You’re “It!”

Hey, no tag backs!
 
So I was looking at that picture of my dumpster that I took yesterday and realized that I’ve never really looked at the hideous thing before. (No, it’s not hideous…book those airline tickets!)
 
Now, if you took the time to look at the picture, you’d notice that it’s been “tagged” all over. Various gangbangers have visited the novelty vacation spot and left their mark. For those of you who don’t know (Brits, Australians, Canadians…), here in America we have a little problem called gangs. I know, you all say you have gangs, but cheeky roughabouts in jockstraps and bowler hats don’t count, and neither do packs of wild dingoes. And let’s face it, there is nothing even remotely threatening about Canada.
 
The way gang tagging works is thusly; one gang member acts as an agent for the rest of the gang. This is usually a freelance position. But they roam around their neighborhood scouting out prime real estate. Then they claim that property for themselves. Now they own it.
 
From the picture (see yesterday’s post) you can see that three separate gangs lay claim to the dumpster (Rapidway Disposal doesn’t count, their name is only included for provenance). I can’t read gang scrawl, so I’m not sure exactly what gangs claim my garbage, but I would really like to know.
 
I understand that they’re not actually claiming the trash. I’m pretty sure that they’re interested in the whole building.
 
But, seriously, if there is anyone out there who can translate the hieroglyphs on my dumpster, let me know. Because, as it turns out, gangbangers aren’t the best custodians, and I have a couple bones to pick:
 
Dear Gangbangers that own the apartment building,
 
1.  The rent is too high. With the popularity of elicit drugs, do you think that you could offset the cost of rent?
 
2. Our plumbing sucks. It’s always threatening to back up and the pipes are rusty. I’m tired of drinking lead. Please fix it. If there’s one thing that you crack heads know – it’s pipes, right?
 
3. Some jerkass scribbled on the dumpster.
 
The irony is that I would rather have gangbangers running this place than the “paper” owners. Fleck Property Management. Idiots.
 
 
Quick story. The smoke detectors in the apartment were beeping every two minutes or so, like they had dead batteries. So I changed the batteries. Nothing. Just really annoying beeping. The detectors, as well as being 9 volt battery powered, are also hardwired into the building’s electrical system. So instead of pulling my hair out about it, I called Fleck maintenance. This was their solution:
 
Me: My smoke detectors are beeping and I’m going crazy, could you please come by and do something about it?
 
Maintenance Guy: Sure! We’ll be right over to rip those suckers right out of the wall!
 
I’m, not kidding. That was their actual response. Oh, yeah, and they never did come over to do anything! What a bunch of morons! Do they want us to die in a fire?! What kind of problem solving is that?!
 
Since they never came over to fix them, Tanya and I came up with a brilliant solution.
 
We ripped those suckers right out of the wall.
 
 
Those of you who don’t live in an expensive city will never appreciate the euphoric thrill of paying way too much rent just for the opportunity to be cooked in your sleep.
 
 
Fun Fact: I saw a disturbing commercial on TV yesterday. There’s this 12-year-old heavy kid running through the woods. While we watch him sweat, he narrates his tragic tale. It seems that the kids at his school pick on him because he’s overweight. They’re really mean bullies.
 
I’m outraged! I was a fat kid! It’s horrific the way that children treat each other! Question – what can we do about it, commercial?
 
Just as you’re left wondering, the commercial offers it’s final solution to solve our pudgy compadre’s predicament…Subway’s low fat sandwich menu! 
 
Hey kids, are you yired of being made fun of for being fat assed fatties?!...Then stop being fat assed fatties!
 
That’s it, the commercial is over. You know it’s over because Jared comes on and holds up a pair of really huge pants.
 
If only Jared had this commercial when he was 12 (and if he didn’t eat his weight in Oreos), maybe he wouldn’t have been so damned fat!
 
All I can say is that it’s about time we started selling diets to preteens. You know, kids wouldn’t be so fat if we still had sweatshops in this country. If they want to diet like adults, they better earn like adults! It’s a fact.
 
Stupid.
 
 
Oh, yeah, thank you all for your comments and support during these trying summer months, except for those of you in Australia, in that case, thank you for your support during these trying winter months.
 
P.S. This post is late because Blogger went down!