WTF???!!!???

What the Fuck, people?  I mean really . . . what the hell is wrong with you? 

GF and I have been looking for a new house to move to.  We're relatively happy living here by the park and within walking distance to her office, but circumstances have arisen and an opportunity for a special program for Medium but only if we live within certain geographic boundaries – and we don't currently, so we're moving.

Thus begins the home-tour rant or what people do to houses to make them ugly, horrible, and completely unlivable.

The first house literally smelled so overpowering of Cat Urine and Cigarettes that I instantly exploded into a phlegm faucet after just three steps.  Then the landlord had the fucking audacity to say to me, "I haven't been able to get it painted yet, but everything else is spotless.  I'd give you two hundred bucks off the rent if you painted it after you move in."

Do I look so fucking stupid that I'd paint his Cat Piss house for a couple hundred bucks?  If I wanted to become a damned house painter I could make two hundred A ROOM to paint houses that didn't smell like the end of a Tom Cat's prick. Besides, what kind of paint does it take to cover up the smell of Cat Piss?  That's got to be some heavy duty ship's hull paint or something.

Then we went into the masturbator's paradise.  I swear to God.  We walked into the front entrance of what used to be a Victorian home, but now the main Staircase was gone.  I mean – gone.  Instead, where the living room ought to have been was a weird plywood and drywall hallway leading over to the back stairs and up to the second floor we went where we found out that they'd taken a plywood sheet and put it where the main stairs used to be . . . Viola, instant living space.  Bouncy and uneven, but all the floors were gravitationally challenged, so one spongy bouncy section didn't make it worse.

 

Beavis was showing us around his home since he had to move and I'm sure the landlord didn't want to go up there because he'd actually know the condition of his property and that would make for uncomfortable thoughts.  Beavis was this skanky dude who was so fucking whacked out that he thought these things he was showing us were Selling Points, like the maze to get through the first floor, the rotted roof of the porch which keeps most of the rain off you, and the kitchen which we couldn't actually see, but we could traverse if we cleared a path with our feet.  We skirted the living room, which used to be part of a small bedroom, but now just held a couch and a 60 Inch Wide Screen Television that blocked most of both exits from the room. 

Then, with a grin and a flourish he opened the door to his room and announced through snorting pride, “There's a sink.” 

There was a sink.  Right next to the nasty mattresses on the floor was a sink.  In a pressboard cabinet, right from Home Depot, a plastic, injection-molded sink.  Random.  It was in the bedroom, not near a bathroom, not part of a kitchenette or anything like that.  Just a sink.  “And it works, too,” his happiness was barely containable.

A television, mattresses on the floor, and stacks of porn.  Stacks and stacks of porn.  Ass-Envy, Tools of the Trade, Ramming Rods, and a complete Jenna Jameson Collection.  The room had the aroma of musky solo-sex and nary a wiff of any feminine presence.  That room is kryptonite to chicks. 

How much do you have to masturbate to need a sink next to your bed?  I mean, holy shit with the jerking off!  If the dude hadn't been giving us the tour himself, I'd think maybe a hooker lived there and wanted to wash the skank off in between customers, but no.  This guy was so proud of his random sink that I think he'd have trouble fathoming the disgust both gf and I were leveling at him that moment.  For the first time in a very long time, I wanted a camera: I wanted to photograph the incredible horror that this nitwit was calling a "feature."

Tis a special breed of male that requires the sink, yet it's that same breed of male who can't ever get a date.  I'm saying that not even teenagers jack off enough to have to have a fucking sink next to their bed.

Each of the houses we've looked at has been bad in their own special ways, but I'm never going to forget the Masturbator and his Magic Sink.

- rick, vomiting.

Comments

[mark]

dude, you are in a world of hurt. I put myself thru college doing apt maintanance...the things I saw...

As for the unsafe condidtions of that house...well a quick call to a city inspector...as I'm sure the sink wasn't installed properly

[Success Warrior]

There is quite a bit to be said about being the first owner.

[a rose is a rose]

i LOVE it when you fume! makes me proud (and man oh man, you picked THE perfect subject to fume about)

[Cherise]

Still laughing.... The Rick Rant is always worth the read. ;)

[Sideon]

I'm laughing, but I'm horried, but I'm still laughing.

Years ago, my then partner's family had a lot of real estate and rentals. A bottom unit flooded and we were asked to help clean up, which for the most part meant pushing 6-8 inches of water towards the drain. This guy lived alone - he was not home when the apartment flooded. He must've had hundreds of articles of clothes that he'd buy and wear until filthy, then pile it in the bathroom. I will never forget the smell of the flood and the dirty laundry.

His bedroom was the Lair of All that is Creepy (though that Mastubator gets a very high creep rating). Filthy mattress - who knows when he last changed his sheets. Mirror above the ceiling and on the side of the bed. On his nightstand was a shrine dedicated to Barbies in Bondage - various Barbies (all naked), with their arms and legs tied up. Several were blindfolded with tiny ribbons.

We cleaned as much as we could. When we were wrapping things up (and the guy was still not home), Doug's Mom stood in the doorway of the bedroom and shrieked "run, Barbie, run, now's your chance!"

A few years later the guy made the newspaper - another casualty of auto-eroticism.

[Sideon]

think I missed a few letters in there somewhere - should be "horrified" in the first line

[Cele]

I wish to never hunt for another house in my entire life. I still have my original starter home, it will be my end of life home too. I do not envy you having to house hunt.

Mir at Shoulda Woulda Coulda is selling her house, you might enjoy some of her post on the flip side of your dilema

[CV Rick]

Sideon, I can just imagine what it's like to manage/own rental properties. Ugh! I'm glad that guy met his auto-erotic fate . . . I hope the sink guy meets an equally spectacular and public demise as well.

Cele, sometimes things just work out and one is a habitual nomad. So it is with me.

Rose and Cherise, I'm glad you enjoy the rants. I've been told that it's a sight to behold on the spot and not filtered through a written diatribe.

Mark, I'm not calling the inspector. I want to hear about the total collapse of the structure . . . do you really think they're going to care about the sink when what used to be a stairs opening is now a plywood maxi-trampoline?

S.W. . . . First owner is good . . . but then I've seen how these suburban developments are being constructed and plywood bouncy boards don't seem so dangerous any longer.

[John]

OMG!!! EW!!! GROSS!!!!!

I saw some things I wish I hadn't when I was a caretaker at the Building Rick. But nothing anywhere near this. The things that pets can do to carpet pale next to "the sink."

*shudder*

[The Angry Young Man]

Rick, one word - buy.

[CV Rick]

Angry Young Man - would that I could.

[SML]

Oh. My. God. That's just....eeeeeew.

And Sideon, why don't you post these things on your blog??? Get on it!