My kingdom of filth.

My apartment's such a fucking mess.

How did I end up this way? Why am I incapable of putting things back in their proper place as opposed to throwing everything all around willy nilly? Is this really any way to go through life?

Did I just use the phrase willy nilly? Good God.

It seems to me that life would be a lot simpler if I could walk from room to room without stubbing my toes or any other appendages. Is that really too much to ask? But still, everything I own is on the floor. Why is that? Why? Why, God, why?

I'd hire a maid, but it'd just be so humiliating. I'd almost have to clean up before calling them over. And what exactly would be the point of that? Plus there's the whole having no money thing. That could be a problem.

I suppose I could get the Merry Maids. With a name like Merry Maids, it probably takes a lot to shake them. But if anyone's going to be able to annoy the shit out of a Merry Maid, it's gonna be me. Belee dat.

So I either have to clean all this shit up myself, or learn how to hover in mid-air. Both seem equally inprobable. So I guess I just have to move. Or maybe just stop walking around in bare feet. Decisions, decisions.

-Erik Hagen