Hello again, my fellow creepers! The eight reviews and 250 hits have made my day! And so I'm ringing in the New Year with another mentally scarring chapter. This chapter marks the start of Justin's interactions with his new neighbours. Sadly, Owen won't be the only factor in Justin becoming a deranged psychopath. This chapter will explain why.

FACT: The name of the apartment block Justin and Owen now live in will be referred to as Total Drama Towers from now on. Sorry for not naming the apartment block earlier; I forgot *nervous laugh*.

My Big Fat Creepy Roommate

Expansion of the Lack of Sanity

The day commenced like any other typical day at Total Drama Towers. The birds were tweeting (and by 'tweet' I meant they were on Twitter on their mobile phones which, for some strange reason, they've learnt how to use). Duncan was banging on Gwen's door, begging to for her to let him give her the 'D', but Gwen was too busy scissoring with Courtney in her bedroom to care. Harold was sitting on his spot in the couch watching Doctor Who on BBC Canada while eating oatmeal. At the same time, Harold was berating the characters onscreen for their 'lack of intelligence', even though the characters were obviously not going to hear him. Trent was pouring nine millilitres of milk into his favourite bowl of cereal: Coco Nines. Apparently, Chris signed a contract with a cereal manufacturer to make this cereal, not only because of the profits but also to prevent Trent from going ape-shit. Yep; it was a normal day indeed.

Justin, on the other hand, was still struggling to get used to this. He trudged into the laundry room to wash his pyjamas. After the incident last night, Justin finally found the strength to shove Owen off of him. He burst into the shower and stayed in there for three hours. Normally, Justin didn't like electric showers, but this time he was glad Owen had one, otherwise he would've used up all the hot water. Thankfully the mess Owen made was flushed down the toilet, though half an hour of throughout cleaning was necessary. Justin huffed relentlessly as he went over to a random top-loader washing machine. He opened the lid, and just as he was about to empty the contents of his basket into the tub, a thundering voice echoed from outside the laundry room.

"HEY! HEY! HEY! GET AWAY FROM THERE! THAT IS MY WASHING MACHINE! NOT YOURS!"

Justin whirled his head around to see none other than Trent standing at the doorway glaring menacingly at the model. "What do you mean 'your' washing machine?" demanded Justin.

"What I 'mean' is that each washing machine and each dryer is marked numerically and I have placed the machines that are marked with the number nine in a state of eternal dibs!" Trent scolded. "Now put your stinking clothes in another washing machine!"

"Well sorrrry!" Justin snickered, dumping his pyjamas into the washing machine marked with the number ten. "But I still don't see the big deal in this," he added, putting in the detergent and closing the lid.

"Well it's still my washing machine," Trent insisted, "and I have it programmed to wash my clothes over a nine-hour cycle."

Justin's ears pricked up. "A nine-hour cycle?!" he shrieked, turning on the machine. "Seriously, that's a very long time! It's probably a waste of electricity!"

"But it's necessary!" Trent protested. "If I have the machine run for nine hours, my clothes will get blessed with nine days of immunity against dirt apart from accidents by the Ninth God!"

Justin rolled his eyes. "I know I'm going to regret this, but what is the Ninth God?" he wondered.

"What pagan religion have your parents exposed you to?!" exclaimed Trent. "There are nine gods! There's Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and, of course, the Ninth God! The Ninth God is the most important god of the gods!"

"And why is that?" Justin asked, holding back a snicker.

"Without Him, there would be no number nine!" Trent explained. "Ten would come after eight, twenty would come after eighteen, andthirty would come after twenty-eight and so on! There would be thirteen hours on an analogue clock but twenty-five hours in a total day, and twenty-five cannot be divided into two by any whole number, not even thirteen! And worst of all, ten would be my lucky number instead of nine, AND I HATE TEN!"

"Yeah, no wonder Gwen left you," Justin sneered, grabbing his basket and walking out of the room. "And for your own benefit, dude," the model added, just before leaving the room, "the average cycle lasts forty-five minutes. In case you are insanely persistent enough to continue on with your number nine religion, nine goes into forty-five five times."

"Justin, how could you be so blasphemous?!" demanded Trent. "Do you not realise the consequences of your blasphemous actions?! If you are not a Number Nine Religion Follower, then you will be condemned to the fires of the Place Devoid of the Number Nine! It's the worst place to be because it is devoid of the number nine!"

"Actually, thanks to the 'Number Nine Religion', I wouldn't really mind going to the Place Devoid of the Number Nine," Justin snickered as he left the room. Trent was angered that Justin was not taking his 'religion' seriously. Normally, Trent would run up to anyone he deemed to be a heretic and stab that person nine times. However, it was almost time for Trent's second prayer of the day. Unsurprisingly, he prays nine times a day.

Justin was walking over to his apartment when he bumped into Chef. Chef glared at the model.

"Okay, what is your problem?!" Justin demanded. "Before yesterday you were among my biggest fans! You even gave me your helicopter keys in exchange for a photograph of me a few years ago! Why do you hate me all of a sudden?"

"I hate you because you weren't standing up straight you goddamn prick!" Chef bellowed. "I don't want a husband who won't stand like a soldier 24/7!"

"Wait, wait, wait, y-you were e-e-expecting me to m-MARRY you?!" Justin spluttered.

"That was before I realised what a maggot you were!" Chef snarled, pushing the model aside and walking away. Justin looked at the psycho war vet in sheer horror, realising that it was a good thing that Chef refused to be his roommate.

Justin continued down the hall until her noticed Harold.

"Um, hey Harold," Justin said sheepishly. "How are you?"

"Obviously the number of seconds I have left are decreasing as I am constantly aging without any pause whatsoever," Harold replied.

"No, what I meant was whether you were feeling great or bad or whatever," Justin said.

"Well, I was undergoing an emotion of apathy," Harold replied, "but now I am bothered because you failed to ask your question properly, IDIOT!"

"Harold, please, I had a really bad morning!" sighed Justin. "Owen pissed and shat on me while he was sleepwalking and I had a difficult time cleaning up the mess he made!"

"Well maybe if you provided me with the correct answer to my question yesterday you would not be in this clutter, GOSH!"

"That was not a question, man!" snapped Justin. "That was a riddle!"

"It is still a question!" Harold snapped back. "GOSH! Curse your sparse understanding of the concept of riddles! IDIOT!"

"And now I'm glad I'm not living with you," sneered Justin. He climbed the final flight of stairs to the level where his apartment was, trying to suppress every single event that has occurred this morning.

Justin returned to the apartment only for Owen to grab the model and pull him into a dangerously tight bear-hug. Owen apologised profusely for sleeping, pissing and shitting on Justin while kissing him on the face at the exact same time. Owen decided he wanted to go rollerblading in the park. Naturally, Justin didn't want to go, but Owen didn't seem to pick that up. Consequently, Justin was forced to spend the day at the park injuring himself because he cannot maintain his balance on the bloody roller-blades This was not helped by the fact that every time Owen fell down – which was once every five minutes – he landed on top of Justin. What's worse was that everybody at the park was looking at them, mistaking Justin and Owen for a real couple. All Justin wanted to do was to go relax at the swimming pool and spy on the chicks in the hopes that one of them would go ahead and bang another one but no. He was stuck with Owen.

Justin has completely forgotten how insane Harold, Chef and Trent were.

So how was that for another mentally scarring update? I hoped you enjoyed it and I also hope you are not crouched in a fetal position in the corner of your bedroom wondering when the torment will end.

Happy New Year, you guys!