Yarrrr….call me Capt’n

I moved to a little apartment in Ebisu at the beginning of January. It’s small.  Small like a boat. If I ever have anyone over, I’m going to make them call me Captain. This friend who has some how ended up in this boat sized apartment will be  all, “This is cool, Captain, I can wash my hands while on the toilet, I imagine that frees up a lot of time for your other hobbies.” I’ll be all, “Aye.” They’ll be all, “I like how I can get to the empty mini-fridge while in your bed, which, because it’s the only piece of furniture, also functions as a couch, which is not creepy or a health hazard at all, Captain.” Then they’ll be all, “oh, look Captain, I found a piece of toast with jam in your covers.” And I’ll be all, “Yarr? Yer found me booty.” And I will eat it without heating it on the hot plate.  I really have a hot plate, but no pan. And this apartment costs me about $1,000 a month U.S. No new crew have come aboard yet.

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