I wanna live with a Cinnamon Girl.

I wanna live with a Cinnamon Girl.

By "live with" I mean as roommates in a 2 bedroom flat. Sometimes I'd wake up to fresh coffee made by some guy in the kitchen. I could be happy. Since I broke up with that nut Meg

atron XIII, it seemed like a different guy made coffee for us every morning. My roommate had great taste in guys, btw. One morning I found Mrs. Miniver making a ham sandwich in our

kitchenette / dining area. My roommate apparently had great connections, too. Jon Hamm was in the middle, there to ham up it up with some of the locals, he said. Mrs Miniver sat on

a cherry red settee. They were holding hands and smooching. Mrs. Miniver and my Roomate had tongues in each others mouths. I and Jon Hamm were both getting ill. We made a mad dash

for the Vomit Bucket, but Jon Hamm bested me. Another clean up on aisle three I thought, puking all over myself, the floor and the dog. Looking up, Mrs. Miniver and my roommate wer

-e tip-toeing away down the bladder control aisle, arm in arm. How dare they leave me here, covered in my own putrefaction? The heartless bitches! So the dog and I went home and

Eventually, I couldn't stand the stench any more. I got off the couch and went searching the house for clothespins. I found two and put them both on my nose before returning to the

question at hand: could I walk out the door now, for good, and leave the odor for the next person to deal with?