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Damien from The Omen is The Worst Roommate

Damien from The Omen is The Worst Roommate
Ryan Boyd

Millennials living in major metropolitan areas are in the unenviable position of having to either find a roommate to share the staggering rent or quietly arrange the death of a wealthy relative and learn how to retroactively insert their names into the will. For those who never had the knack of forgery, finding someone to live with is a necessary evil. Unfortunately, sometimes you wind up sharing an apartment with the Antichrist, the literal embodiment of evil and the scourge of the abyss made flesh in the body of a twenty-something dude. Among the worst of his habits:

1. Goat Heads in the Fridge (Again)

If you've told Damien once, you've told him six hundred and sixty-six times: Cover the stupid severed goat heads with saran wrap before you stick them in the fridge, or else their unholy goat drippings will end up caking the bottom of the crisper drawer. Who's gonna be scrubbing the fridge out with a cocktail of holy water and Mr. Clean? Not Damien -- he's too busy defiling goats to help out around the house. Thanks, bud.

2. Turn Down the Volume on Your Victims or We're Having a House Meeting

It's Thursday night and you're trying to get some sleep because you've gotta get up for work, so as if on cue, a bowel-churning symphony of shrieks and pleading erupts from Damien's room. You put on some headphones to try and drown out the swirling cacophony, but no dice -- your CoolBruh ChillDown mixtape could never hope to compete with the gurgled cries of agony. On the occasions that you work up the nerve to rock the boat and knock on his door, the screams always turn into a dubstep remix of "Believe" by Cher. You always regret knocking.

3. Souls are Not Legal Tender, Damien, Please Pay the Rent with American Dollars

How did Damien even function before he had to share a house with another human being? On rent day, you find a murky, trembling jar on the coffee table with a sticky-note attached: "Here is Contained the Wages of Rent." Is there a conversion rate for souls to dollars? One time you couldn't help yourself and you lifted the lid. With what felt like tendrils made of marmalade, the jar reached out to you and discerned whether your soul was sufficiently tarnished enough to warrant a place in the Jar of Rent. After a moment, the sticky appendage slurped back into the jar and left you alone, having decided that your mortal soul was too pure to collect. You realized that you hadn't been on a date in awhile.

4. You Never Do the Dishes

And that's rude, okay? It's just rude.

5. How Are You Even Buying This Many Candles

Everything you own is caked in red and black wax. Your whole life is covered in melted candles, and partially-melted candles, and there is no release from the pain of attempting to scrub it off your kitchen table, your record collection, your cat. "I do not know why there was a candle on your cat," Damien says in between bong rips from a hollowed-out deer skull. "Perhaps Mr. Tibbles wants to be my unholy herald and proclaim my glory to the cowed masses, or whatever." On the upside, everything smells like Midsummer's Night from Yankee Candle, who apparently accept unsanitary jars of souls as payment.

As it happens, Yankee Candle has some fantastic deals going right now on Ultimate Coupons, and there's never been a better time to take advantage of them. Especially if your roommate is the Beast and Seducer of Nations -- nothing will mellow you out after an ear-splitting conjuring ritual like a Gingerbread Maple candle.