I'm Going to Kill that Idiot

April 1, XXXX

David, apparently, wants to die. I woke up this morning to the sound of some antiquated song blaring into my eardrums that I am not even certain had any actual human speech involved--something about 'mmm bopping'. I'm not entirely sure what that is, or why it was ever popular, because it sounds entirely too painful to be bothered with. And if the assault to my eardrums was somehow not enough to satisfy his sadistic sense of humor, I woke up staring at an iguana. An iguana--with it's beady little eyes, skeletal fingers, and that disturbing flap of skin under the chin that inflates and deflates as it stares at you, unblinking. I loathe all manner of lizards, but the iguana has to be the worst and he knows how I feel about them.

I don't see why he has such a fascination with arcane holidays in the first place, and I certainly don't approve of him dragging me into them. After I kicked him out of the apartment with the scaly menace that is sure to haunt my dreams for days, on orders that he promptly return it to whatever gods-forsaken Star he got it from, I thought I'd calm down with a nice hot shower only to find he replaced my shampoo with chocolate pudding. When I found his shampoo bottle had been filled with the remains of the pasta in red clam sauce he made the night before, I think I may have snapped. I got online and found the most annoying ancient machine I could find and promptly made ten of them. They are these furry little robots that talk in baby voices at each other, which you must remove the power source from to shut them up. I didn't have any artificial fur in blinding colors to complete them with, so I spray painted them with last Halloween's hair dye.

It backfired. He thinks these 'furbee' creatures are adorable and now they're all over the place and have been chattering on and on for ten hours straight. The only person I've ended up irritating beyond reprieve, apparently, is myself. Why did I agree to let this moron move in again?

Oh, yeah, I felt sorry for him. After the war, he had nowhere to go, or so he claimed. If those things are still talking tomorrow morning, he can live on the damn street, that's all I've got to say.

~Shou~