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

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

sat on my couch watching television. The smell grew worse.

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?