Fernando greets his new roomates
Here’s part of the promised news: I finally got my Columbia housing today. Orientation is Monday, and as of yesterday I still didn’t have a place to stay. I was sweating it, believe me.
Columbia was kind enough to send me my roomates’ email addresses, and I sent them this message:
We’ll find out very quickly if these guys lack common sense and/or a sense of humor.
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My DD214 
I can’t count the fingers on my hand I’m laughing so hard.
Fernando, I wish that you had given me the same courtesy when we became roommates. I still have not been able to get the chicken-blood stains out of my bedspread. You could have at least had had the decency to wait until I got home. And the dead hookers stashed in my closet, well, I won’t go into that right now. A CONSIDERATE roommate would have left one alive so I could conduct my own strange religious rituals. Man, what a dick.
You are ALWAYS trying to saddle me with the beef for those dead hookers. I remember telling YOU that roofies and coke where a bad combination, but did you listen? It’s like the time you tried to smuggle opium across the Mexican border in that kitten. You’re pig-headed, Clay. Pig-headed.
Okay, that does it.
First of all, it wasn’t roofies and coke, dummy, it was pop-rocks and pepsi. Furthermore, they WANTED to do it. It’s not like I duct-taped their mouths all the way shut so they couldn’t belch.
Secondly, I feel that it is relevant to mention at this time that no one, not even that son-of-a-bitch border guard, could prove that the substance “found” inside that “kitten” was, in fact, opium. It might have been a gummy, black, sweet-smelling tumor. Take THAT forensic science!
Thirdly, I didn’t try to saddle you with anything. You know those dirty whores would have charged extra if they were forced to be witnesses to that kind of heinous debauchery.
Fourth, and finally, I would like to state for the record that I am not pig-headed. I am an asshole, no doubt, but I have no porcine qualities whatsoever.
Both of you need to settle down and go into your respective corners…ok…now that we’re calm, tell me where to find these “hookers”…(an inquisitive look washes across my face)
They’re stacked like cordwood in Clay’s closet, Will. Aren’t you paying attention?