Hola amigos. What's the good word? Me, I'm down in the trenches trying to shovel myself out, only it feels like every shovelful I take is replaced with grade-A bullshit. For one thing, the timing on my car is all fucked, so I'm getting about 10 miles to the gallon. The distributor cap is bein' held on with wire from an old notebook, and the screw is so rusted in there, I need to have the hole re-bored. The wire works okay, but it's hell to start if it's damp outside, since there isn't a watertight seal on there.

But that little pain in the ass is nothing compared to my new job. I've been working at a muffler factory in the receiving department. I thought working there would give me a chance to learn a little something new about cars, but the only thing I've learned is that muffler parts are heavy as hell.

My second day there, I got in trouble, 'cause I was driving this forklift, and I flipped it backwards. I don't wanna get into it, but I ain't gonna try doing any more wheelies. My boss was plenty pissed at me, and he docked me a day's pay. I told him, "Hey, this ain't the Dark Ages, man! You can't do that!" But he just looked at me and said that if I didn't get out of his face, he was gonna beat me over the head with my own leg. What a dick! He's lucky I don't give him a once-over.

As if that weren't enough, I've had all sorts of problems on the home front. You see, my new apartment has this extra bedroom in it (actually more like a big closet, but you can still sleep in it), and I've been trying to figure out what to do with it. When I first moved in about a month back, I thought it would make a great place for a black light and some posters. Well, I never got around to that, so then I decided to do something with the space that'd save me a little scratch, and I tried to grow weed in there.

I saved all my seeds for two weeks, filled some tuna cans with dirt and planted them. Nothing happened. Since I don't know the first thing about growing weed, I quickly moved to Plan C and decided to try to get a roommate to fill the extra room. Now, Jim Anchower is a lone wolf and all, but when you can make $100 a month by letting someone sleep in your unused closet, you start having some second thoughts.

I put the word out that I was in the market for a roommate, and, within a few days, some leads started coming in. This cousin of a friend of Ron's, this guy named Pete, got kicked out of his place by his girlfriend. (Now you know why I ain't living with any woman.) He needed a new place to live, so I got his number from Ron and gave him a call.

Pete seemed like a cool enough guy on the phone. Ron told me he's into dope and rock 'n' roll, so I figured it was a match made in heaven. It started out all right. Pete didn't have much, just a bed and some clothes. He was a really big guy, though. He must have weighed about 300 pounds! We spent the first night getting baked and playing Super Nintendo. I went to bed around 1 a.m. because I'm a working man and all, but Pete stayed up until about 4 listening to some hardcore metal band and playing Final Fantasy.

The first week or so, I thought he was staying up until 4 or 5 because he was getting used to the new place, and that it wouldn't happen much more. But it kept happening! And he'd crank this death-metal shit like Morbid Angel and Napalm Death around the clock. Now, I like all kinds of rock 'n' roll, but you gotta mix it up a bit. Throw some Styx in with the Zep. Or maybe some Speedwagon. You know, keep the groove going. Any time I'd play something, he'd get all pissed and take it out and put in Gorguts. Now he was messing with my tunes!

It turns out that the reason he was up so late was because he was dealing weed. Now, that might sound like a dream situation for a bud aficionado like myself, but believe me, hombres, it wasn't. All these people were coming over at all hours of the night to buy from him. Plus, he wasn't even slipping me any freebies! That sack!

After about three weeks, I was really getting steamed, 'cause I wasn't getting any sleep at all. Then, things got even worse when he started eating my food. But what was I gonna say? If I complained, he probably woulda snapped me in two! The last straw came this past Friday, though, when I got home from work, ready to kick off the weekend in high style, only to discover that he'd finished off my entire MGD supply.

That was the last straw! No one cleans Jim Anchower out of his brew and gets away with it! Especially not with a heavy weekend of partying coming up. I knew I had to do something–and I did. First, I cleared out my weed stash and took it over to Ron's. Then, the next time Pete was home, I made an anonymous call to the cops. When the cops showed up, I acted all surprised. I was like, "Pete? He's right in there. What's this all about, officers?" All the while, I was cheering on the inside. Man, it was the first time in my life I was happy to see pigs do their thing!

As they were hauling Pete off, I was like, "I'll pack up your stuff!" I figured he wouldn't notice if a couple of his CDs disappeared while he was in jail, so I took about 10 and sold them. The best part was, the cops didn't even find all of his weed. It turns out he was hiding a one-ounce stash in a frozen chicken in the freezer, so I got to partake of it all by myself. I don't know what I'm gonna do with that closet, but I sure know Pete is never living in it again.

This whole experience only reinforces my conviction that Jim Anchower was meant to fly solo. So the next time I get the stupid urge to find a roommate, I want you to give me a swift kick in the ass. I ain't asking you, I'm telling you. And make it hard, too, so I don't forget.