I live in an apartment building full of wannabe actor douche types. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to slap a ho in the face and say, "Bitch, you'll be back home in Nebraska with your 499 left over head shots before you can say "Craig Clemmens the party promoter gave me herpes. Get OUT of my face!"
But usually I suffer through the elevator ride being smothered by some cheap Victoria's Secret body spray called "Angel Love" or some such idiocy.
Anyways, today I went into the laundry room. Some asshole decided to wash the shag rug from 1978 that smelled like his dog pissed and then died on it. Motherfucker. Seriously? I had to pull 800 bits of yellow plastic out of the washer before I could put my stuff in. And like I really wanted to wash ANY thing that will ever touch my body in the remnants of that nastiness??? I went to the other washer which this douche sauce asshole had also not taken his finished wash out of. Either the person has serious onion BO or they wiped up some kind of onion spill with it. OMG. The Washer smelled like some old Italian's armpit. For reals. I find that so annoying. It's bad enough that we have to share a Goddamn washing machine with people who do God knows what in their private time. (Um usually what comes to mind is like dudes jerking off into their skidded underwear then letting it dry, then putting it in the same mutherfucking washing machine that I am going to have to put my towels and t-shirts in. GAWD!".)
If apartment living isn't enough to drive you to become at least wealthy enough to buy a sanitizing front loading washer and dryer, I don't know what is. BARF.
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