May i call you “Ben”? i don’t know your name, actually, but i’m assuming you have one. i should call you something, i suppose, since you are technically living with me, though i’m not sure when our one-night-stand on that recent rainy night turned into a long-term invitation to inhabit the bat-cave.
So here’s the deal. i realize that you may have assumed that i am a lover of all creatures based on the absence of meat in my fridge, and on the stove, and on my plate. That’s a fairly accurate assumption, Ben, but i don’t love you and i don’t think that we are enjoying a mutually beneficial relationship. This relationship we are in? Not so simbiótica. You are using me Ben. There i said it.
i never invited you into my bed though i suspect you’d not be above rolling around in my sheets when i’m out of the cave.
i’m damn sure i never said you could move in and i’m beginning to think you may be inviting others to join us and i sure as HELL didn’t sign up for an orgy with you. Plus, it’s just creepy that you think the attic is the best place to hang out.
You, Ben, are an opportunistic little fuck…
Ben, it is time for you to go.
Pack up your shredded insulation and put one of your gnarly little feet in front of the other and get the fuck gone. Otherwise, i’ll have to treat you to the same bon voyage as i gave the bitch in my kitchen. Granted, her last supper was a yummy cookie, but… damn… settling her dinner bill was hell for her.
The lady (ahem) of the house