Griefer

Since I'm unemployed now I naturally wait for the phone to ring, hoping it's my girl asking me over to spend the night.

Here at the Sober House I have an ornery house-mate, Chunk... He's got it in for me....He's noticed I don't work, He's leaving messages on our community board in the kitchen.

He's got me by the letter of the Oxford Code: get a job or do 20 hours of volunteer work each week. "You're not spending your days in your room collecting unemployment," he writes.

But sure I will. The house can vote and order me around if it wants, but we have no leaders, there isn't a boss here. If there was we wouldn't elect the stupid guy who huffed too much paint.

I just wrote, "Cool your jets, Frank" but he erased it. Now I want to write "drop dead, Fosdick" but he's filled up the board with his big block letters. The man is passive-aggresive, which is fortunate since he could easily break me in two. And he's right but the code means less to me now. I like to act on my own volition. A quirk.
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She hasn't called, so I will take off to the club with Marginal Likley Hood, Back Child Support, and Semper Sci-Fi in tow. They like the college girls as much as the ex-strippers.