Brownie Box

First off let me say how relieved I am that I no longer have to buy people gifts anymore and can now rest assure until next year that all my money is going to myself. And perhaps a few things for the demons. 


No shoes but I did get this bad ass drawing tablet I put to use for a couple of drawings below, don't mind them I am experimenting. 


I had a great Christmas, but now that shit is over so let's move the fuck on. 


This story happened 6 years ago.


When I first met Derek he lived in this super bachelor pad of an apartment.
By super bachelor pad I mean shit was a mess. And there were a few other issues I had. One: he lived with another man in his 30's; two: his apartment was tiny and; three: he had 3 cats. Not one or two but 3 fucking cats. 

Oldest cat was the meanest, boy cat pissed on everyfuckingthing and a girl cat that acted more like a dog. 


A grown ass man living with another man in a itty bitty apartment with only one bathroom the size of my closet with the most horrible lighting ever and three cats was hard for me to come to terms with. HARD. 
Why the hell did Derek have so many cats? Why was this apartment so tiny? How come the only food he had was Bagel Bites? Why is his roommate always playing video games and hogging up the couch? Why did it smell like that? Did he ever think about moving? What the fuck was I thinking? Why did he have so many cats? And most importantly how long had this been going on? 


On one of my trips to his apartment his momma cat sniffed around my shoes and while Derek said "Ohh I think she really likes you, she doesn't like anyone." As soon as that was out of his mouth his psychotic cat dug her claws in my legs and started scratching me up. I almost kicked her head in. Really YEAH Derek she really liked me.   


I soon realized that his apartment was not only messy it was a disaster. 
This went unnoticed for a while, then like after a long nights drinking you finally wake up devoid of  beer goggles and you become aware of that ugly stranger sleeping next to you and it hits you. The actuality of doing it. You throw up and get the hell out of there as fast as you can. You just seen all of your passion makers details. This is never good. Never ever. You throw up again. 


It was like that with the apartment.

One day I woke up and suddenly became conscious of it all. The dirtiness enclosed in such a small area that didn't seem to bother Derek or the roommate. It was gross. I asked him if he ever cleaned. His version of cleaning is picking things up and putting them in piles. I highly doubt that any cleaning was ever done other than that first trip I made to his room. He tossed everything in the closet to give the illusion that it was clean. He did say that a few friends offered to clean up for him. Hello Derek that is the biggest hint one can give.  


I took it upon myself to clean that shit city up. I went to the store and loaded up with all of the essential shit city cleaning supplies I needed. I got all I could and I was still unsure if it was even enough. 
It took me so fucking long to even know where to begin.  
From there it was all scrubbing, sweeping, washing, dusting, scouring, mopping and whatever the hell else there was to do. 


Remember I said he had 3 gato's. Those fuckers didn't make cleaning any easier.
Let me say this about cat urine if you have never had the pleasure. 
It fucking reeks. FUCKING REEKS. 
BAD. 
I hate cat pee smell. 
If there is one thing in this world that gets me angrier than stupid people, gaining weight, being hungry and slow drivers it's cat piss. 
Derek said his boy cat would pee on any sort of clothing, cloths and towels or anything left on the floor which made me want to slam his big ass furry head into the wall when ever I accidently left something on the floor. I lost a lot of good clothes that way. 
Derek tried to act like washing it in hot water would take the smell out.
It didn't. 
It was ruined for life. 
There was no going back.
I sure as shit was not going to be wearing any clothes that ever so slightly smelled like kittie tinkle and glowed under black lights. Fuck that. 


They did have a litter box and I had to constantly remind Derek of his furry parental duties. That's when shit got bad. If he left it for to long his cats got pissed and shat and urinated everywhere. 
I left that for Derek to deal with because getting close to the litter box had to be hazardous. It made my eyes burn and I didn't last more than a few seconds before my lungs started aching. 


All day I cleaned and cleaned. 
I left the kitchen for last. 
Unprepared in a kitchen that has never seen a cleaner in who knows how many years is scary stuff. 
Grease was on almost every single surface and it appeared that these fellas lived off of their old microwave and a butter lubricated George Foreman grill. I am not kidding either. It didn't seem like any cooking on the stove was ever done. Where the grease came from? Who the fuck knows. It was like 20 year old grease. Caked on so thickly might as well been constructed purely from lard. I couldn't get it off for the life of me. 


I left it. Fuck that grease. 
I hit the fridge area very last. Opened it up to condiments expired 5 years ago, half empty bottles of juice, moldy ass left overs and boxes of what looked like Fairy Brownies in the freezer. Cereal boxes lined the top of their fridge with menacing sun faded pictures from many, many moons ago.  


What the hell? I was seriously questioning what I was doing trying to attempt this cleaning expedition by myself. Crazy perhaps? Yeah. That's it. Fumes from the kitty litter box finally killed most of my good senses. 


I started just throwing stuff away. Derek came home and started saying "Oh that looks like it still might be good." Trying to save what he could. 
"Really Derek? Because that shit expired when I was like 8 years old. It's getting tossed. LET GO! I swear to god if you pick that from the trash I am going to kick your ass!" 
This went on back and forth with most of his weevil infested pancake mixes and cereals. 
What is funny about that is I myself didn't even know what weevil's were at that point. We grew up poor and ate everything we had in house. There was never weevil's in our stuff. 


I finally make it to the freezer where the brownie box was and ask D "How long have you had these?" He hurriedly comes over and says "Those aren't brownies." Snatches it away and puts them back in the freezer. 
"Uhhh-okay. Well what is it then?" 
He looks at me with his long lashes and says "I don't want to tell you."
Really? Then walks away. 
Motherfucker. I just spent my day cleaning and possibly getting some sort of rash on my hands from your dirty shit and you don't want to talk about this brownie box? 

"Who got you those brownies?" 


Nothing 


"DEREK! Where did those come from?" 


Finally "I got those a long time ago from whats-her-face (bitch I do not like)" 


Oh shit. 
Fighting commences. 
I wanted to know but I was to pissed off/scared to look in the box. 


A few weeks later


Derek and I are drinking. At some point we are terribly intoxicated and I start asking about the mystery fairy brownie box. 
Derek is not a good drunk. He caved fast and told me. Haha Derek is easy. 
His brown eyes started getting watery and he starts telling me about what was in the brownie box. 


Flash-forward to the moment of pure whatthefuckness.

"WHAT! Are you fucking serious Derek, you have a box of 3 baby kittens in your fucking freezer?" Gag reflex went into extra gaggy mode. 
He explains what happened and I am still "WHAAAAAAT the fucking fuck?! Why would you keep 3 frozen baby kittens in a brownie box for that long?" 


We did the next best thing. We dug a hole next to the building and gave them a proper burial.
No Jesus pieces were used but we did pour one for the homies by way of beer. No 40's were available.  


The whole time I just thought that they were really, really old brownies from cunt face.  


True story. 
Rox