Sausage Joose

I was depressed to be leaving Australia, but it’s best to leave when you’re having the time of your life. 

The novelty of my living situation had nearly worn off as I sorted through the sausage-joose infused dishes towering in the sink. The illogical stack was almost artistic and I laughed as loogies slid from plates.
I think I volunteered to clean the kitchen because I knew I was the only one who would do it well enough to avoid a fee, but being veegs I don’t usually have to deal with so much sausage joose.
Tree on a bush-walk.
It’s as if all my roommates have been doing is burning sausage into pans and squeezing it over every single item in the kitchen. Liz (roommate 4), dealt with an emotional arch about the state of the kitchen, and had resorted to eating microwaved Easy-Mac MIXED WITH microwaved chicken ramen, using only our immense, stained and plastic bowl for almost every meal. On the rare occasion that meal did not comprise breakfast, lunch, or dinner, she went to unit 50 to cook in Taryn’s kitchen.
(Power Station)
In a stroke of good/bad luck Romy and I found a new set of pans by the side of the road, along with our new best friend the SUN HORSE (a giant empty corn-oil tub that emitted beautiful noises when struck). It was good luck because all of our pans have had their handles broken off  long ago, and burn one’s fingers every time they’re put to use, AKA every mealtime. It was good luck because now we won’t be charged for breaking our pans. It was bad luck because we could only enjoy them for a few days, but in those few days Jake (Roommate 2) burnt popcorn and sausage into them.  
Me leaving the country
 By the time I was done cleaning caked sausage fat off of a shot glass, I’m pretty sure the novelty had completely worn off – just in time for me to split the country.
“This kitchen is so filthy, I’m leaving the country.”
“The surf’s not great today, that’s it, I’m leaving the country.”
“Adhit, your puns are so bad, I’m leaving the country.”
So I did. 

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