Hey man, sorry I peed on your stuff. I came back to the room kinda drunk last night and had to pee, and I just didn't really want to walk to the bathroom. Instead, I felt your bedsheets, pillows, shorts, and chair were a more suitable place to deposit my urine. It's nothing personal, it's just that" I don't like you. You're not a bad person or anything, you just suck. Hard.
This has been a long way coming, and we'd be lying if we both said otherwise. It all started when you emailed me over the summer instead of the much more personal and scary phone call. You said that you listen to foreign metal bands, enjoy hiking, and don't drink, while I pondered what I had done to God to deserve this. Still, I gave you the benefit of the doubt because you might have had some cool stuff, or, as my friends told me, been yanking my chain.
Then came that awkward first day when, instead of coming to watch the football game in a friend's room, you decided to play computer games. Damn, I thought to myself, I'm totally gonna pee on this kid's stuff.
And it only went downhill from there. Your 8 o'clock classes every day of the week were made worse only by your airhorn-like alarm clock. You nearly made me shit myself, but in the end, it was your bed that was on the receiving end of my waste products, not mine.
Sure you provided me with a lot of entertainment, albeit at your expense, like on your birthday when you did a keg stand followed by the world's slowest beer bong. I've honestly never seen anyone be booed after a beer bong before. Or that time one of my friends threw a book at your face when you were sleeping. Oh man, you should've seen that one. It ruled. In the end though, I felt that pissing on your stuff was the best course of action.
For your sake, being socially awkward and introverted paid off for a while because you would always already be in bed when I came back to the room. But then came that fateful weekend when you went camping or something. To my surprise, you were not in your bed at 6 in the morning when I returned, so I felt it my duty, nay, my privilege to piss on your stuff. Your pillows bore the brunt of it, but I also got some in your clothes drawers, under your desk chair, and on the ground next to your bed. Sure the room smelled like piss, but I was too overcome with joy to care.
Please accept this letter as acknowledgment of a deed that I am not particularly proud of, but will probably tell all of my friends in a few months, once enough time has passed, so as not to gain an embarrassing nickname. So again, sorry I peed on your stuff. But hey, at least I didn't take a dump.