Yesterday I saw a giant roach under my desk, and ran and screamed like a little girl. Anna-Lo the Swede came in with her shoulders puffed and acted like I was a wuss. “I’ll get it….jeez, it’s just a roach.” This was no roach. I have roaches, and this was a street roach. This roach was so big it knew no fear. It was one of the roaches you see in the subway and think it’s a rat at first, but it’s not. Anna went and got a paper towel, and proceeded to just lightly throw the towel on top of the roach. I don't know if they have paper thin roaches in Sweden that die when the smallest amount of pressure is applied, but that's not how we kill them here and you, my friend, are no bad-ass. Thanks for the help Anna, but no thanks….plus, this wasn’t just any roach. This roach was in a gang, this roach had a tear tattoo for every person he had scared to death.
Alex, who is from the Bronx and understands this scary sub-culture of freakin’ huge roaches that don’t die when you just THROW A PAPER TOWEL ON IT came in and smushed it to death.
Matt thinks it my fault, cause of all the snacks I eat. “but I need the snacks!!!” “for what?” “for the journey!” “what journey?” “LIFE!”
Now I'm trying to keep my feet off the floor, but the arms of my chair are prohibiting me from sitting yoga style.
gross Magnolia, gross.
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