Here’s the reason I don’t like roommates: Popcorn.  “Why,” you ask?  “Is it because of the smell when they burn the popcorn?  Is it because they leave the dirty popcorn bags laying around the apartment?  Is it because I get the theme song to Superman and Indiana Jones mixed up a lot?” No, person asking questions, it’s none of the above.  It’s because, as the popcorn is popping, what if I come under attack by a bunch of miniature people with miniature machine guns?  I’ll never know, with the sound of the microwave deliciousness masking the gunfire.  Do I wear a bulletproof vest when I make popcorn?  Yes, I do.  But that’s because I make popcorn when I choose to.  I can prepare.  If my roommate just starts making some as I’m taking a nap, and at that time miniature people start firing at me, I’m gone, man.  Game over.  I hate you, hypothetical roommate, and you owe me rent for October still.  I don’t care if you went out of town to visit your girlfriend for two weeks of the month, and we’ve been over this several times, hypothetical roommate.  One of these days I’m going to kick you out.  Out of my brain.

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