Guillaume de Terre got an apartment in Grand Rapids. I gave him my g-rad shirt in congratulations.
"I thought to myself, 'Why be the richest man in the graveyard? Why continue staying in the wretched hovels of others? I need my own habitation.' And so, I browsed the papers and local websites for openings. I was dissatisfied with all the offerings. So now, move out." He claims that he spoke with my landlord and is taking my room. I don't understand the deal or his reasoning for getting his own place. I suspected a crush.
"Oh, would that I had an interest in any of the sexual beings around here. I rather like the view, porch swing and particularly your washroom. This home has instilled in me a different view on common life and its slow pace. I feel my haughty moustache and prescription monocle need to go. This hat, too, is equally fatuous. By this week's end, I'll be far more plebeian."
I rolled my eyes and he smacked me over the head with a large jug of orange juice. As I got to my feet he got in my face like Iceman did to Maverick in Top Gun and made a weird biting motion.