Apparently, I tempted fate last week by posting FMLs about people getting sick. I’ve spent the last few days at home, lying on the couch drifting in and out of sleep. Which got me to thinking about all the times I’ve been sick when I haven’t had my girlfriend or my mom to look after me. Sure, being alone sucked, but what was often even worse than being alone was being with roommates who couldn’t be bothered to lend a hand.
I was generally lucky with my roommate choices. The people who complained on FMyLife.com down below? Not so lucky. Let’s make fun of them, shall we?
Today, I woke up to an angry text from my roommate asking me to please let her know next time I’m going to have a friend crashing on the couch. I have no idea who she’s talking about. FML
OK, ma’am? Listen, I need you to calm down, OK? Can you do that?
Now, where in the house are you now? OK, and is there anyone with you now? Is your roommate there? No, OK. Now, can you peek out the bedroom window? Is the person still on your couch? We’ll send someone over right away.
Also, you idiots, could you think about maybe locking your front door? Making sure windows aren’t accessible? I can’t help but feel that you brought this on yourself.
Oh and maybe do the smell-test on your couch.
Glass would have been better
Today, I was walking in my apartment when I felt something stab my foot. Thinking it was a piece of glass, I looked down. It was one of my roommate’s toenail clippings. FML
Eeewwwww. Oh man! SICK!
Sorry about that, I just didn’t have a chance to vacuum after I disgraced the common area of the home we share together. It’s just I’m so lazy and inconsiderate, and it’s just a small pile of toenail clippings. I really didn’t think you were going to notice.
Look I’ll clean it up, just, uh… Just don’t use the shower for awhile, OK? It’s not draining properly for, uh… some reason.
Sorry ’bout the salmonella
Today, I learned that my roommate doesn’t actually know a damn thing about cooking. I’m suffering the effects of him telling me that chicken is best eaten medium-rare. FML
Hang on a second — you’re suffering the effects of his telling you, or you’re suffering the effects of eating “medium-rare” chicken? If it’s the latter, I’m sympathetic; if it’s the former, and you’ve just discovered that you need to actually cook chicken, then I hope you enjoyed your trip to the emergency room, you fool!
Look, I’m not one to tell someone how to “cook” their “chicken” but you need to be told: you cook it until it hits an internal temperature of about 160°F OR until the juices run clear. THE JUICES RUN CLEAR.
Sweet shit, stop trying to kill yourselves.
Image by Kerry on Flickr. Used under Creative Commons License.