The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘come on ellen!’

My Zombie Roomy (10/26/10)

I hadn’t seen the Zombie in a while, but I came home today and the bathroom door was closed. I thought about it and I was pretty sure I hadn’t closed the bathroom door before I left.

This got me nervous.

Then I heard some sloshing coming from inside the bathroom. Bathtub sounds.

This made me even more nervous. And pretty curious.

I walked up to the bathroom and listened. After I heard a few sounds from inside I knew it was the Zombie. You might think I felt better knowing that – but not really. The Zombie doesn’t use the bathroom. The Zombie doesn’t take baths. The Zombie doesn’t close doors.

What is happening?

“Zombie, I’m going to open the door …” I said, a little worried.

I opened the door and I saw something that shocked me. Absolutely shocked me.

The Zombie had lit some candles, was laying in the bath tub with tons of bubbles, he had some old-fashioned hair curlers he had somehow shoved into his head, and was gnawing on a self-help book on how to get over being broken up with (based on the books cover, ironic I know, it looked to be a book for heterosexual women).

The Zombie burped, and we both laughed. Things are back on track with me and the Zomb!

Also because of the bath he doesn’t smell like death, mixed with curry, mixed with feet! He instead just smells like death.

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My Zombie Roomy

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Weekly Wacko (39)

7/11/10

Today I was driving home from Tomball, Texas. A town to the north of Houston.

I had visited a Buc-ee’s for the first time. I bought a t-shirt and some Buc-ee’s beef jerky.

I was listening to Jerry Reed singing ‘Guitar Man.’

I had my window down, elbow leaning out, blasting ‘Guitar Man’ and chewing on beef jerky.

I saw a sign that said “God Bless Our Troops,” and thinking Texas would want me to do this, I yelled out, “Hell Yeah!”

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Weekly Wacko

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My Zombie Roomy (6/9/10)

6/9/10
I tell you – I’ve never had a roommate who I’ve had so much drama with.

The undead, who knew?

Earlier the Zombie did something – I’m not going to repeat it because I found it offensive – but I’ll tell you it was racist against Hispanics. And possibly sexist. But the racism so outweighed the sexism that it didn’t even occur to me until later.

But here’s the catch – what if the Zombie is Hispanic himself? Then is it acceptable? I mean, it was still bad, and it was sincere and he knew it was unacceptable. But you’re allowed to self-hate.

I’m really curious about finding out if the Zombie’s Hispanic, but the only ways I could think to test were, frankly, racist.

I put on some of the crappy Mexican polka that God knows why people enjoy, and he didn’t seem to enjoy it or hate it. So, neutral.

I put out a newsboy cap, a baseball hat, a do rag and a sombrero and said pick one – and he picked up the remote and turned up the volume (I get the hint, Zombie).

He’s so unresponsive, but I’m so curious now!

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My Zombie Roomy

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