WHY YOUR LIVES AREN'T FILLED WITH PEACE

So. Three creatures you must understand before we go any further. The Froad, a green furry amphibian who went kind of rogue mentally four years ago. Ms. Bruin, the ultimate arbiter and seniormost roomie, and Eurasmus, the one-legged monkey whom I saved from a post-pumpkin out-throwing at the office years ago.

[The middle-aged poopy-head in Marketing had used him in a Halloween tableau, and the tattooed slag office manager was going to throw him out with the rotting pumkins. His leg had disappeared many months earlier, in Product Development -- no one knew how, those drunk heavy metal freaks weren't talking -- and there was a gash in his neck marked with ketchup.
I took him home, cleaned him up, sewed up the gash, and he's been running riot ever since; there's reason the Froad hates him.]


Yesterday evening ended with the Froad being given a severe talking-to.
I could hear his outraged wailing from the other room. Ms. Bruin was reading him the riot act for being so horribly unkind to the monkey.

The Froad had earlier been demanding that I should spank the monkey till his bottom burst, then throw him out to die. Which outraged many of the other roomies. They responded by rushing to comfort Eurasmus.

The Froad used to be such a nice fellow. Over the past few years he's developed a streak of meanness, often very eloquently expressed.
It's like living with a small furry green psychopath.


See, other people have children and relatives who take up all their time and eat them out of house and home. Sometimes they need to go talk to the Principal, or bail little Johnny out of jail because he set fire to the cop car. Or they have to move to a new state where no one knows what the twins are capable of yet. Several quivering retirees are still traumatized.
Your aunt made anonymous threats to a Republican politico.
Plus she blackmailed the mayor after balling him.
She's hot; the photos leaked.
Russians!

Myself and my apartment mate lead calm stable lives instead.
The roomies are a handful, but they're small.
An adult can easily control them.

Oh, and the opposable thumb issue prevents them from being dangerous.
Unlike little Johnny, the twins, and your horrible aunt.
That's why YOU need therapeutic pot.
And prescription Valium.


Our lives are uneventful.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================