My House.

I live in a house. My house is big. I don't own my house. I have never met my Landlord. There are nine rooms in my house, three floors, three bathrooms, a kitchen, a den and a yard. There are 15-20 people living in my house. I don't understand why.

My room is on the top floor. I live across my ex-girlfriend and next to a Chinese girl who plays really bad music most of the time (although sometimes, she does have a nice tune going). There are at least two boys who stay over sometimes next door, though I don't think they do so together. I wouldn't really know.

I love cooking. But I don't like cooking in my house. The kitchen is so filthy I think the rats and roaches moved up the street. It's dirty because three-fourth of the people in the house do not understand basic concepts of hygiene. I don't blame them. They must have no frame of reference.

I use the toilet that has a bathtub. I've never taken a bath in it because I'm scared that germs will colonise me. Actually, no, I am not using the toilet in the toilet that has a bathtub right now. It's full of pulp and flushing doesn't help.

I made a sign for the toilet today. It's to teach the people in the house how to use it. They don't have a frame of reference, you see. This is the sign I made:

HOW TO USE THIS TOILET

1. IF YOU ARE FEMALE, SIT YOUR ASS DOWN.

2. IF YOU HAVE BALLS, LIFT THE SEAT UP THEN GET READY, AIM AND FIRE, OR SIT YOUR ASS DOWN.

3. YOU PISS. OR SHIT. OR BOTH.

4. CLEAN UP. OR NOT. WHICHEVER. YOU, THAT IS.

5. FLUSH. PROPERLY. IT’S NOT NICE TO SEE CRAP (HAHA!) IN THE BOWL.

6. NOW HERE’S THE TRICKY PART: GUYS, WIPE THE SEAT (AND WHATEVER ELSE) IF YOU MESSED IT UP. GIRLS TOO. AND NO, “I HAD 18 PINTS…” WILL NOT CUT IT.

I like my sign. I like my room. I don't quite like my house.