I nearly threw up

For those who had bets placed on how quickly my str8 roommate would get back together with the girlfriend that neither I nor my other roommate can stand let me be the first to offer congratulations to all who picked one week. Apparently it only took 7 lousy days for Chris to gut himself of any remaining dignity, cut off his newly acquired balls, and bring that vial bitch back into our household. Even if it was just for some schtupping.

You may recall in my previous post about this situation, one week was not enough time for us to plan the much needed "Fuck Off Teri" celebration and chili cook-off. It also was not enough time to give adequate thought into what to do if he actually got back together with her. In my previous post I said I'd kick him out of the house, and after coming home tonight to the pungently putrid smell of fermented yeast and Astroglide wafting out of his half-open bedroom door—seriously, has he ever washed his sheets? No wonder he takes 30 minute showers!—I feel quite motivated to do so. Finding out that they consummated their re-togetherness last night would have been enough to cause my bile to rise, but coming home and being nose-raped by that smell was nearly enough to make me puke. Dear reader, I have my bedroom door closed as I type this and I'm still gagging on the fowl funk creeping under the door. It's probably a good thing I didn't enjoy more Pisco Sours tonight or I might be vomiting face-first in the shitter right now.

"Time makes fools of us all." So true, Philip J. Fry. And apparently 7 days is enough time for one man to fall from grace back into the tentacles of Teri-ble and cause another man to start brushing up eviction law. On the other hand, I guess I could just sell the place and move… but that's another story.