New houseboy is FREAKING THE MAD FUCKING SHIT the hell out of me.

Imagine the scene: I am sprawled on mum's bed, sleeping from 8 to 11 in the morning ('parently, I'm permanently melatonin-deprived.XP), and here comes some retard carrying a gallon of water into the room without even knocking. Wait, I don't even recognize the jug he's carrying; the microsecond I flutter my eyes open his eyes are the first two penetrating black marbles I see. Petrifying two round wicked eyes smothered with thick curled eyelashes that from afar my myopic eyesight blurred the distinction between his irises and eyelashes. And yet I know for one alarming infinite second, our souls reached a depth profound, indescribable for words to wield, incomprehensible for the mind to grasp, an epiphany beyond me that left a stark impression of the occult.

I surmised he is the devil incarnate, the daemon of the underworld, the prince of darkness, father of lies, spawn of Satan, etcetera, that when I shut my eyes, the impression lingered threateningly in my retina, and when I opened them again, he was still glaring at me. "What?" I trembled, nearly shouting at the damned houseboy. He was gloomy and ominous, expressionless as a corpse, and with mute defiance, left the gallon on a chair and silently, like a zombie, left the room.

Strange, thought I. Hmm. What shall I call him? Mister Marbles. Yes, you are officially Mister Black Marbles.

Everywhere I go I am surprised to see him, staring at me again. Those eyes, those goddamn knowing eyes, always catch me unawares, my innocence laid overt before him. For one evanescent moment I am his weak, innocuous, subservient little slave, and he, my exalted master, manipulator of my mind, pilot of my destiny. If I were stupid enough to fall for mendacious guises I could've flirted with him back.

But I'm not that stupid. He's just a gaumless, uneducated, menial houseboy.

I learn that the neighboring toadyish maidservants are vying after Mister Marbles. They keep giggling annoyingly at the sight of him, whispering to each other's ears paeans of worship and titillating adoration for the lout. My mother sees it and mentions an anecdote about another ignoble cunt pressing the earsplitting buzzer every night, and when someone finally gets to the door, a short dark-skinned woman with tousled fake-blond hair is seen scampering away, melting into the darkness.

So what, I thought. He's just a bloody houseboy. I can grab his eyes and feed them to the dogs. (But you have no dogs, you idiot, you.)

Word did you say?

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