Brain Poops

Today’s post is very close to my heart, having been a room-mate for the past 5 years to various family and friends. In that span of time I have heard tons of horror stories, dealt with various crises, and earned the title of “Room-mate Extraordinare”¹. The intent of this post is to inform the general public of the dangers and proper customs of being a room-mate in America.

Part 1: Welcome to the Fold!

Sharing a home is a tradition stemming back to the Bronze age, when warriors who returned home from battle were forced into stucco duplexes with each other because they still needed to pay off their student loans. The first roommates, Ezekiel the Beneficent and Rick, lived together for 7 months before Rick found Ezekiel smoking his weed and decided to throw him out (see engraving at left).

Living with your fellow man/woman is as much a part of life for 20-somethings today as it was back then. The need for shelter combined with a lack of money forces millions of ill-matched people into small spaces together every day in the US and abroad.

It has been speculated that the negative effects of these arrangements are the backbone of many international conflicts, due to the horrible interactions between many roomies. The first known instance of this is thought to be the well-documented case of J. Christ living with Maximus Titen, which led to the eventual crucifixion of Christ due to an argument stemming from Titen’s use of matzo as beer coasters (see: livejournal entry: username Titen_Lurvs_Coal_Chamber_SPQR, page 6).

But never fear! The brotherhood shared between current and ex-roommates might be a bittersweet brew, but there will never be a shortage of “My fuckin’ room-mate” stories. So in the future, when you’re talking to that IceBitch at the local bar who is rolling her eyes at you, thank your magnificent housemate for being caught masturbating to Golden Girls with their slipper… it might just seal the deal.

Part 2: Selecting A Roommate.

One of the trickiest issues facing people both looking for a housemate and people looking for a home to share is the screening process. Generally speaking, both sides are desperate for one reason or another and neither wants to show any of those ugly little habits and quirks that would otherwise get them rejected from that particular home.

Take, for instance, the photos at right. Which would you choose? 100% of people familiar with Charles Manson would choose the person on the right, in spite of his eyebrows.

This is where the roommate situation gets tricky. In a normal environment, of course you would choose Whitey McHonkeypants². This, however, is a far shot away from the normal situation and begs a deeper look be taken.

Charles Manson may be a convicted serial killer, but he has a significant leg up over the White Devil² to the right.

Having spent a significant amount of time in the Corcoran State Prison doing laundry and cooking meals for his fellow inmates, Manson represents the ideal candidate for sharing chores and offering culinary expertise. Few people would argue who could make a better batch of prison wine out of our sparse selection pictured above.

Also, now being at the ripe age of 73, Manson offers a wealth of knowledge garnered through over his 7 decades of life on this planet to the green-horn youths of any household. He’s raised a notable family, responsible for attacking the problem of overpopulation “one celebrity couple at a time”. His notability would also contribute to some “bangin” house parties, having the celebrity status and charm equivalent to OJ Simpson, with the added benefit of never having acted crappily in any Naked Gun films.

Comparing that impressive resumé to the other applicant, it’s easy to see the better choice between the two.

Upon a cursory glance of the submitted picture, we see the other applicant is young, somewhat pimpled, and biting a gel-grip pen. His gaze is directed almost perpendicular to the camera, and seems to be wearing a backpack.

With a little intuition, it’s easy to note that this is a young, inexperienced student who is high-strung and has dietary habits of the greasy persuasion. Do you have any idea the messes that come about with a diet composed of Slim Jims and burger fat? The smell is enough to drive you crazy, and god help you if you are a vegetarian.

Without looking at the backpack compartment itself, we can see the straps are padded, making the cargo either very heavy or the carrier a complete pansy. What kind of heavy cargo could possibly constitute padded straps? A bomb? 8 kilos of black-tar heroin? Obviously, there is something to be nervous about if you are biting your gel-grip pen.

Lastly, the mannerisms portrayed in this photo reveal a nervous demeanor with a pronounced oral fixation and a penchant for gel-grip pens. As a writer, I personally am horrified by the idea of having a roommate that could, at any time, snatch one of my favorite Uni-ball pens and begin comping voraciously at either well-designed end, satisfaction glimmering in his wet eyes like starlight on a pool of springwater.

Nobody within their right mind would have to think more than a few seconds to see the obvious choice here, given the evidence at hand. Vanilla St. Bombybackpack is out, Charlie is in.

¹: Title earned through rushing burned, semi-drunk roommies to the hospital in spite of sleep deprivation and not being invited to the event said roommies were coming back from.

²: Meant with no disrespect intended.

That’s it for this post! Stay tuned for parts 3-85, detailing how to live with your new serial-killer roomie all the way to eventual marriage!

Got a weird roommate story to share? Post it in the comments!