Farewell to EatBeast Roommate No, it's not dead. Yet.  Hello Shitlords and shitladies! Sorry for not posting in awhile. The end of the semester has been crazy, due to group projects, going home for Easter, and impulsively registering and running my first half marathon. However, the silver lining to all this craziness is that I don't have to deal with the EatBeast that much, because, while I'm out in the world doing things like learning, dancing, and tastefully wearing croptops, the Cheeto Barge is barricaded in the apartment, eating and REEEEEEing and emitting stench.  The night before Easter, my dad and stepmom called me into the dining room. Oh shit, I thought, as I walked through the door and saw them, hands clasped on the same side of the table. I figured someone must've gotten sick or died.  "Sit down, whyme5005," my dad said.  "What's going on?" I said, embarrassed as my voice rose with panic. The last time I was called into the dining room to have a talk with them, they told me my grandfather had a heart attack. (Author's note: he wasn't a fatty, just a very old guy.) My stepmom sighed. What I thought would be terrible news about a loved one's health turned into the most joyous few sentences I'd ever heard. It was like a chorus of angels, singing in perfect harmony about eradicating ebola or stopping deforestation. It was the call of my freedom, my barbaric yawp. It was goddamn glorious:  "We spoke to your grandparents about your living situation, and we decided that this is just too much. We're renting you a sublet."   It was decided really quickly. Our last day of class is April 22, and I'll be moving out the very next day! My dad, upon telling his parents everything that had happened chronologically, realized that he had become sort of desensitized to Hammy's antics, and realized that her behavior was simply too much for any sane person to deal with.  It was the most beautiful talk of my life.  I returned to school to get everything squared away. I told Beetus Brigade that I'd need my half of the router fee and she oinked, "What for?"  "I'm going to be moving out in a couple of weeks."  "Why?"  "My family discussed it. They all think it would be good."  Later that night, as I sat in front of the computer drinking a cup of tea and listening to it REEEEEEEEEEEEEEE about discriminashun to its hammother, I realized there would be very few nights left with the beast.  All will soon be well. (EDIT: I realized I had something else grotesque to share with you all, and it's about beast's yeast infections. So, my friend was over after a joint trip to Target together, where she had to pick up some Monistat. The beast saw the box peeking out of the bag and asked me if I had a yeast infection. I told it no, that it was for my friend. The beast shrugged and said how much it hated getting yeast infections, but there was a time from when it was 16-18 where it got a yeast infection every month. She then went on to regale me with tales of how she shoved Greek yogurt up her fetid birth hole because she "didn't trust" Monistat.)