It's a student's life

It’s 3pm and after a good 12 hours of sleep Sam drags himself out of bed, stretches, scratches himself, and heads to the kitchen in search of food. He always seems to be hungry and could definitely do with losing a few pounds. But, he reflects, that’s the downside of bachelorhood; the junk food and pretty much sloth like existence don’t exactly keep you in the best of shape. He used to run for miles every morning but when he goes to the park nowadays all he can think about is getting his leg over with one of the tight arsed bitches out for a run, and of course, getting caught at it in the bushes by a park warden can be pretty embarrassing.

Nope, nothing worth eating, just a bowl of something vaguely resembling dog food. Yuk. Perhaps he can persuade someone to make him a fry up? It is Sunday after all and everyone will be hung over; the perfect opportunity to freeload. Then he looks at his stomach, more a beer barrel than beer belly. He attempts a few press-ups and then rolls onto his back for some sit ups but decides it’s pretty comfy in this position and proceeds to drift back to sleep again on the kitchen floor; life's too short. After all, why not? He had just exerted himself far too much for the time of day and it's not as if there's been any members of the opposite sex past the front door in the last couple of months.

He dreams of sausages, bacon, fried eggs and beans, mmmm, he can almost smell them cooking and hear the sizzling. He sniffs again, deep, pleasurable sniffs. He’s not dreaming, someone is cooking a fry up! Conscious he is sprawled out in the middle of the floor, he springs to his feet with amazing dexterity.

Chris hasn’t noticed him yet. He’s obviously suffering after last night’s drinking session. He is hunched over the frying pan with some black coffee in one hand and a Tesco Value sausage in the other, expertly burning the outside of the sausage whilst leaving the interior red raw, a very rare talent indeed. Sam doesn’t care though, food is food. He gestures a good morning to Chris and stares longingly at the frying pan. Eventually Chris notices him and says “No, these aren’t for you, you greedy sod, your breakfast is over there!”, pointing to a bowl of slop. Sam approaches the frying pan with a more aggressive demeanor. “I mean it Sam!” This is mine. Sam decides a change of tactic is in order and gives him the innocent, puppy eyed, “please sir, can I have some more” look. “Och! All right, one sausage and two rashers of bacon, but that’s it”. Success. Sam 1, Chris 0. The crowd goes wild! “Ooooioooooooiiiiooooo!!” Bugger! It’s burning hot!

Chris opens the back door and picks up a pint of milk from the doorstep and Sam uses the opportunity to barge past him, knocking him clean off his feet and landing with a thump on his arse. He then proceeds, to Chris’ disgust, to pee in next door’s garden in plain sight of old Mrs McKenzie, the 80 odd year old zombie from across the road. “Get back inside you dirty sod, I can’t believe you just did that!”. Hey, it’s nothing the old cow hasn’t seen before.

Chris then leaves the kitchen and goes to the bathroom for a shower. Sam is bursting for the loo. Must have been the kebab from last night. No wonder Chris hardly touched his. Too late, gotta go, gotta go now!

When Chris returns to the kitchen he finds a huge, steaming turd in the middle of the Kitchen floor and Sam sitting next to it, licking his own balls.

It’s a tough life being a dog.

<hopefully it wasn't too obvious! Also, sorry if the language warrants a higher content rating (US readers), this is my first post and thinking back to when I was 13 I've probably forgotten more swear words than I can remember>