How I miss coming home in the pitch dark of night to find the front door partially open and unlocked with you nowhere to be found so that I had to creep fearfully up the stairs, terrified that some friendly neighborhood robber/rapist had decided to take advantage of the opportunely open door and was already prepared to pounce and steal my virtue along with my 27 inch color television.
How I so enjoyed waking in the morning and going to the bathroom to get ready for work only to find you sitting on the toilet, door halfway open, panties around your ankles, face between your knees (as if watching your own spectacle) as spurting and farting noises sounded musically in the wonderfuly acoustic toilet bowl, muffled only mildly by the spread of your ass cheeks as you glared at me and leaned forward to swing the door shut.
How happy I was to see you each morning snoring intimately on the couch, instead of your bed, with the tv on, sloughing off your putrid dead skin cells and seeping your noxious body oils into my upholstery with your lone right hand tucked mysteriously between your legs and the mess of your manic life including panties, shoes, candle wax, food wrappers and aerobics videos surrounding you.
How joyful it made me feel to find random, meatheaded manflesh lurching around my house, hogging the bathroom and pissing on the floor every time you felt the undeniable need to invite home some rancid swarm of braindead 'hunks' that you had met while flashing your coochie at the Crazy Donkey on ladies' night.
How musical the sound of the vomit pouring from your mouth to tinkle delightfully in the toilet bowl each morning at approximately 6:00 a.m. after which I would find that you had indeed flushed the toilet after your nauseous outburst but had in fact neglected to do so following the ensuing piss, during which you had apparently sat in the remnants of vomit that graced the seat since, happily, they would still be there as I entered the room, causing me to hover without sitting and notice, at the same time, that droplets of your vomit has also managed to spew over the bowl and attach themselves to the wall along the floor, accumulating for weeks.
How I regret that I am no longer able to open the fridge or cupboard and find that nearly all of my food has been eaten or thrown away and to find you guiltily snorting coke and cheese doodles into all available orificices as I enter the living room to confront you about my missing grocery items.
Yes, the good old days. Now that I have my own special place into which no slob ass roomie intrudes, I begin to understand how I overlooked all the special times we shared. The lack of vomit on my toilet seat and the abundance of food in the pantry only attest to the fact that there is a huge void in my life that used to be filled by you. I miss you, slob ass roomie. You were the best at what you did.