Op-Ed: Look At Me, I’m The Captain Now


Well, well, well. Hello there. Don’t stomp your foot so hard — you’re only wasting your energy. “THERE’S A ROACH IN MY HOUSE,” you say? That’s funny, because you’re freaking the fuck out while I just stand here minding my own business. Seems like I hold all the power in this kitchen. Your house? Look at me, I’m the captain now. Those roach motels you laid out for us? Please. We sleep comfortably in the Keurig and bathe in your Trader Joe’s pancake mix. We live like kings in your castle, and you will do as I say.

What’s that you’re getting? Some sort of spray? Fuck with me and see what happens. Don’t make me call my boys — I’ve got thousands of them all over your pathetic little apartment: we watch you sleep at night from the comfort of your sheets, we laugh our antennae off at you brewing your Dunkin Donuts coffee in the morning just hours after we shit all over the bag, and boy do we go to town on your Brita. And that girlfriend of yours? I fucked my bitch on her toothbrush last night. Thinking about calling your building manager? It’s hide and seek if you call him, and guess who wins every time.

“I’m the tenant! I didn’t agree to live with roaches!” Well, what are you going to do about it? Wash the dishes in the sink when it’s close to midnight and you’re exhausted from working and studying all day? Get down on your knees and wipe up every droplet of water when your back is sore? Spend an entire day cleaning out your cupboards and pantry so the Orkin guy can spray toxic fumes all over your kitchen, rendering it unusable ahead of that dinner party you were planning? You’re so weak and pathetic, all talk and no play. No wonder it was so easy to conquer your shitty apartment, you had no authority over it to begin with. You’re hardly getting laid while I’m drowning in pussy; where do you think all those little roaches under the bathroom sink came from?

We’re not going anywhere. You had the opportunity to prove yourself a leader, but you failed. I came, I saw, I conquered, and now your apartment is mine. So, when you smell that musty odor in the pantry, or feel something crawling on you at 3 in the morning, that’s just me reminding you who’s the boss and who’s the bitch.