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Ode to a Housemate
by Sarah McKinley Oakes & Amelia G (Mostly Sarah)
Sarah and I have lived in group houses together,
on and off, for a number of years. When we lived
at old Cambodia, there was this guy we were all
friends with. We'll call him Twisted Pigfucker1.
Anyway, we had an opening and he seemed like the
obvious person to have move in, given that he constantly
slept at our house and fucked on our couch anyway. But TP
blew off his job right before he was supposed to move in. Definitely
none of us could afford to pay his way, so the only issue was how to
inform him of his lack of desirability. Citizen Ken2 came up with the
idea of sending him a singing telegram. We bandied about strip-o-grams
and men in gorilla suits and finally decided to just tell TP to get a job
and move in some other time. Ken still has the little poem the group
composed for the 'gram, but he wouldn't give it to me for this issue even
if I wasn't going to name names. So Sarah and I sat around the kitchen
table and she composed the following fine doggerel:
We don't like you any more
You've become a real louse
Pack up your things
And get out of our house
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We aren't real sad
We don't need any Kleenex
We don't care where you go
But you might try Phoenix
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You've shown us that you suck
You have nothing left to prove
You are a two-faced fuck
And now you'll have to move
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It was a beautiful house
But you filled it with gloom
Please get out quickly
We've rented your room
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You keep talking shit
About all your friends
The bullshit keeps flowing
The noise never ends
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I ask you to be nice
But you just won't
The difference between us
Is I live here; you don't
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And the moral of the story is that, if you live in a group house, you will waste a lot of your time complaining about people you used to really like.
1 His name was really Scott Smith.
2 Ken, I promised I wouldn't write anything about you,
if you remembered to get me an article for this issue.
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