Buried alive!

If I don't die drowning, I will surely meet my untimely end in an avalanche of someone's pile of crap. Like in one of those old lady apartments jammed with 70 years of newspapers and Ladies Home Journal. A tidal wave of New York Posts smothering me. 

Please don't let me die under a pile of New York Posts. The headline the next day will be insufferable. 

If you have teetering columns of useless shit all over your dwelling, please don't invite me over. For clarification, I give you this list. 

IT'S NOT COOL TO HOARD THE FOLLOWING AND EXPECT ME TO COME TO YOUR SHITHOUSE, A SHORT LIST

• CDs. If you're still buying CDs, we can't be friends. Mix tapes are acceptable. 
• Dolls. You're an adult. The end.
• Lamps. I read an article about some guy who had 100s of lamps in his one-bedroom apartment. Ri-goddamn-diculous.
• Toasters. I have trouble with this one because on the one hand, who doesn't love toast? Only Communists. But do you really need more than like five toasters max? Nah, you don't. 
• Animals. Two should suffice, across species. Unless you're a zoo. 
• Money. I read today that Oracle's CEO received +$96,000,000 in compensation last year. Who needs that much money lying around? 
• Papers. Two words: silver fish. 
• Wine. I know, surprising. But what's really shocking is why you're not drinking that delicious wine. You are dumb. 
• Tools. Unless you're a serial killer, it's disturbing to hoard so many of the same type of tool. No one cares. Unless of course, you're about to murder them. 

I can hear you whining, "but this is my treasure." Let me file that under I don't give a shit. If you still need convincing, watch this through to the end.