You pause, frantically trying to formulate a sufficiently compelling excuse so as to deflect his obviously forthcoming request to crash at your apartment. Your reluctance is justified. Last time he managed to clog your kitchen sink with enough kiwi rind, falafel mix and cornstarch that it took 13 shots of so-called "One Shot Instant Drain Cleaner" to flush out the fuzzy cement-like mixture.
You are starting to explain that, while you'd love to help him out, "wouldn't ya know it," tonight is your weekly court-appointed rage therapy session, when...
An unearthly sound erupts from the depths of your belly. You are suddenly reminded by your severe hunger pangs that finding nourishment is still of the utmost importance. However, sensing a moment of weakness and now apparently favouring Haiku, Chet begins his tactless entreaty,
"With no place to go
Would it be such a bother?
Let me stay at yours?"
You feel the Hanger rising - the perfect storm of hunger and anger manifested in low blood sugar-induced irritability. It has reached a threshold level and the last thing you want is to listen to another "poetic" communiqué from this bozo. Turning and running, you must find something to eat. Fast.