Read between the lines

Well I’ve done it again. I’ve moved. I must be a masochist because I went from first floor to 4th floor.

Here’s a picture of our living room. Notice the glory that is a faux rustic fireplace. Complete with all the expensive gas bills to make you feel as helpless to the power of the man as possible.

Not only will my city provided flatulence utility company enjoy sending me bills, I will also be able to melt a fancy HDTV as well. I think Best Buy and the Gas company send kick backs to whomever thought that was the BEST IDEA EVAR. There’s also something which I call a “fart sniffer deck” looking out towards the neighborhood. This includes a beautiful semi-rust(ic)ed black painted metal guard to ensure that your tequila nights don’t end with a statistic and a news story. Also included is about 4′x8′ of chemically treated wood to keep bird shit from suddenly saying hello to your downstairs neighbors. I feel officially middle-class now.

Moving on we will see the kitchen. This is a normal kitchen but there are a few things worth mentioning.

Included in this kitchen is a beautifully stunning nook for meals in a trapezoid. There’s something aristocratic about dining in a polygon. Next, we’ll see the kitchen with your standard STAINLESS STEEL SINK, OH EM GEE!!!1!1one!!1one!!!11! Dude must be worth some bank for some steel which turns bleach water green. Perpendicular to the sink is the golden ticket. That right there allows my wife to get a part-time job. She tried to retire on me with all this free time she thinks that she will have, but all I had to do was point out that there’s more floor space to sweep and she felt like a contributing member to society again. I was worried that she’d become one of those wives which sits on her ass and watches the L word, learning snarky lesbian man-hating come backs for when I tell her to make me a god damn motherfucking pie. She is pregnant, doesn’t she know she has to work twice as hard now to please me now that she’s gaining weight? My life is so good.

For your information, I would never be caught in an apron. I mean, there are some dudes who get hogs wearing their domestic servants’ clothing. I for one feel that if I am going to wear something my slave sports while tending to me hand-and-foot, that it would be under the strictly enforced rule that there be some fluid exchange from me to her.  Before and after.

Moving on we go to the trinity of sleeping quarters. On the way to the place where infidelity and drug use happen, we notice the hallway. In this hallway we’ll notice my wife, wearing something on her feet while she expresses her feelings of universal usefulness in gay song.  Also worth mentioning is an Olympic certified bowling alley. I’ll now be able to take my perfect 300 from Wii Bowling into the real world. I’m so blessed.

I could tell you my tricks, but then I’d just tell you some bullshit about how you need to align your dude to be 2/3 of the way towards the first tick on the lane to your right from the center. Then I just might tell some more lies that you that you need to release the ball at the last possible second in order for it to shoot as straight as possible. But I’d never give you a straight answer, I am superior and I digress.

I’m starting to lose my steam here, so in condensed form are the 2 bedrooms which I want no part in, other than to use as castigation implements.

There’s a bathroom along the way which is a regular type which you would typically use for your monolithic beer shits. Here’s some pics to bust a nut over.

Now we come to the master fornication facility. When I come home from work I order my cum receptacle to give the children their nightly dose of methyl trichloride to go sleep.  I then order her to  enter this part of my sheet rock den for her nightly prayer.

You’ll see the little child-sized torture chamber that we use whenever we feel the inconvenience of parenting. However, the most important feature here is the purple blanket of passion, made for us by a Korean sweat shop back in the 90s. I bet they’re all looking for husbands by now. I should go back and see what brothel they’re employed by and perhaps buy their dowry out. After I ship them over I’ll make them cook and clean, and force my wife to walk up and down the 4 flights of stairs multiple times daily to keep the cheese away. The added bonus is not only will my wife be in top form, but so will my harem of illegal teenage aliens! I could write a self-help book for the morbidly obese. I think I might. After I save up the legal fees to pay McDonalds to stop suing me for taking their customers away.

Now for the Le Royal du Fromage - The Master Bathroom™

This shower has it all man. Glass doors so I can be lecherous and stare at dirty sluts all day. It has a big rain shower head so I can feel as if I’m in a thunderstorm running away from a microburst of doom. Finally, it has these 3 jets specifically designed to wash my knee pits, ass crack, and upper back. This has thousands of hours of engineering put into it by people who know that if you spray water at 100mph into your ass crack, that the only way in which you freak out in gay pride, is to also spray water on the breeder pressure points on the knee pit and upper back as well, genius!

Welp, that’s all that I have for now. I have about 800 sq ft of property left to shuffle from the old pad to the new place. After I’m done healing from my future body cast experience, we’ll be having a house warming party to properly ruin relations with the downstairs neighbors as fast as possible! Joy!