Chris empty's the bins

To let you understand I'm a little hungover.
I go into the kitchen to make a snack and see my flatmates have being playing bin jenga. How this is played is when the bin is full just pile more and more crap on top of it until something falls off. The person who makes the crap fall off has to empty the bin. We all cry "jenga" and I die a little inside.
Fetid stink of bin makes my head pound. Go into drawer to find bin liners. There is none. Straighten up and stair into the middle distance I I calculate the likely hood of sending out a flatmate, realise I can't calculate the number of feet i have right now. Give up.
Go into room out one sock on. Cant find other sock. Feel bitter tears begin to well up but choke them down. Decide "Fuck socks" with a muttered grumble and put shoes on. Find keys and bank card.
Stumble out of house and down close, open door to outside and scream as the sun burns my eyes and sets fire to my hair. Stumble down to cross roads of death . NO traffic, look left , then right, then left. Take one step.
HOOOOOOOOONK
car screetches round corner.
Decide to wait for green man. Wait. meantime old people dodder across empty road, small children frolic across it like its an enchanted meadow. I stoically stay of side of road ignoring the points and derisory laughter.
Green man appears along with high pitched beeping with each beep hammering into skull like nails into sheet metal.
Walk to bank machine. put card in. stare at keypad until it tells me what the number is. put number in and read the screen "we are dealing with your request"
Begin to mutter darkly about the phrasing. We are dealing ?? deal nothing give me my money. Request?? its not a fucking request its a fucking order, give me my money.
Machine gives me my money and tells me to have a nice day, i tell it to fuck off.
Get into shop. March past the magazines of despair but read to quickly and accidentally catch one of the titles
"I have had seven miscarries but im desperate for a baby!" Fight black urge to kill self at the monumental fuckery of this sentence and carry on.
Search aisles unseeingly already forgotten what im in the shop for. Suddenly remember.
£2!! for fucking 10 bins bags??? why don't i just bend over?
Pick up a few other bits and peaces including something for dinner.
two people at checkout. 1 hot chick 2 old guy who drove a t -Rex to work when he was younger.
sigh at the sad inevitability of it all.
i get old guy
picks up items one at a time stairs at them like its the first time he's ever seen one and then scans it.
four hours later he's done and I can go on my way
Totter back to the flat and begin emptying bin. there is enough crap left over to fill another bin bag. Take bins down. On returning to my flat my flatmate is in the kitchen cheerfully telling me there was bin bags in the drawer after all.
I try and fry him alive using my hex vision by sheer force of will. it fails.
sit heavily at computer chair a broken husk of a man and begin typing...