Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Crinkle Crinkle

I swear to god – I will kill him. If I see him again, I will absolutely destroy him. This isn't me talking, really – no. It's the anger. It's the rage. It's the voice of a thousand and one little Ultimate Warriors all shouting in my head. It's his rage, and anger taken hold in me. “Bunkmate! When you fly to Toronto *fssssh!* you take the control stick, and drive it into the ground! *fssssh!* For you have already lost to the warriors!”

I mean, seriously – the phone call he took at six in the morning, that's fine. I'm cool with that. It was him waking up at eight, and then crumpling all his crap into a little plastic bag! You know how angry you are when someone tries to open a bag of chips in a theatre, or a lecture, or what have you? Well imagine that. Now imagine that this person is completely inept, and though you just want five minutes of quiet sleep, and you try to outlast him, he's on to you! He knows your game, and as you keep setting back your alarm, he keeps at it. Crnkle crinkle. Crinkle crinkle! This lasts for forty minutes. Forty! Minutes! I could have unpacked, and repacked my whole bag twice over in that time. But nope, there he goes – at it again, at it again.

What the hell is he doing?! Finally I wake up. I get up. I get dressed. He smiles, and leaves the room, never to be seen again. Or so he better hope. He better pray!

FORTY MINUTES! Crinkle crinkle crinkle! Crinkle crinkle crinkle! Gah!

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