Shut up and eat your booger sandwich, pussy.

This is an unfinished work of creative fiction I farted out.

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Shut up and eat your booger sandwich, pussy.

I really wanted to tell my roommate to stop picking his nose. It's not something that usually bothers me, but I was eating a salami sandwich at the time. I've never developed any strange correlation between salami sandwiches and nose-picking before, and I hope I never do. Salami is the king of meats, and I would prefer that its greatness not be tainted with syrupy booger-thoughts.

And hey, It wasn't the actual picking of the nostrils that made me want to puke in my soup. It was the fact that he was flicking the little bastards around the room. If I was unfortunate enough to come into close contact with bit of my own nasal crust, I would probably just wash it off or feed it to an animal, but the thought of becoming acquainted with a foreign snot ball sends shivers down my spine.

Maybe one landed on my sandwich!

What if they're all over the floor?... and I step on some? ...and when I go to take my socks off at night, I get snot residue on my fingers?!

I had to tell another roommate about my dilemma.

“ Hey, Ryan. Austin is picking his nose and flicking his booger crumbs all over the floor.”

“ Hmm. Stop being a pussy.”

I took his advice and ate the rest of my sandwich.