An EatBeast-Free Life (The Final Chapter) Hello Shitlords and Shitladies! About two weeks ago, I moved all of my shit from the ham-harpy's liar and settled it into a nice apartment with a fellow shitlady. Unfortunately, rent still must be paid on my old place (couldn't find a sublet who was willing to share a room with a beetusbarge, what a shocker...) but it is really nice to not have to share space with something so subhuman. My family agreed to help me out with some of the rent money, too, so everything is going pretty well for me.  Here is a list of new pleasantries I've encountered since my migration (because I have functional legs, a concept Reee Reee Rhonda will never grasp) away from it:  No more stench. My new roommate is physically capable of cleaning herself. Enough said.  No period blood everywhere. Because it had so many rolls around its legs/crotch, menstrual blood (how it is still fertile, I'll never know) would sometimes get stuck up there and would FALL ON THE FUCKING CARPET during one of its scarringly-nude maneuvers around the house. I had no idea what the fuck this was for the first six months, until I saw it with my own eyes (maybe I'll make a fatty-flashback about this, now that I think of it...) Because of this nastiness, I always wore shoes or flipflops. At my new place, I don't have to! My feet have forgotten what carpet feels like.  No more beetus-speak. Hearing my roommate's nice, clear, feminine voice sounds like music, because I'd become so used to hearing Hammie's rasping, beetus-choked snarl for so long.  No more SJW friends. My new roommate's friends are super normal. They aren't all shitnobles, but none are overweight. We talk about normal things, like boys and music and plans we have for our futures because our lives won't be claimed by the beetus at age 25 or whatever. Horkham's friends were maladjusted blisteringly-retarded gender-whatever-sexuals. The evenings of being subjected to shit like "Even though I was talking in the library, I shouldn't have been thrown out. The librarian was just discrimunashuning me because I'm gender-fluid" have come to a glorious end.  No more disgusting food. You know who doesn't make rice-pudding-lard-starbeetus-whipped-cream-choco-explosion-heil-heart disease desserts? Normal people. I now live with a normal person.  No more worrying about my car. I worried about my car for two reasons. The first was, since I was living with an actual crazy person (the reason we're here is because she tried to kill herself over dishes...) I would always take my keys with me, even just to class, because I didn't want her stealing it and taking it to McDicks and crashing it because the beetus suddenly claimed her sight. The second was, every time I would have to take it somewhere, I could hardly see out the passenger side window because of her ghastly mass, resulting in driving hazards.  My new roommate is a normal girl. She has a boyfriend and does normal things. When she makes a meal, she cleans it up. When she has a bad day, she doesn't attempt suicide in a communal area. Every normal thing she does, I'm quite taken with. How is it that, just the simplest human things, I treat as though they're shiny and new?  Because, after a pause for reflection, I realize that the era of the EatBeast is behind me, and all will be well.  Fin.