Thanks for the llama 😍
I knew a llama once. Complicated fellow. Went by Albert. Odd name for a llama. Stranger still, the name on his harpoon gun license was Kevin. The license could have been fake, or stolen, but the DNA test came back with the same answer. Kevin Llamason. 73. Organ donor. Person of Interest.
But it wasn't enough to evict him. His references were checkered. His credit was good. Better than mine, even. So I let him stay. Pending the results of a series of wacky physical challenges to determine roommate compatibility. Standard tests really. Belching, licking and hairiness, determined by a painstaking strand count. Tolerance to noxious bodily stench. Turing. All failed. He blamed his allergies. Lightweight.
But I was willing to overlook that. A good roommate can be like a brother-in-law for life. It's all about compromise. Which he was unwilling to do. Spitting. It's a disgusting habit and he demanded that I stop. He could not be moved on this one point. Very unreasonable. No flexibility.
So under the cover of high noon, he fled. He took with him a failed friendship, an obviously optimistic dread of the future and my sixth favorite toothbrush! I have never felt so betrayed. That toothbrush was like a toothbrush to me. But at least he's gone. And good riddance. That guy was way too much of a chick magnet, and who needs that poultry drama? ヽ(ಠ_ಠ)ノ