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Landlord: The Not Sarah Connor Chronicles

Seriously? If you spend most of Sunday in my room, and I keep asking you how soon you can leave, don’t call me on Monday morning. If you call me on Monday morning, and I don’t pick up the phone, don’t call me on Monday afternoon. If I don’t pick up or call back after you’ve called me twice in one day, don’t come knocking at my door that same evening. If I don’t answer your knock at the door after I’ve ignored your two phone calls, don’t call me once more from my fucking hallway. And, if I finally pick up the phone, concluding that there must be some huge emergency which requires my immediate attention, don’t open with, “so is it OK if I come by tomorrow to do some maintenance?” 
My coworkers think my landlord has a crush on me. My roommate thinks he’s lonely. Personally, I think the only plausible explanation is that he is a Terminator, and is therefore convinced that I will bear the future savior of mankind. 

“And after the robot Apocalypse, I’d like to do some spraying.”