So, my living situation has definitely been a little hairy lately. It’s not like I’m homeless, or anything crazy like that. It’s just that I’ve been forced to lead a very Amish-esque existence, which, given that I’m full-on Gen Z living in the 21st Century, means that I’ve got an incredible amount of adjustment to undertake.
Long story short, the personal assistant to the dude who owns the place I’m at thought that he’d found loopholes to skirt around paying Los Angeles Dept. of Water and Power bills. Talk about f*cking idiotic, who thinks that they can outsmart the largest municipal utility in the United States? Apparently this guy.
So, after accruing thousands of dollars in debt to LADWP, they shut off their services. Leaving me in the complete darkness, without a drop of water to moisten my arid tongue. Seriously, It’s like I’ve been transported to 1869 or something, like I have to use my iWatch to light my path these days, which is f*cking horrendous.
On top of all that, I was totally ditched by everyone. The owner ran off to Texas to recover from being stabbed in the head with a pair of scissors by his personal assistant, and everyone else dissipated off from there. So, here I am, barely qualifiable as an adult, having evidently lived a very sheltered life up until this point, being left alone for the first time, and given the duty of the upkeep of a giant house that has no electricity or plumbing.
Mom & Dad
Thankfully, Mommy and Daddy bought me a mini generator, so I can have some semblance of normalcy in my life. Like, I can hook up a light and charge my phone at night for a couple of hours, while trying to block out the deafening thunder from the generator’s engine.
One of the hardest things to adapt to is the lack of being able to sh*t in my own home. No water = no toilets. And, like the closest bathroom is a good half-mile away, and closes at 11PM. Meaning, late-night bowel movements are almost impossible. So, I’ve been reduced to dog-like behavior, and looked to the backyard as my defecation arena.
It’s not ideal, but it’s what I’ve got to do. So, whenever I feel that weight piling up in my tummy, I grab my roll of TP, and make my way over to my little poop mound that I’ve created. At least the insect kingdom benefits from my plight, as all the flies in the world descend upon this suburban backyard to feast and raise their kids in my dung, effectively making me Lord of the Flies.
However, sometimes the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Why should these annoying-ass flies be allowed to live in sublime happiness rolling around in my feces, while I’m barely scraping by? This epiphany has led to the dark clouds of a dystopian rule forming over the backyard.
These flies will suffer my wrath. They’ll choke on the glorious gift I’ve bestowed upon them. I’ve found, that if timed exactly correct, I can plop little hershey’s kisses on the little bastards, drowning them in my body’s excrement.
Sometime’s when I feel bad, I like to think that I’m treating them like the great pharaohs of Egypt, entombing them inside large poo-pyramids that I’ve spent all day working on. But, mostly, I do it out of spite. I’m probably the equivalent of the boogeyman to these things by now. Generations of flies tell their offspring of me to scare their larvae into good behavior. But, regardless of how they act, my ass will always aim for them.
Hopefully, in the future, I’ll have the basic amenities that we’ve all been accustomed to back, and my troubles will be long behind me. But, until the day comes, at least the flies will suffer with me to dull the pain.
