The Prank War

Okay, I’ll admit that the prank war has grown a little bit out of hand.

Yes, I started it.  But in my defense, you were snoring really loudly, and only getting a couple hours of restless sleep a night tends to wear a guy down after a week or so.

Maybe giving you permanent eye shadows with a Sharpie while you were asleep was a stupid move, in retrospect, but I felt that at least we should both look sleep-deprived….

As you remember, you retaliated by painting all my nails.  This wouldn’t have been so bad if you’d just done my fingernails, but you did my toes, too.  And painted little flowers on them.  I’m a little worried about how well you made those, you know.  Those seem disturbingly neat for a guy’s nail painting skills.

Of course, I couldn’t let that go.  No one could.  And replacing the cream in all your Oreos with toothpaste seemed like adequate revenge.  I was helping you eat healthier!

There really was no call for you to follow up with those mayonnaise filled doughnuts.  You know that I’m pressed for time in the mornings on my way to class.  I nearly puked on the professor.

But after that, I decided that I wouldn’t mess with your food any longer.  You should have been happy about that.  The fact that I glued all your toilet paper rolls together really should have been the last sally, the final blow before the peace treaty.

Instead, you blew up all my condoms like balloons.  Haha, funny, but I *told* you that I was bringing my girlfriend at the time over, and that this could be “our special night.”  And when I stepped into our room, not only was the mood ruined, but you didn’t even leave me a single condom!  Dammit, man, blocking me like that is against Man Code.

Once again, perhaps I was acting in anger, after she stormed off.  Maybe bleaching a dick onto all of your polo shirts was a little too mean.  I suppose that it is technically property damage, like you pointed out.  But you ruined all my condoms – and my shot at a girl that could have been my future wife!  So I stand by my actions.

Besides, those polos totally made you look like a tool.

I will admit that when you put the slime inside my pants, it was a good slow-played revenge.  I didn’t realize what was wrong until probably a good ten minutes after I put them on.  I’m still not sure what that slime was.  My best guess is lime gelatin mixed with Elmers glue.

So to make up for the dick shapes on your shirts, I put spray glitter on them.  Now, no one will notice the offensive shape, because you’ll look fabulous!  Girls love sparkly objects.  I was doing you a favor.

But you apparently didn’t take it that way.  Instead of thanking me, you covered my bedspread in little hairs.  I don’t even want to know where those came from.  I had to wash my sheets four times to stop the itching.

And once again, I might have slightly over-reacted.  I think you ought to be proud of me, however.  Figuring out how to program a script to make your computer blare Chacarron Macarron every hour, on the hour, took a lot of work.  Be proud of me for learning!

But as I can see now, you instead insisted on fighting back.

So I’ll ask you again, oh roommate of mine:

John, why is my table on the ceiling?

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