- The Diary of Mitch R. Singer
- Hanging with the Goon
- The Consummate Politician Apologizes
- Rating the WWE's Roster by Their Stench
- The Esteemed Critic's Multiple Sentence Reviews
- Conan Brothers' Q&A
- Theme Park Mistress
- Hillsdale Paranormal Society
- Writer's Block
- Select Farmers Only Profiles
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Help! I Live with a Bunch of Nerds
Diary Entry, January 28th
This is getting to be too much. The nerds are building something in there, something terrible. I try to get to sleep, but the one with autism comes to my door and beats on it incessantly till I call the cops. I think that they are building a cage to keep me in. Also, the little creepy guy with tight pants is always propositioning me whenever I leave the safety of my room. I think he's a serial rapist. He dresses like he got into his grandfather's wardrobe, that is if his grandfather were a roadie for the Who in the sixties. I caught him in the laundry room one time smelling a pair of panties.
Diary Entry, February 1st
The Indian guy just stares at me, silent, brooding. His lips move like he's trying to speak, but nothing comes out of his mouth but horror. Does he see something in me that I do not? Am I not worthy of words?
Diary Entry, February 3rd
One of them introduced himself to me today, said his name is "Golickee," or something like that. He smelled like old cheese, and his palm was very moist. "If you need anything, just ask," he said, winking. I'm trying to cancel my lease, but the landlord isn't cooperating. I'm thinking of buying a gun.
Diary Entry, February 5th
I finally caught a glimpse of what they're building in there. It is a cage, a human-sized one. As I'm peeking through the door, the autistic guy sees me. He points at the cage, then at me, and smiles. His grin is impossibly large, as though he means to swallow the world. I back up, my hands up to protect myself as he comes toward me, his grin never changing. Panicking, I run down the stairs. They loop forever. I spend like four hours passing through identical floors, like I'm living in an M.C. Escher drawing. Finally, I find the lobby. Things have change; this is not my building, and I don't know these people. Have they drugged me? Somehow transported me back in time? I don't know. I flee, darting into the streets. I haven't been back since. All I have now is the alley and my writings.