There you are. Never married. Never had a girlfriend for more than three days. Seriously. You’re a hoarder. You buy three of everything. Kitchenware. Clothing. Weapons. Exercise equipment. As Seen On TV. You name it. You own it. Your home is cluttered with crap you don’t need or use, from floor to ceiling, in every room, in every hall. You have to walk around a dirty treadmill stacked with dirty clothes to get to the dirty toilet. And let’s talk about those whole fryer chickens, which you cook all at one time, keep in the fridge, eat on rewashed paper plates for weeks, insist that they are still good for consumption because of the hot sauce. Your neighbors, whom you’ve known for more than 20 years, tell you you’re doing everything wrong, but you don’t listen to their reason. Get rid of it. Don’t buy it. You don’t need it. You won’t use it. You should trust them by now! What’s going to happen when you die? Who is going to go through all that fucking shit? Will there be a yardsale or a bulldozer?
ryanseslow