My Flatmate's Trying to Kill Me!
My flatmate's trying to kill me!
Strike one:
Flatmate starts cleaning the wall. Who cleans walls I ask you? It makes the rest of the house look so dirty. I was suspicious from the start.
Flatmate kicks over the bucket of water and makes me get off the couch and grab my violin and flute from under it to save them from getting wet. Clearly it was an attack of my life.
"Pete! You're trying to kill me!"
Strike two:
This time he didn't work alone.
Flatmate tells me to hurry up if I want a lift and turns off the light. His bike then 'fell' on top of me and then against the door, slamming it shut. For a minute or two I was wrestling with Pete's bike in the dark. Finally I got it off me but balancing it on my bike. As I started through the door it 'fell' against the door again. This time the door hit me in the head before trapping me again in the dark. I finally got downstairs where Pete claimed innocence to having heard my screams.
Strike three:
This time, I specifically told my flatmate not to kill me.
We were helping Wentworth and NiColes down the stairs. I went down first pushing Nicoles. I was close to the bottom when my flatmate started to go down with Wentworth. If Wentworth slipped, I wouldn't have been able to get away, because NiColes was in the way.
"Don't kill me Pete. I'm feeling very vulnerable here. My life is in your hands."
The next thing I know, Wentworth is rolling head over heels lengthways, bouncing down the stairs. Fortunately, my excellent Karate skills came in handy as my brain worked faster than Indiana Jones, running away from... Well whatever it was, it wasn't as bad as Wentworth. Sorry Wentworth, I hope you're ok.
My flatmate was laughing hysterically. He tried act as though he was laughing out of shock, but he just kept laughing until our neighbour came out and laughed with him.
Strike four:
Flatemate picks up knife, supposedly to eat food with. A blatant message.
Strike five:
Flatmate looks at me in that, "You know I'm going to kill you one day" kind of glance.
Strike six:
Flatmate looks at me again.
Strike seven:
Flatmate climbs old wooden ladder, supposedly to fix the light in my room, and tries to fall on me even though I was holding the ladder steady. It's sad to contemplate the determination he has that he would risk his own life to take mine.
Strike nine:
Flatmate drives tired while I'm in the passenger seat.
Strike ten:
Flatmate responds to my public apology for accusing him of trying to kill me, with:
This was done while I was looking over his shoulder, but then he deleted the last part so that no one would know.
Save me!
Strike one:
Flatmate starts cleaning the wall. Who cleans walls I ask you? It makes the rest of the house look so dirty. I was suspicious from the start.
Flatmate kicks over the bucket of water and makes me get off the couch and grab my violin and flute from under it to save them from getting wet. Clearly it was an attack of my life.
"Pete! You're trying to kill me!"
Strike two:
This time he didn't work alone.
Flatmate tells me to hurry up if I want a lift and turns off the light. His bike then 'fell' on top of me and then against the door, slamming it shut. For a minute or two I was wrestling with Pete's bike in the dark. Finally I got it off me but balancing it on my bike. As I started through the door it 'fell' against the door again. This time the door hit me in the head before trapping me again in the dark. I finally got downstairs where Pete claimed innocence to having heard my screams.
Strike three:
This time, I specifically told my flatmate not to kill me.
We were helping Wentworth and NiColes down the stairs. I went down first pushing Nicoles. I was close to the bottom when my flatmate started to go down with Wentworth. If Wentworth slipped, I wouldn't have been able to get away, because NiColes was in the way.
"Don't kill me Pete. I'm feeling very vulnerable here. My life is in your hands."
The next thing I know, Wentworth is rolling head over heels lengthways, bouncing down the stairs. Fortunately, my excellent Karate skills came in handy as my brain worked faster than Indiana Jones, running away from... Well whatever it was, it wasn't as bad as Wentworth. Sorry Wentworth, I hope you're ok.
My flatmate was laughing hysterically. He tried act as though he was laughing out of shock, but he just kept laughing until our neighbour came out and laughed with him.
Strike four:
Flatemate picks up knife, supposedly to eat food with. A blatant message.
Strike five:
Flatmate looks at me in that, "You know I'm going to kill you one day" kind of glance.
Strike six:
Flatmate looks at me again.
Strike seven:
Flatmate climbs old wooden ladder, supposedly to fix the light in my room, and tries to fall on me even though I was holding the ladder steady. It's sad to contemplate the determination he has that he would risk his own life to take mine.
Strike nine:
Flatmate drives tired while I'm in the passenger seat.
Strike ten:
Flatmate responds to my public apology for accusing him of trying to kill me, with:
"That's ok. I forgive you too.
DIE!!!!"
This was done while I was looking over his shoulder, but then he deleted the last part so that no one would know.
Save me!
posted by Mathieu | 10:29 pm
3 Comments:
This is entertaining stuff. If I didn't know Pita, maybe it wouldn't be as great.
By the way, today is the day I read your blog and give you 10,000 comments.
I've counted 3 so far, so you have 9,997 left to go! I don't know how much daytime you have left over there, but why don't you spread the rest over a bunch of other days? I'd prefer to hear from you more often.
I think you deserve to die, you irritating non rent paying guitar playing paranoid art student. Get a job!
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