Paul Ryan is a fucking douche. A lazy, skinny little hipster turd with less usefulness than a bucket for farts. The other day I actually heard that chud say that he wished he could cut a hole in his couch and dook into a bucket underneath so he wouldn't have to pause his video game to use the bathroom. Sick weirdo.
Paul bought me at a tiny farmer's market in Silverlake three months ago, and I was overjoyed to start a new life. After spending months in the home of that weird Asian farmer's market lady and her 15,000 cats, I was finally getting a normal owner. I should have known Paul was a dildo. After all, who buys bamboo in a vase from some lazy-eyed woman who keeps referring to it as a "lucky koala tree"?
Now I'm paying the price. That mouth breather only waters me when I've been dry for two weeks, and he never gives me plant food. I'm hungry, you dick holster! It's not like watering me is difficult. Much like a cactus, all I require is standing water in my vase. When the water gets low, you fill it up again. Once a week you add some of the liquid plant food the crazy Asian lady sold you. If I'd known how poorly Paul would treat me, I would've committed suicide a long time ago by dipping myself into the cleaning solvent under the Asian lady's sink. Paul doesn't even own cleaning solvent. Fucker doesn't clean shit.
Which brings me to my next point: Why are my leaves covered in dust? Get a spray bottle, you goober. They cost 50 cents at the grocery store down the street. Why is there dust all over this apartment, anyway? You can't even breathe in here! It's amazing that a guy who spends 17 hours a day watching TV has never heard of a fucking Swiffer.
I suppose the situation could be worse. Paul's apartment complex does allow dogs, so at least I'm not getting eaten and pissed on every day. But that doesn't mean I don't live in fear of being eaten or pissed on by Paul. The guy's so poor that he eats peanut butter sandwiches every meal, and with all the beer he shotguns each night, I'm surprised the toilet hasn't broken from being flushed 100 times every hour. That meatball-headed retard produces more urine than the sewer pipes at Germany's Oktoberfest.
Sadly, I'm just a bamboo tree, so there aren't many ways out of this situation. It's not like we're good as gifts or worthwhile to sell on Ebay. Bamboo is cheap and uneventful. Only someone interested in abstinence would give a $5 bamboo tree to their significant other. Basically, poor people buy us and keep us until either we die or they die. But I only have a lifespan of 15 years, while that shaggy-haired mannequin named Paul will probably live to be 70 or 80.
I can't take this anymore. This dude is driving me insane. I'm dying of thirst and I haven't been fed in a month, but this social retard is too busy dancing in his boxer shorts to the same songs over and over again to notice. Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation"? Gee, I haven't heard that 20 times today already, fucko. Seriously, how many times is he going to watch the same movies, listen to the same music, and replay video games he's already beaten before he notices that his bamboo tree needs water? Yesterday he watched the Amy Smart nude scene from "Road Trip" 34 times. I just can't stand it. I'm going to roll myself into the heating grate so the cockroaches can eat me.
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