I opened my eyes. This morning appeared not unlike every other morning. My clothes from the night before were scattered about the room. Mariachi blared from upstairs. Baby Mexicunts frolicked carelessly outside, waiting for the taco cart to arrive. Today would be a good day, I declared.

Rolling out of bed, I walked, still nude, to the bathroom to relieve myself. Hmmm. My toilet seat was down. I sniffed. A vagina has been here. Oh dear.

Navigating to the kitchen to start my coffee while I brush my teeth, I glance to the left, expecting to see my roommate, Dirty Dez (the rapper), sprawled on the couch. He was not there; my plan to murder him in his sleep would have to wait. What I did see, though was much more disturbing: a wig peeking from beneath a blanket on the floor, connected to a stumpy, tanned white neck.

I started my coffee. Behind me, the Caucasian jumpoff went to the bathroom. Upon investigation, I see the following: