My roommate could very well kill me with a sword.

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Since I’m a professor of the most studious variety, sometimes I find it necessary to bolster my education. Such previous endeavors have led me to CAKE concerts, prairie dog towns, and haunted houses. While I was preparing for my studies, I learned my roommate’s name. Being of unsound mind and possessing technology I’m too irresponsible for, I started stalking him on Facebook. (Really, who needs to socially interact when you can just do a Google search?)

Everything looked great. He likes Blade Runner, Serenity, and Nine Inch Nails, all things that I enjoy as well. He even enjoys The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I was starting to feel very pleased about this arrangement, when I saw something on his timeline.

He fences. With swords. He’s probably a mix of D’artagnan, Zorro, and a ninja. En garde, motherfuckers!

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We have not had any correspondence. I assume that its because he is too busy perusing my Facebook profile, gathering information, learning my weaknesses. He has no doubt learned of my prodigious skill in the exquisite art of combat, and wishes for the honor of defeating me.

I can imagine the scene now: my roommate, we’ll call him Jack, will have moved in long before me. When I come inside the dorm room with a laundry basket full toiletries, clothes, and a lamp. He turns to greet me, recognizes me from a great tournament, and draws his rapier. Throwing the basket at him, I draw my katana.  We duel for a while, but, just when my victory seems eminent, he bests me. I lie bloody on the dorm floor, victim to his over-compensating penis sword.

I’ll write again in a couple months if I’m still alive.

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