Me

My apartment looks like I've rejected the basic tenets of sanitation. Trash everywhere. Dirty clothes on the floor. Clean clothes on the floor. Scraps of food sitting out. Beer bottles shattered into sparkling prisms. Bloody footprints from the recliner to the fridge and back. Empty slime pods from some hatched creatures now thriving in the walls. CDs stuck in the ceiling like Chinese throwing stars. Do I see a pile of bones in the corner? Sure could use a Mexican to clean up this joint. Sure could use a Mexican joint. Wait. I've got Hispanic blood. Damn-near 50%. I'll clean, myself. And then clean myself. I'll pay myself two dollars an hour and steal some jewelry from myself. Myself. My. Self. I don't need anyone. I'm in control.