Sure, you can show people my underwear

I don't clean my room when my landlord shows my apartment, so for the last few days, every time my he's called me, this is how our conversation has gone in my head:

'Hey Henry, do you mind if tomorrow I show a bunch of strangers that pile of underwear in your bedroom?'
'Sure, that's fine. I won't be home, so it'll be in the middle of the room, as usual.'
'Cool. I'll be bringing some people by tomorrow, then. I'll make sure the people touring check out the big wiener you've drawn on the shower door, too.'
'Sounds good. My dirty laundry and shower penis will see you then.'

(work.)

Every morning when I wake up, drag myself out of bed, and take a shower, sometimes I'll draw things on the shower door with my finger. Sometimes it's a swear word, other times it's Pac Man, but most of the time it's some sort of dong. It wasn't until my roommate said something that I realized that my shower drawings were staying there after I'd left.

One day I came home and Katz asked me, "Did you write 'skeet skeet' in the shower?"

Yes. Yes I did, Katz. That's just how I roll.

Hope you like dirty magazines, apartment tourists

Hey Katz,

Our landlord is showing the apartment tomorrow, so I'll tidy up the living room and kitchen in the morning.

You may have noticed that I've put piles of Asian porn on your bedroom floor. Don't move it. It took me a long time to arrange the piles of Asian porn to spell out 'Please live here next year, apartment tourists.'

Yeah, I have a lot of Asian porn.

I'll tell you what: after the apartment showing tomorrow, you can peel off whatever magazines you can keep whatever you can separate from the rest of the pile.

Yeah, the porn is used.

Anyway, just giving you a heads up. If there's any porn you want spread all over the living room, feel free to go for it. Have a nice night.

-Henry

(bed.)

We didn't really lay porn out, but the last tour that went through probably saw the giant wiener I drew on the shower door with my finger that morning.

Bad electricity, dead eskimos

Today an electrician evaluated our power situation at the house. What we received was a pink slip featuring a list of errors and the words: 'Status: FAIL'
Among the other blunders of our housing group:
-When the air conditioning broke, they hired eskimos to walk around the house and hug everybody.
-When our ceiling had a leak in it, they just gave us a bucket to collect any messes. When our toilet was broken, we got the same thing.
-Our toilet is powered by crank, and our washing machine is powered by a team of hamsters on wheels.
-All the hamsters are dead.
-So are half the eskimos.

Christ, these long away messages are killing me. I told myself, 'I want to go to bed' but I replied with 'make a dumb list about your house in which half the eskimos die.'

Ta da! Now I'm tired.

(Sleep, then work 3:30 to 9:30am.)

While writing that dumb list, I was tempted to include real things they've done wrong, but I decided that'd be too easy. But for fun, here's a serious list of crappy things Cappo Management has provided:
-Our dishwasher leaves little specks of crap on and around our dishes.
-At first our oven had no knob, but then they got us a knob, and it was blank, so they gave us an oven thermometer.
-One of the outlets in our kitchen is busted, so we have an extension cord going across the middle of our kitchen.
-Our toilet spit nastiness all over the 2nd floor of the house. Our bathroom also leaks into one of the 1st floor bedrooms, just not mine.
-One of the parking spots behind our house is shared with some random girl. We don't even know her name, but we routinely curse her existence every time we pull into our back yard and see her stupid car parked there. This isn't even her fault; she was put there for us to hate her. Thanks, landlords.

Our real problems make our fake problems seem so much more fun. Kind of makes me wish for a pile of dead hamsters in the basement.

I blame Hartmann's urine

Tuesday night I came home to a piece of paper on our door that said basically 'Your yard is fucking dirty. Clean it up and take out your trash or we charge you $70. -Ann Arbor (all of it)'

I blame nature for this mishap. When it was winter, we could have all the shit we wanted on our lawn. Cups, plates, old newspapers, other people's mail. It didn't matter because snow covered all messes. Then motherfucking Mother 'Fat Bitch' Nature comes in and melts our snow, or 'trash-hiding magic whiteness' and suddenly we're pigs.

Also Hartmann peed out of our side door into what is essentially our neighbors' yard. And they live here permanently 'cause they're old.

So I blame Hartmann's urine and the concept of melting. And then I go to bed.

(sleep.)