"Let's pretend. You're the Department of Transportation, okay? Someone informs you that this company installs front seat mounting brackets that never pass collision tests, brake linings that fail after a thousand miles and fuel injectors that explode and burn people alive. What then?" - Tyler Durden, Fight Club
Let's pretend. You're a witch, okay? Someone informs you that despite the fact that when you moved into the shared house it was with the agreement that no other housemates would be moved in without everyone agreeing, he's moving in his girlfriend and her two kids and you have no choice in the matter, and he's gotten the crazy landlady's ok even though he can't get her on the phone for anything else, like the central air that hasn't worked since April. And he's being a complete asshole about it and bothering you while you're at work. What then?
Then you take the dryer lint he's too dumb to remove to a safe location, the poor frog your cat probably smothered to death, a sigil, your own piss, and then mix it all in a freezer bag like the Devil's own marinade and bury it under said housemate's window.
I didn't set out to become North America's answer to Graveyard Dirt. But when pushed, I shove.