my shitty exflatmate broke into the house (aka, let himself in since he refuses to give back the key...) while I was home alone. I heard foot steps creaking quietly in the next room. In the middle of the day the chances of them belonging to any of the guys(flatmates) is pretty slim so I decided to check, to be sure. Sure, it wasn't them at all, it was fucking Matthew J. Goggin, standing in the effing kitchen. I ahemed. He ignored me and rifled through the mail. I stood by the door as he walked toward and then by me. I asked him what he was doing. "What are you doing" I said. He smiled smugly, thin hair trailing behind his ugly head .
"I'm getting my mail. Until you give me my deposit I have right of entry." smug smug smug bug. I laughed, disbelieving. "What a crock of fucking shit! what a bunch of made up shit! What shit! " I thought and should have said. Then he left.
We kicked him out over a month ago! He keeps emailing Dan condescening emails and setting deadlines for us he can't back up! He's threatened to take us to small claims tribunal over 80 dollars! He broke the oven door then refused to pick up the glass! He eats babies!
I wish the property managment company would give us an estimate already, so he'd fuck off.
I hope his stringy hair catches fire from a shitty oregano-filled blunt.