I hate when Rita Hayworth silently creeps into my bedroom at night and steals my cigarettes and helps herself to the bowl of pistachios on my nightstand next to my bed.
I hate it even more, when I wake up and find these things disturbed, but also that she has left another trail of red pistachio shells and lipstick stained cigarette butts all the way to the black hole containment device, behind my nude painting of Kaiser Wilhelm II, that she enters my home in.
That *****!