee. #smh (hashtag: shake my head)
You tryin’ to be Carlos Mencia Jr?
I had a mutual friend with Melk Melkington, who I’ll refer to as Bibot Supplekins. Bibot was a funny gentleman who would do humorous things on nonstop rotation. One of the things he would do, was to play guitar while making up ridiculous lyrics about whomever was in the near vicinity at the time. A bit of observational musical comedy if you will. It sounds kind of lame on paper, but he was good at it, and dropped them panties like a nuclear physicist, while making everybody jealous and ending racism and Ebola to boot.
Well, a certain somebody noticed that people found this act funny, and tried to get in on the action as well. Guess who it was? His name starts with an “M”. No, not Tommy Two-Thumbs. That doesn’t even start with an “M”. Try again. Yep! It was ole’ Melk “Melky Way” Dinglebert. He’d desperately try to come up with funny observational lyrics while playing guitar, and failed so hard that his future kids will probably feel the burning shame. He found it funny, but it just made everyone else cringe and wish he’d get get hit by a car, even when he was indoors. Maybe you should have tried coming up with your own humor, rather than trying to copy Bibot. You’ll never be as funny at Bibot. Sorry to break the news to you, Melk.
Do I look like a taxi to you?
Wanna know another annoying thing that Melk TurgidTits used to do? Whenever he was having problems with his car, which was often, because his car was stupid, he’d try to get other people to drive him all over the place. Now, I can understand helping a bro out if he’s in a time of need, but a bro better not take advantage of a bro’s hospitality. Ole’ Melky Melk Melk used to have a bike and was apparently some sort of bike aficionado. He would talk about how he’d bike this-a way, and bike that-a way, then turn around and ask you to drive him a few blocks away for something that wasn’t even important. Dude. Why don’t you just bike there? Or maybe even walk, so you don’t end up turning into a chubby little Melk Melk. Just don’t ask your friends to inconvenience themselves for something completely unnecessary, or something you could quickly and easily handle on your own. Real talk!
Are you doing this shit on purpose?
Remember how I said ole’ Melky SmegmaNutz was annoying in matters of the bathroom? That was just the tip o’ the iceberg, kiddies. Check this nonsense out. At one point during this living situation, my esteemed roommate was in between jobs. The thing is, he would continue to get up early in the morning and tie up the bathroom, despite not actually having anywhere he needed to go. I still got up at the same time as usual, and had to wait for him to dick-off in the bathroom every morning before I could handle my man-business and head off to work.
Dammit Melktron. Can’t you just wait until after the working individuals have used the bathroom until you go in there and play with sailboats in the bathtub, or whatever it is you do? You’re like one of those dudes from a comedy movie who still goes through the motions and pretends to go to work so your old lady doesn’t find out. Except you don’t have an old lady, and I’m well aware that you’re just going to spend the day sitting around the house doing Sudoku puzzles, and eating Cheerios. Would it kill you to just wait like ten extra minutes before you go into the bathroom and trim up your landing strip? For gosh sakes!
First the fan, now this shit. Seriously bro?
The great fan-noise fiasco of the early 2000’s was all but a distant memory in our hearts, but a greater tragedy was looming on the horizon. One night, a friend of mine whom I hadn’t seen in years was in town, and decided to drop on by and visit me. We kicked it and cold chilled inside for a while, but decided to go out on the deck since it was such a lovely night out. So there we were, just straight up cold lampin’, when my totally even-keeled roommate comes out and complains that we were being too loud. Mind you, we were sitting three feet away from each other, outdoors, talking in normal indoor voices, but somehow this offended his goofy ears through the house walls. It was also 10PM at most, and he totally didn’t have anything to do the next day.
“Alright. We’ll keep it down” I said, and he slithered back off to his porn dungeon. About 5 minutes later he came back out and complained yet again that we were being too loud. I explained that we had literally been talking at the same level that he was currently talking to us right now, and to “Chill the gosh darn heck out… please, sir.” I think he got mad a third time, and we eventually went inside to avoid any future onslaughts of bitching and moaning.
I tell you what though. You need to man up, Melk n’ Cookies. Stop being such a square and learn to kick it old school every once in a while. Stop getting your pantaloons in a bunch over every little thing. Help me, help you, to be the best you, that you can be. Learn to tolerate the blaring noise of a small indoor table fan. Learn to grow out some natty dreads if you’re looking to lather up your dome piece with conditioner. Work out your own comedic material so that you can perform at the open mic night in our hearts. Get a real car, like a PT Cruiser, or Toyota Tercel, so that you can take the ladies out to a fancy pizza dinner and run errands like a complete champion. And lastly, don’t cockblock an O.G. relationship, simply because you like complete vacuum chamber quiet while you grease your meat whistle to some elbow porn. God bless. #Kony2012