Archive for ‘Housing’

November 16, 2010

Pay Yo Taxes: Not For You, but For Me.


Seal of the United States Department of the Tr...

Straight up Hustlers.

The other day I received a knock at the door and through the window I could see a man holding bright yellow papers. When I opened the door he introduced himself as a member of the Treasury Department.

First thought: Oh hell, how did Bank of America fuck up our payments now?

He began explaining to me how a certain “Evelyn” who owned the home before us owed back taxes… a lot of them. He showed me the numbers on the sheet and I nearly lost control of my bodily functions. Of course my head was swirling with panic and the desire for a lot of angry phone calls. On the sheet it said “YOU MUST PAY BY MAY 2011 OR YOU WILL LOSE YOUR HOME!!!!!!!!!”

Though I may be exaggerating the amount of exclamation points, there certainly were more in my head.

Then came the awkward conversation.

Guy: Also I need to take a picture showing that I was here. Will that be okay?
Me: (still in a state of shock) drrr dahhh darrrrrr…..
Guy: Of the house, not of you.
Me: Oh! Yeah… that’s…fine.

He then handed me the papers and parted. Frantically I began looking through the papers praying for a miracle. Then I found it.

I ran out the door, shouting for him to stop the car. I was in an over-sized Legend of Zelda hoodie and Jack Skellington PJ pants and looking like a crazy man. In my defense, I was working at home and wanted to be comfy, hardly expecting any company.

“Hey!” I shouted, “Wrong address!”

The address was 23541. My address is 23451.

CRISIS AVERTED!

Moral of the story: Pay your taxes so that you don’t give your unsuspecting neighbors heart attacks.

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October 5, 2010

Things They Don’t Tell You About Growing Up: Part 2: Vacuuming


Bro, do you even know what this is? It's a fuckin Kirby vacuum! This shit right here is like the fuckin BMW or Jaguar or some shit of vacuums. So powerful it'll suck the pubes off of your balls. Just kidding bro, you know I shave.

In order to make this interesting, I have written this in the voice of a character I have created named A. Situation. I am not witty.

Now listen, there are three things in life that are fucking guaranteed to make me happy: Jager bombs, hiekin, and fucking vacuuming. Now bro listen, I know what you’re thinkin’ “What the fuck bro, you all domesticated ‘n shit now?”

Nah bro. Listen, and I swear to God if you say that shit again, I’ma break your jaw-but anyway! For real bros, there ain’t nothin in this world like vacuuming. Now I know that when we were kids our parents made us do it and it was fucking stupid, but when you get your own badass carpet or rug or some shit, it’s fuckin different.

So like, lets say you get a dog bro. A fuckin huge, white ass dog that sheds like a mother fucker (not bein specific here or nothin). And you got this badass rug that’s got fucking lions and shields and shit all over it. Fuckin REGAL shit bro! Now listen, you walk into the room after a night of clubbin, or after your breakfast of protein bars and raw eggs, or you come back from the gym cause you were workin out and you see your rug and notice (cause you gotta fuckin pay attention to this shit when you got your own place bro) that the rug is now a shade of white. You ain’t got that shit to make it lighter or darker you got that shit cause you were in the store and said “Now THAT’S a rug you fuck skanks on!”

Now cause you have all your addrenline rushin to your head you’re fuckin pissed. You turn to your dog and say “What the fuck bro!”

Your dog just looks at you and says “I’m a fuckin dog, bro!”

Your dog is right, he’s a fuckin dog and that’s what dogs do. That’s what they fuckin do: shed.

Kirby All-Star: Survival Mode

This is Kirby. He is a video game character, but he sucks shit up like a vacuum which is pretty cool too bro.

Now if you got bitches or skanks or some bros comin over you gotta clean that shit up. So what do you do? Grab that fuckin vacuum bro! So you start goin at it bro, sucking all that shit up. BAM! Fuckin clean carpet in all the fuckin colors its supposed to be, looks fuckin new too bro. I swear to fuckin God bro, swear to fuckin God-that shit will look so badass now that it’s all clean and shit. Excuse me, I gotta fuckin take this shot down so I don’t get too excited.

Alright back, now I know what you’re thinking: A. Situation what are you doin drinkin in the middle of the day, at a fuckin coffee shop no less. That don’t even serve alcohol at coffee shops. Well you see A. Situation always comes prepared. And like they say, “it’s 5 o’clock somewhere!” KNOW WHAT I MEAN BRO?

So anyway. Vacuuming. Fuck you have no idea. Cause if you did, you wouldn’t have read this far, you would have looked of the title of this shit and said, “FUCK YEAH BRO! FUCKING VACUUMING IS THE FUCKIN SHIT. THAT REMINDS ME I GOTTA GO DO THAT SHIT RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!”

Not to mention nothing gets a fuckin girl soaked up than seein a fuckin bombass rug all fuckin clean and shit. Panties fuckin drop at the site of it bro. Swear to fuckin God bro, swear to fuckin God.

Fuck all this talkin an’ typin about this shit reminds me I gotta go do some vacuuming myself. PEACE!

September 2, 2010

Things They Don’t Tell You About Growing Up: Part 1: Your Neighbors


It taunts me with it's existance very day.

Granted, you may have heard your father complain when you were younger but you never thought you’d be in his shoes. So I’ll just tell you right now:

You will hate your neighbors.

Not all of them-that would mean that you’re an asshole and have anger issues-just a few. Thing is, you will hate them without even knowing anything remotely personal about them (such as their name). For me, I hate two of mine and I know I hate them for no good reason.

My first neighbor doesn’t actually live there. The house is up for sale. However, there is no for sale sign visible from anywhere that would make sense. This summer I saw the man twice; he showed up twice in his giant RV. How that damn thing came and went without anyone noticing is beyond me (though I bet the dark arts were involved). Now, I have nothing against him as a person. He seems fairly nice as other neighbors are actually happy to see him.

But they don’t have to deal with the shit I have to.

The house has a large backyard that comes up to my property. There is a koi pond with a bridge over it that is actually a

protected habitat. Yes, so the city and I can do nothing about the swarm of mosquitoes that arise from the 5 foot tall pond flora. While I enjoy the sound that the toads make at night, the bugs that attack me for it ruin the mood.

But I would forgive the man if that was all. You see, in his nice large yard, closest to me is a half-finished gazebo. That’s right. A fucking gazebo. The half finished piece of crap reminds of it’s existence everyday since my windows open up directly to it. The railing on the outside of it is made of left over white plastic fencing that outlines the rest of the property. The rest of the gazebo is wood. Yes, it sticks out as much as you think shiny white plastic would stick out on a wood construction. My eyes beg my hands to gouge them out every morning. If it’s ugly frame weren’t enough, in it’s poorly made bottom covering lives a nasty opossum that has ripped open my garbage cans from the side. The side! Usually critters of that type knock over trash cans, but not this little fucker! He rips open the side and feasts on my trash.

Photograph of the common opossum

Go to hell and leave my trash alone.

The duck-tape I have applied on my trash can is yet another constant remainder of why I hate my neighbor. On trash day it’s also a “I hate all of you because you like him” badge.

Then there’s the neighbor behind me. I’ve been meaning to clear a bunch of trees out of my backyard but I haven’t for two simple reasons: I don’t want to subject my neighbors to my work-in-progress backyard and because I don’t want to subject myself to their immaculate gardens. This one guy in particular has created a soft, gentle hill where there are two koi ponds that are connected by a waterfall that has (wait for it) LED lights in it. How the hell am I supposed to compete with that? Really? Asshole.

So on quiet nights, I can hear the smooth running water from his yard that are really saying, “my yard is better than yours.”

I am going to build a privacy fence around my entire property and lob Molotov cocktails at that damn gazebo. Take that Mr. Possum.

July 23, 2010

So I got a dog, dawg.


I'm a dog, dawg.

For some reason, when you actually own a house or some land, something clicks inside of you. What looks like a mere house to others now seems like a whole country that needs protecting to your eyes. And what does every country need? Why a badass army along with a moat that has sharks, alligators, and sharks with lasers on their heads. (And cannons-we can’t forget cannons). Now since I can’t really afford to throw in a moat or cannons or anything else that cool, (and I don’t think alligators and sharks can co-exist when lasers are involved) I had to think of ways of making the place secure.  My cats don’t really seem to do the whole ferocious guard animal thing very well either.

Mind you, this wasn’t out of fear; I live in a pretty awesome neighborhood. However, I’m not in denial that Detroit is a mere mile away. Cops do patrol the area as if it was under martial law, but I wanted that extra bit so the damn kids keep the hell away from my yard too.

So I asked the Father-in-Law-to-be what he thought. He told me that his twin brother, a Federal Marshall (a very frightening set of realizations when I first met them, but that’s another story,) always said the best security was getting a big dog. I thought about this, and since the fiancee told me she wanted a dog to keep her company when I wasn’t around, we decided to get one.

I also enjoy doing things that Cory thinks are a bad idea.

We ended up getting a dog from the K-9 Stray Rescue League over in Oxford. We liked them because they actually update their website with who’s adopted and who still isn’t. That and we didn’t want to get some over-priced purebred dog that is probably the offspring of his mother and her sibling. Inbreeding does the same stuff to dogs that it does to people you know.

We brought her home a few weeks ago and decided to name her Misiu (pronounced “me” “shoe”, which is Polish for teddy bear). We were originally gonna name her Les (pronounced “lease”), which is Polish for Fox, since she kinda looks like one, but we aren’t renting her-we adopted her.  Thus Misiu.  She’s a pretty awesome dog, and we’re happy with her. After all, I do attract awesomeness so I really shouldn’t have been worried. Since we really don’t know what she is, we decided to make up a designer breed of German Retriever. Why? Well because actual designer breeds are not recognized by the American Kennel Association anyway.

Take that you Laberdoodle people.

And of course now I get to say stuff like, “When I got home, my bitch was so excited she pissed herself.”

Told you I like bad jokes. (True story by-the-way).

Although I’m told that spayed dogs aren’t bitches. Cause breeding dogs is serious business.

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