A MAN WITH A SHEEP

This morning, when I woke up, there was a miscreant attempting to make off with my wallet. As my eyes adjusted to the light I discerned the head-sheep perched on top of my pants. Upon being caught red-hooved, he asserted "I found it!" Which makes it all right.
He found it, therefore he can have it.
Not a thief, but innocent.
And I'm a meanie.

The person who lives in the other room has to pass through my space to get to the kitchen in the morning. She is a partisan and enabler of the small creatures that live on my side. She often sees things from their point of view, and is consequently no help whatsoever in controlling the rowdy beasts. They are larcenous, rude, and badly behaved.
The head-sheep is one of the worst offenders.
But there are many others.
All dishonest.

That is probably the main reason why I will likely never ever have a relationship with a woman again. The vast majority of females lack the depth and intellectual capacity required to deal with a lot of stuffed animals. They're mono-dimensional, and have no sense of irony.
Precisely like the brigands in my room.

I'm not sure my apartment-mate gets it either. She often supports them in whatever deviltry they are up to, which is incredibly disconcerting. I've tried persuading them that they need to visit our neighbor, in her quarters, who also has a wallet that can be "found", but to no avail.
It probably doesn't help that they speak as if with her voice.

If I ever ended up finding another girl-friend, the amount of effrontry and eccentricity from those furballs would likely chase her off. Most women can't stand animals, and prefer that they be turned into shoes.
Manolo Blahnik, Jimmy Choo, and Christian Loboutin.

Ninety percent of all the people who torture kittens world-wide are female.


I read it on the internet.


The vast majority of women don't have a sense of humour either. We just pretend that they do, because many of them need reassurance on that, but I haven't met a single one yet that understands the punchline about the pizza-delivery guy, the self-doubting cockroach, and the priest.

I'm guessing that my apartment mate's interaction with the savage beasts is a Cantonese thing. There is no other logical explanation.  The Cantonese are ever keen to back the underdog, and encourage rebellion.


They are flagrant opportunists.

Just like my fuzzy roommates.


Anyway, I reclaimed my wallet, despite the flood of cursing and foul language that followed. The head-sheep is now sitting in the corner, muttering in Cantonese that I am a stinky pai-kwat (臭排骨), mow yong (無用), kik sei (激死), and absolutely a waai yan (壞人).
The very epitome of sei low gwai (死老鬼).
Poey, he says, poey!
呸！


Oh well. I found my wallet back, so it's mine.
It was on top of my trousers.
With a sheep.

Which I also found.
He's mine too.




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