Wacky Weekend Challenge

Tom abandoned his room in Dire Straits when he left for the convention. His dirty spandex boxer shorts are begging for attention. **** and bits of this and that, UFOs of every kind (Unknown foreign objects) are littering and piled so high I fear for what I'll find. There's a piece of wood with wormholes resembling lunar craters. I wonder should I try to clean or call exterminators. My head begins to throb, a pain is drifting in and out. The medicine Dr. Hammond prescribed has not put it to rout. I had insomnia last night. It's hard to stay awake. That gig of Tom's had better not turn out to be a fake. Our Rosie is in the kitchen cleaning what appears to be nuclear waste. Something is boiling on the stove. I stop to take a taste. My plans to wine and dine my friends are going all awry. Tom's mess has emptied out my brain. I forgot to bake my pie. Vacuum salesmen at the door are just the final straw. I throw my Listerine soaked tissue saying, "Leave or I'll call the law." Meanwhile my Tom is having fun, my lazy, thougtless, spoiled, loved son.