College Student Letter Written to Ex- Roomate
I’m sitting in an airport terminal. I am at ease. Not because the strain of finals has left me in a euphoric state, but because I no longer live in the festering constraints of my dorm room. I no longer share air space- rather; I no longer suffocate under the toxins of a person whose lack of hygiene led to several bouts of my near asphyxiation. I want to stress that I’m not writing this because I hate you enough to do it. I wouldn’t want you to think that I care enough to place even marginal interest in your overall being. Instead I write this to your future roommate, a person to whom I feel the utmost pity.
I will attempt to write this using analogous diction and syntax to your own writing style, but unlike yours, I will employ tact and selectivity in my word choice. I won’t pontificate my sentences in order to assert my superiority over my reader (like your articles). It won’t sound like I’ve nearly choked on a thesaurus, or that I’ve chosen every possible run around to avoid normal writing. Being pretentious isn’t my thing. I wish I could say the same for you. And in regards to your articles, I think the summation of their content can be tied up in just a few adjectives; but there’s no need to reference your trite, hackneyed, repetitive articles.
I’m tired right now, and frankly, I think your future roommate might be more inclined to see a list of the reasons why they should saw off each of their fingers before they consider subjecting themselves to living in the same domicile as you.
1. You are obsessed with sex. Not just any type of sex, but your morbidly obese domination fetish. I really didn’t care that you had a fetish, as nearly everyone does. You have your choices, and that’s fine. But never, in my entire life, have I encountered someone so hedonistic in that their entire pursuit in life is to quench their lust. Twenty-three hours of every one of your days on this planet revolve around your obsession with “debu” (Japanese word for fat fetish). That’s not normal. That leads to…
2. You masturbated while I was in the room. Twice. Did you ever tell your friends that was the reason why I didn’t speak to you for the last two months of the semester? I gave you a shot to redeem yourself after the first time. And you did it again. In your fat fetish induced frenzy you disrespected the sanctity of our room, and the respect of my character. The first time I caught you masturbating with your fat cyber sex partner, I was awoken by a stench. It smelled thickly of crotch, a smell so vile that if I were psychoanalyzed it would be found in the deepest annals of my id. I awakened to see you violently throttling yourself, an image that I will NEVER forget. And then the second time- well, I’m getting nauseous as I reminisce, so I’ll stop.
3. You don’t shower. I’m going to let you in on a secret I learned when I was in 4th grade. Showering is something you do more than twice a week. Can you imagine that? As a matter of fact, most people shower once, if not twice daily. Some are so dedicated to hygiene that they shower thrice daily. Can you believe it? The irony that you rinse your hands in isopropyl alcohol after touching anything, but then refuse to shower is not lost on me. The days when you neglected to leave the room (except to eat) were the worst. You would sit and fester for hours on end. The heat and stench your corpulent body produced was fetid. It was gag inducing. To this day, when I visit the rhino turd-pit at the zoo, I will be stricken by a Proustrian notion of my *** semester in college. Showering makes the world a better place.
4. You have a horrendous snoring problem. Not just any type of snoring, either. It woke me, or prevented me from slumber so many times I can’t count. And it wasn’t just loud, it was throaty and deep. I suppose that the closest I can possibly come to explaining it would be to liken it to someone trying to rip-start a lawnmower while standing in a tub of lard. It really did sound like you were trying to gargle your own bodyfat. It could have killed you to get some Breathe-Right nasal strips from the drug store?
That’s enough for the list. But I wanted to get some things off my chest. I don't care what you do with your life, (although it’s rather obvious that it won’t be much), there is one thing about you that gives me comfort. Because of your choice of lifestyle, you will never reproduce. The world will not have to suffer though the proliferation of your spawn.
Speaking of your lifestyle, I wanted to make something abundantly clear to you.
Another list? You guessed it.
1. You are not Japanese.
2. Japanese people will never assimilate you into their culture.
3. Americans disown you for wanting to be Japanese.
Ahh, the ramifications of such cyclic realizations. The samsara is cruel isn’t it? I find it amusing that you continue your attention plea well into your college years. That tended to die out for most in high school, when they realized that their banal personalities still couldn’t be compensated for by ridiculous dress and lack of social restraint. Why else would you run around school with a hat on that said “I love sex with other fat men” in Japanese? Again, your identity is tied back to your own sexual titillation, and that’s just sad.
Never in my life had I met a person of whom I could not deduce one positive thing from their character. Then I met you. I couldn’t bring girls over at all, because after being in the room with you once they were downright repulsed. Even your resting breathing rate is so labored and heavy that it disgusted even the most tolerant females. And of course, they commented on the smell of “obese” being prevalent in the room. So, there went my ability to get laid in my own room. So again, I had to go out of my way to accommodate your disgusting habits. Embarrassing.
In closing, there isn’t much to say, other than I truly feel that the person who is forced to live with you next must be aware of the pain they will endure. And if you’re wondering why I didn’t transfer, I would have thought it abundantly clear that I was not about to leave on account of your wrongdoings. You getting your own room after masturbating while I was still in the room should not be a reward.
Please seek help.
