A Pox Upon You, Occupant

This should be a fairly interesting post, and I assure you inconstant reader that I have as little idea what I'm going to say as you. The difference between today's post and any other post is that I've been up since 3:00am.... that's right they have those now (I know I know, like me you thought that dreadful hour had been abolished by the Geneva Convention)... so my spelling is bound to be warse.

So I'm not sure I'll be able to string two thoughts...

Some days, and lets just call them weekdays, I start to wonder if I even live in my own home. On weekdays I leave the house at a dreadful 6:00am and get home at somewhere just after 4pm. I don't believe in math, but even I can tell that's 10 hrs away from my home - 10 hours during daylight. Especially now that its fall (FALL KILLS) I don't tend to see my house in the daylight until the weekend.

So there's that. I always joke that I don't live in this town, I merely sleep here.

But the kicker to that, the extra little grind of the pointy heel sticking into the groinal area, is the mailbox.

I don't get mail. Or not much anyway, and most of it is bills (Bill's bills as it were) - and certainly not enough to reaffirm my presence in this place. My son is signed up for a couple of magazines. He gets more mail than I do.

Hell even that bastard Occupant gets more mail than I do. I barely rate enough to get more mail than "Registered Home Owner."

Let's talk about him, that shady shyster, that felonious fool, that oddball occupant.

He's a dirtbag (by virtue of the fact that occupant is a dirtbag, occupant is therefore a he; women are very rarely dirtbags). He also sleeps around because I've seen other people picking up mail at the same time as me and Occupants been in their house too.

The next thing you know we're going to find out that Occupant has been taking out credit cards in our names and we'll have to take 3rd jobs as car wash attendants and wear stupid orange hats that say "Wash you want, baby I got it/Wash you need, baby I got it." (which is a lot to fit on a hat and therefore even more demeaning).


Here's a Pox on Occupant

He's a gigolo, a cad,
He's morally dreadfully bad
He'll sleep anywhere with anyone if you let him;
He'll take all your money
He'll find that oh so funny
You can't beat him in a wager if you bet him.

He's been in every box
He's beaten all the locks
He's been through every slot in every door
There's a bit of him in you
And a bit right in me too
Despite the fact he's rotten to the core.

I curse you Occupant, knowing that even as so, I curse even myself. For I am you and you are me.

But I vow, much as Orpheous also vowed not to peek, that I will not open mail with your title on it, for they who do not know enough to put my name on the envelope cannot be sending me anything I really need to see.

You are the worst of me occupant - you are my nameless face, that which is mob; you are who I am, but you are not who I am.