Mister lay snoring in my chair this morning. A bag of chips balancing on his chest. couldn't just wake him up, could I?

This afternoon he must have been a lot more active, though. He was sleeping when I came home, but the house was all cleaned up. Nice and tidy, I thought. But where did he put my plants, my fruit basket, my books, my television, my clock? What happened to all my stuff? The answer stood on the kitchen table: a huge block made up of everything in my house, held together by brown tape.

Why? What got into this man, to step in here, sleep in my chair and stick all my stuff together? I don't have to take this! I'll... I'll grab him! And then shake him! Verbally, that is... I'll tell him a thing or two... And ask him when he's going to leave.

As soon as he wakes up...