Save me.

Warning: I will not censor this 'blog, so if you offend easily, you need to leave now. Character assassination in progress.

Yesterday night I came home to check my email and noticed a large truck, a van, and a car in front of my house. To say I was puzzled would be like saying Vietnam was a mistake. It was my roommate and former friend Tony trying desperately to move while I wasn't home. As it was, he nearly was successful. When he left, he left me with nothing but my bed, my desk, my bookshelves and a white-hot loathing I've never experienced in the entiretly of my life. I don't have a microwave. I don't have a washer and dryer. I have no furniture in my living room whatsoever. I literally don't have a pot to piss in, and the one frying pan I do own, why, he stole the lid. He even took the trash can.

He did leave me, however, with debt. I've been paying half the rent, and now I am responsible for all of it. This means that this month's rent check will most likely bounce. This is because Tony's credit was so fucking bad that he couldn't be on my lease because he's a moronic deadbeat eternal-child motherfucker. I have no legal recourse to get rent from him because the lease only recognizes me as renting here, and that nasty donkey-raping motherfucker knew it. When I confronted him, he of course made this all sound like my fault. "I told you in February that I'd be moving." Yes, Tony, you said many things in February, most of which I ignored because you are a simple, ass-rimming waste of skin whose only pleasures in life come from your singular inability to have an adult relationship. I mean, come on. His mom still buys nearly all of his food and he's nearly thirty. But that was in FEBRUARY. What he knew was that if he gave me enough time to think about it by telling me, oh, last week, that he'd be moving, I would have had his tiny pin-head blown off his waste of a neck.

His parents were helping him move (THERE'S a goddamn surprise) and they knew he was doing something shady, and their eyes didn't meet mine. His mom usually comes and makes me give her a hug; this time she barely acknowledged I was in the room. Too bad they'd failed to pass down any of their lofty Judeo-Christian values to their goat-lovin' son. I could blame them, too, and since I am so pissed that I can barely hold my bowels, I might as well lump them in there, too. I hate them, as well. Oh yes. Try getting to Heaven now, you close-minded simple snatches. Enjoy the sulphur.

I feel utterly betrayed. I feel used, like a condom floating in a toilet. I feel, most of all, shame. I'm ashamed that I'd trusted him as much as I did. I'd like to say that this will harden me a little, but I think we all know differently. And, my vengeance center is calling to me, luring me with a siren-song towards the rocks of sweet, sweet revenge. I'm sadly not too good for revenge, and I'd be lying if I said that it didn't fill me with an insane amount of warmth and delight. I'm not sure I will act on it. As John Nash said, "One can be on a diet of the mind and not indulge certain appetites." Oh, but it will be so tasty...

In the meantime, I've got nothing. My money situation was tight to begin with, and now I will have to sell handjobs under the railroad trestle to make ends meet. The emptiness of my apartment is like a slap in the face every time I walk through it.

If any of you want to help me, here's what you can do.

1) Dress in black and meet me at 2326 Brandon Court, Bloomington, IN, 47401, for a good old-fashioned ninja excursion, which will end when we hear the hiss of air escaping from the slashed tires of gray Oldsmobile with Ohio plates.

2) Send boxes of venomous reptiles (snakes! he fears them!) to me and I will see to it that they are used... properly.

3) I guess what I need the most is support. Call me. Email me. (I will have internet till the 9th...) I'll be here, luxuriating in a hatred-filled chrysalis.

I'll be better soon, I promise. But today... today, I'm given entirely to the Dark Side, so don't cross me, a'ight?

I remain, as ever,

Dom

PS. He even took my bathtowel, which was a) used and b) given to me nine months ago. Petty sperm-Dumpster.