Where are my beers? They’re, like, all gone. And there’s no way my roommate drank ‘em because I remember explicitly telling Piss Dan not to. PD knew I was saving those for Saturday, so there’s no way my roommate drank the beers I told him not to drink.
Sure, one time Piss Dan ate all my groceries. He downed an entire rotisserie chicken and a bag of pepperonis while I was putting away the ramen. But he didn’t have a job then so I understand that. And yeah, one time he used all my toothpaste to paint a mural of Jimi Hendrix when he was on mushrooms, but art requires sacrifice.
I tried retracing my steps as soon as I noticed my brews were missing. My beers were beside my guitar, but my guitar, pedalboard, extra cables, and full stack are now in PD’s room. But that doesn’t mean my beer is in there. If it weren’t such a violation of his trust I’d check Piss Dan’s room, but how could we continue living together if he knew I went through his stuff?
None of my emergency beers were in the toilet tank, either. Who else besides me could possibly know where I keep those?!
Wait! Are those my beer cans in the recycling? That’s so weird! I don’t remember drinking them, but I must’ve. I can’t believe I was climate-conscious enough to recycle my cans when I was clearly so blacked out that I didn’t remember drinking them yesterday!