Dearest Roomie:

I’m starting to fear that you no longer know your friends’ actual names. Seriously, how can you call them by nickname all the fucking time? I cannot even begin to comprehend how this is possible. I would be so scared. What if I called X, the one with the slightly naughty nickname, by that nickname on accident in a public setting? What if it just slipped out? What if you actually forget their name? What if you forgot your name?!?!

So as cute as this whole deal is, I really don’t see the point in risking your friend name database due to nicknames that aren’t even secretive. We all know who you are. We’re not stupid. So, cut the childish middle-school behavior and use real names…like grownups.

And while you’re at it stop laughing like you’re 16 and trying to get some guy’s attention from across the restaurant. Horrible dreams in which I’m tortured with that exact laugh have been starting to keep me up at night.

Love,

Your cynical, fun-hating, mature(-when-it-counts) roommate.

Dearest Roomie:

The point I’m trying to make here is that your girlfriend is fat and vapid. I have no moral problem breaking up with her for you. I will not be responding to any more of her shenanigans, questions or queries, so stop looking at me funny when I ignore her. Oh and I don’t want to hear anything about how you are in love.

No. No. You are not in love. You liars. May Eros one day smite you.

In the event of a school shooting I will use her as a meatshield,

The boy who sleeps above you.

Dearest Roomie:

The point I’m trying to make here is that I have no moral problem buying a Dasani bottle. I will not fill the Brita pitcher up first and you know this, so stop being stubborn about it and walk down to the bathroom and fill it up so you can rejoice in your precious reusable water bottles with nifty slogans like “I eat locally owned!”

No. No, you do not eat locally owned. You liar. The environmental gods will one day smite you.

Best,

Me.