Close Encounters of the Mundane Kind

I hate cleaning you house.

Why the hell do you get so dirty? And more so, damn you kitchen. I hardly cook in there, I simply store food, thaw food, break the occasional egg. What is that stain on the bottom shelf? Do the little creatures have parties in here when I'm sleeping or something? Nasty little critters. And, for some reason, I feel really, really vulnerable when I'm bent over, scrubbing your gross shelves. Don't know why. So thank you for keeping my beer cold, but damn you for making a mess of it.

Damn you, paying bills. Every god damned month? I barely even watched TV this month, I still gotta shell out all that cash? And, while I'm at it phone companies - damn your pathetic little late fees. They're small enough for me to easily ignore them but they add up over time. So thank you for the electricity, credit and Internet, but fuck you for your constant demands.

Damn you, light bulbs. It's 2009. I was irritated when I wasn't issued my jetpack in 2000 (where's my bloody raygun ?!? ), but I figured by now technology would've at least advanced to the point where I don't have to stand on my wobbly chair and deal with this. Bonus damn yous for scaring the crap out of me when I walk into a darkened room, innocently flick the switch and get momentarily blinded by that huge flash and terrifying pop! Also, for somehow convincing your light bulb brethren to join you, causing a chain reaction that means I'm filled with fear whenever I turn on a light. Smash! Smash! Smash! What, did you all join in a suicide pact? Bastards.

Damn you, washing dishes. Yes, I know, you smell funny, and I know the longer I wait, the slimy stuff is just gonna get weirder as they accumulate on you. That's why I've pretty much switched to just eating off the dishes and eating with my hands. I'm a caveman in an apartment.

Maybe I should just get off trying to work and watch mindless television. Life goes on.