A few days ago, a friend I’m now living with asked me if I could introduce him to some critically acclaimed movies. I was flattered and said yes. So last night, we watched a movie from 2008 or so, and it’s good. It’s witty. It’s dark. It’s funny. It’s smart. And this little Gen-Z cunt monster (LGZCM) is just scrolling on his phone every time the plot gets a little slow. Was he texting somebody? I don’t know. I do know that it pissed me off for some completely unreasonable reason. And the same fucking thing happened again tonight. We were watching an old, classic TV show, and he’s just flicking his little thumb looking at Instagram—a website that makes its users feel worse than before they went on it. Apparently, he’d rather make himself feel worse than sit through a quality show and invest in its characters. What the fuck?
The thing is that I actually like this LGZCM, and he’s doing me a big favor by living with me for the next month. And who am I to judge? If he wasn’t here, I’d be eyeball deep in my own horrors that I keep buried inside my head. Horrors like the time I pinched my skin between two very powerful neodymium magnets. Like reliving the Botanic Gardens with the current (and God-willing former) Love of My Life. Like learning a stingray got Steve Irwin right through the heart. Like realizing I spent three years dating a truly wonderful person, knowing full-well that we were not right for each other the whole time we dated. Like the time my housemate “compromised” with me when we bought 2%-milk instead of whole. Those kinds of horrors: the stuff you won’t ever fully get over. So kudos to LGZCM for dealing with me and putting up with my grouchiness. He might be a little cunt, but he’s a good one.