I Screwed the Landlord

Myron and I have looked all over Gooseberry and we still can't find affordable rental property that has everything we want. We did all our homework and we have been very careful with our preparations. Myron was very selective when it came to choosing whose identity to steal. Of course, almost everyone has fewer criminal charges than Myron, but I told him that he must obtain the identity of someone who has perfect credit. But for some reason, property managers seem a little surprised when Myron introduces himself as Noah W. Shapiro.

He looks like a Noah W. Shapiro to me

We've been looking for a home with a fenced-in back yard for our dog and a large basement to house the eight sumo wrestlers who live with us. I've got to find work for those guys. I brought them here from Japan because I thought sumo wrestling would go over well in Gooseberry. That was one business venture I regret. After that failed, I opened up Sumo Daycare and you may remember what a disaster that was.

Maybe I should reopen Sumo Daycare. Okay, so they didn't do a perfect job last time, but they deserve a second chance.


I hate people because they're stupid. I have a method I use to avoid the phone tag cycle, but people are too stupid to do something this simple. This is especially true when it comes to landlords. Here's an example.

Lorenzo (leaving voice mail):  Hi, this is Lorenzo Dunning and I'm calling about the house for rent at 1601 Sean Young Drive, across from the Zoroastrian Community Center. Please call me at 555-1601. If you get my voice mail, please leave a message with information on the rent, the deposit, and if you accept pets.

Possible Future Landlord (leaving voice mail):  Hi. You called about the house for rent at 1601 Sean Young Drive. Call me back at 555-7851. (Click.)

Lorenzo (leaving another voice mail): We seem to be playing phone tag, so once again, if you call back and get my voice mail, please leave a message with answers to the following questions: How much is rent? How much is the deposit? Do you allow pets?

Possible Future Landlord (leaving another voice mail):  Yeah, we do seem to be playing phone tag. I'm at home now, so now would be a good time to call me. (Click.)

Lorenzo (leaving yet another voice mail):  WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM? TWICE I HAVE ASKED YOU TO LEAVE INFORMATION ABOUT RENT, DEPOSIT, AND YOUR PET POLICY. IS THAT SO FUCKING HARD TO UNDERSTAND? PLEASE LEAVE THAT INFORMATION ON MY CONFIDENTIAL VOICE MAIL. I NEED TO KNOW SOMETHING BY NOON TOMORROW.

Impossible Future Landlord (leaving yet another voice mail):  We keep missing each other. I'll be at home for the next five minutes if you want to call. If you miss me, I'll try to reach you tomorrow night at 6:00. (Click)

So finally, tonight, I got to see the property. I thought the landlord looked familiar, but I couldn't place him until he told me his name. Sheldon. I said to myself, "The only Sheldon I knew was...uh-oh." I remembered who he was and I think he remembered who I was. I fucked this guy many years ago. I was young, dumb, and full of cum when I first met Sheldon. A bartender came to me and told me that someone had bought me a drink. I drank it. Then, the bartender came to me and said the same guy bought me another drink. I finally met the guy who had been buying me the drinks and it wasn't the man with the child in his eyes. It was Sheldon, Mr. Nasty. But I at least wanted to be nice to him...as long as he was still buying the drinks. Oh, but there was more than alcohol involved. He had an amazing variety of pills as well as powders to snort. That was all my addictive personality needed. It's still embarrassing to admit this, but I went home with Mr. Nasty.


Fast-forward several years. Mr. Nasty is showing me a house. He asked, "Have you lived in Gooseberry all your life?" Translated, that means, "I think I fucked you years ago. I'm 90 percent sure it was you. If you were living in Gooseberry at the time, that would make me 99 percent sure it was you. So, have you lived in Gooseberry all your life?"


I said, "No. I'm originally from Gentryville. I've only lived in Gooseberry for two years. Yeah, that's it. Two years. Maybe only one year. I swear." Translated that means, "You remember me. I wouldn't have fucked you if I wasn't stoned. You're the reason I stopped using drugs in the first place. I didn't want to wake up one morning with another Mr. Nasty. But I want you to pretend that we don't recognize each other. This is very uncomfortable, but at least this has given me something to blog about."


Now what should I do? I could get a really good deal on this. Maybe he'll go down on the price if I go down on him. Would it be worth enduring his nasty crotch odor? What would you do?