Precious Mermaid Oil

My new roommate isn't named Piña Colada. His parents named him after a completely different fruity alcoholic beverage, but I'd like to show a token of respect for his privacy so I'm not going to tell you which one.

If there's a story in this house, I'm pretty sure it's Piña Colada's and the rest of us are just supporting characters on his journey. Most of the people around here roleplay and Piña Colada doesn't, but he understands real adventure.

Like, he got to Wisconsin by hitchhiking from Florida with a backpack and a guitar. Piña Colada keeps his guitar wrapped in white lace like a bride but I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually want to marry his guitar. (Is that even a thing? Can you be sexually attracted to guitars? I want to say “no” because most of the words used to describe attraction have Latin roots and guitars didn't exist in Ancient Rome. Lyres were pretty popular though, so I guess you can be sexually attracted to lyres if you want.)

Piña Colada didn't have much of a plan for his arrival in Wisconsin, so it's a good thing he's extra charming. He met my girlfriend, and within a few days we'd offered him a room in our house. It was a pretty good investment. Not just because of the guitar, but because sometimes he says things.

Piña Colada walked through the room when I was telling people that one of my friends looked like a mermaid.

“My father used to hunt mermaids,” he said, “but not just for sport. He'd heat the house using their precious mermaid oil.”

So there's that.

My girlfriend is much better at coming up with roommates than I am. The last person I invited into the house was this guy:

I built him out of fleece and evil and then he tried to steal my soul so I had to kick him out. I hope he learns to play the guitar. Then he can win souls legitimately in guitar playing contests instead of just stealing them for no reason.