Calm Down Dearest // For The Love of Milk!

I wouldn’t say that there are a lot of things in life that really annoy me. There are a few things that we all hate; Obese kids eating McDonalds with their little chubby fingers, stinky homeless people with their beer soaked beards and of course, getting Chlamydia… then having to tell all the people you’ve slept with recently to get checked up (it didn’t take me long). But my biggest hatred of all? That’s reserved for my housemate. You might think I’m being mean, but five minutes with him and you’d hate him to. I’ll fill you in on the build up of hatred so you know the scale of cock we’re dealing with, albeit my argument might sound a tad petty. I buy milk as I rather enjoy it on my cereal. In fact, I love it. Coincidentally Frosties don’t taste quite the same without it.

So when I buy milk for the house to share… and it never gets replaced it makes me sad. And then when I buy milk, start a ‘milk rota’, for me to be the only person in the house buying the milk, it makes me even sadder. And then when I stop the milk rota, buy milk for myself and even buy a special ‘anti damp’ pen so I can write my name on the milk and it gets devoured quicker than that McDonalds I just mentioned… I get angry! I wouldn’t have been that angry about it, but days and weeks have gone by where I’ve not had a drop of that yummy white stuff even though I’ve bought it.

The latest development in the milk frenzy was to try an all new deterrent by actually labelling my milk as ‘Breast Milk’, then ‘My Man Milk’ and lastly ‘Get the Fuck off My Sodding Milk You Greedy Milk Guzzling Bastard – I.D.S.T’. When your housemates a cock though, none of these warnings on the milk actually work. Hate him yet? Well you should. So I’ve had to go to the lengths of marking the side of the bottle each time I use some, and signing it off. It’s turning into a miniature military operation just to ensure that in a morning I’m able to have a bowl of Coco Pops with that delicious chocolatey milk!

This morning I opened the fridge only to find the milk level was well under the previous signed pen mark. THEFT! I immediately went and challenged the culprit who made the rookie child like mistake of lying about it and digging an even deeper hole. He lied to my face, the swine! All of my built up milk related rage exploded at him (not a euphemism) and a barrage of abuse came out that secretly I’m rather proud of; “Why don’t you buy you own cocking milk you milk devouring whore, I couldn’t give a monkeys testicle if it was just a cup of tea or whether you’ve had a full blown milk orgy with it. It’s mine, it’s labelled up and if you drink it again… I’m going to tell your small breasted dried up old hag of a barren Mother how poor a job she did of raising you!”.

That’s right, I went there. Well it serves him right. Where has his obsession for milk come from anyway? I blame his mother for not breast feeding him.

The frigid cow.