Many of you may have attended a party at my house this past weekend. I wouldn’t know. My former best friend Brian, who got very drunk very early in the afternoon, physically overpowered me and tied me to a chair in my bedroom. He said it was going to be funny. It was not.
I’m assuming none of you heard me screaming to be let out, because Brian blasted “Are You Ready for Some Football” on repeat through speakers just outside of my room the whole night. Not only did I have to listen to that song approximately 200 times over and over again, but I was treated to the sounds of all of you FUCKERS systematically dismantling my house. I have listed here a number of serious issues that have come up in light of my party; if anybody knows who or what is responsible, please let me know.
- To whoever shit in my Beta fish tank: really not cool, man. That fish and I had been through a lot together, and nothing should have to die in a pool of someone else’s waste. RIP Snickers.
- Being told to “make yourself at home” is an expression, and not an invitation to do whatever you like. Whoever assured Brian that he was free to tear up the carpet throughout the house because “he lived there now” is a real asshole.
- My Asian-American neighbor is now under the assumption that I am extremely racist. I don’t know what happened, but I remember hearing people shout about a “karate battle in the street.” I’m assuming the two incidents are connected, but I am afraid to ask. If anybody could shed some light on what happened or any injuries that may have occurred, that would be appreciated.
- My car is now covered in what appears to be stick figure reenactment of the storming of the beaches at Normandy in WW2. It is a very bloody rendition of the battle, with red Sharpie all over the place. Apart from the permanent red marker on a brand new silver car, I’ve tried to remove some of the stickers and in doing so damaged the paint job. While I am a proud American who revels in our D-Day victory as much as anyone else, I think this crosses the line.
- There is a large amount of what I believe is human hair throughout my guest room. I don’t know whose it is, but it’s disgusting.
- There are penises covering the interior of my house. They makes the drawings from Superbad look like a child’s coloring book.
- There’s cheese everywhere. It looks like someone brought a number of wheels of cheese to my house, sliced them into very fine pieces, and smashed the pieces into everything they could reach. Each of my winter hats is covered in what smells like Wisconsin Cheddar. Someone stuffed my microwave with Colby Jack. I vaguely remember someone shouting, “It’s like one big Hot Pocket,” which was confusing at the time but now makes perfect sense.
- It looks as though somebody poured spaghetti sauce into the back tank of each of my toilets. At least I hope it’s spaghetti sauce. The alternative is horrifying to imagine.
On top of all of these things, somebody drew a mural on the side of my house. It depicts Brad Pitt in a field, becoming sexually engaged with a goat. The artist was very talented, and left no doubt about the fact that Brad is enjoying the experience. The neighborhood teens have started calling me “Goat Fucker,” and I can’t see them stopping any time soon.
All of my left shoes are missing, and somebody cut the sleeves off of all my dress shirts. I’ve had to wear a suit to work all week to hide this from my boss. Also, it seems as though somebody removed all of the zippers from my dress pants.
I feel strongly that I am owed monetary compensation from each and every one of the people who came to my house, and while I don’t want to, I will take legal action if necessary. Please contact me with any information that you deem pertinent.