wickedflea | (no subject)

I wish I could post smells on this here innernet. If I could I'd post the smell that's lurking in one of our stairwells down here at the farm. It smells like a dead buffalo's ass (to quote the immortal Billy Milano). Some people here think it smells like must, but Jeff and I insist that it's organic. It's foul, foul, foul. It reminds me of the apartment we had right after high school. Every once in a while there would be a horrible Black Funk in the kitchen. We'd put up with it for weeks, and then finally we'd have to go on a mission to find it. After several hours, we'd usually find something like a chicken breast or a carton of eggs decaying behind the refrigerator.

We also had a leaky toilet that would run in the middle of the night and soak the carpet all the way down the hall and into the kitchen. Then there was the Death Chair that we rescued from the Dumpster on the day we moved in. The Death chair leaked foam rubber like you wouldn't believe. You could vacuum the floor, leave the chair alone overnight, and come in the living room in the morning to find a river of foam. It was incredible.

That wasn't the only piece of shitty furniture that we had. We got this nasty brown couch for like twenty bucks from the Nearly Nu shop that had no back legs, so that it was on a steep incline, and had probably been left out in the rain at some point

Then there was the time that Wes let off a fire extinguisher INSIDE the apartment just to see what it would do. It damn near killed us, that's what it did. We were coughing like Cheech and Chong the time they had gasoline all over them, Cheech farted, Chong lit a joint, and the van almost exploded. "God . . .DAMN . . . man!" We were cleaning that shit up for days. OK, I shouldn't lie--we probably never actually cleaned it up, just waited for it to finally dissipate. But we were finding that stuff on CDs for months. "Why is this Candlemass disc skipping?" "Oh, dude, it's probably got that powder on it." Terrible stuff. The powder, I mean.

Speaking of Candlemass, we actually had a Candlemass on the night we moved in. We sat around--er, make that lay around (we had no furniture yet) drinking Bacardi, burning candles (we had no power), and listening to Candlemass on a jam box. I think that was the night we got into the habit of burning candles so that the wax dripped down on liquor bottles so we'd end up with cool-looking, wax-covered Absolut and Bacardi bottles. The problem was that the goddamn wax went everywhere, and you can never get that stuff out of the carpet.

We also had a fantastic bull skull with these big-ass horns and scary teeth. We dubbed it The Bitchhawg and burned candles on it too. The Bitchhawg's pedestal was a piece of concrete pipe that had come from a drainage ditch or something; he stood about three feet high. Once we moved the Bitchhawg into the bedroom, put a speaker inside the pipe, hooked a microphone and a harmonizer (a piece of sound equipment that can change the pitch of the input sound) to it, and tried to make some chicks think the Bitchhawg was talking. I don't think it worked; we couldn't fill them full of enough Strawberry Hill and reefer for that. Then we made prank phone calls with the harmonizer and tried to make poor, random saps like Mozzie Frentz and Archie Chesser think they were talking to an angry God. "Mozzie? You're gonna die, sucker!"

*sigh* I'm going to HELL, man.