Brilliant!
By Jack Marx
Today seems as good a time as any to declare how proud I am of my house. I can't take credit for it, really, because it was built long ago by somebody else. I can't even call myself a "proud owner", because I only rent it off some old woman who lives down the way (whose children I never fail to ridicule whenever I see them walking by). Nevertheless, I'm proud of every inch of this house, and of all the people who've ever lived in it. Whenever I hear someone criticising anything to do with my house - a tradesmen lamenting the broken tiles on the roof, or an agent referring to some lousy past tenants - I fly into a rage and tell them to @#$% off, because nobody's going to pass judgment on my house, particularly those from other houses entirely. I don't even like it when my wife or little boy criticise our house, and when they do I tell them that if they don't like it here they can @#$% off and live in some other house. That's how much I love my house.
It's not a perfect house, by any means. There are many ways it could be improved. This I know. But when other people point these things out to me I tell them to @#$% off, and not before pointing out the problems of their houses. Because this is my house, and nobody has the right to criticise my house but me, particularly when their houses are such dumps by comparison.
I'm so proud of this house that, whenever visitors come inside, the first thing I ask of them is what they think of my house. If they say they don't care for it much, or suggest some way in which it might be made better, I tell them to @#$% off. You're not welcome in my house unless you love it.
There have been many people who've lived in this house who have done good things. I haven't known any of them personally, or been involved in the good deeds when they were done. But I'm very proud of those people and the things they've done, because they lived in this house when they did them.
Like the girl who used to live out the back who had sex with a guy from the big house across the river. He was a very rich guy and there's no denying his house is the biggest house around. I didn't know her, but it still makes me proud to think of a guy from that house wanting to have sex with her and not some girl from some other house. But then she went and moved into his house, so she can go @#$% herself.
We've got Asians next door. They're not a bad bunch, but their house isn't much. I've been inside - they've got some nice gardens and their food's alright, just for a change. But I wouldn't want to live in their house. Sometimes they come in here, just for a visit. I don't mind, so long as they don't bring too many friends. Don't want this becoming an Asian house.
The agent who manages my house is a wanker. He's mates with the guy who owns the big house across the river. I reckon they're poofs and they're @#$%ing each other. Some guy from the big house reckons so, too, so I told him to @#$% off, 'cos his guy's a bigger poof than my guy. Still, I reckon they're @#$%ing each other.
Everyone from the big house is a wanker. All they do in that house is watch television. It's a very big house with many rooms and lots of people in it, and I suppose it's possible a lot more goes on in that house that people like me don't know about. Still, they're all wankers in that house. All they do is watch television.
The colours of my house are very important to me. They were chosen and painted by somebody else, and I'm not sure I would have chosen the same ones they did. Still, I love the colours of this house, because they are the colours of my house. Every year, to celebrate the day we moved in here, I paint my little boy's face with the colours of our house and parade him around. I am never more proud of my little boy than when his face is buried in the colours of my house.
You'll have to excuse me. The people across the way just held a race and some guy who used to live in this house beat everyone hands down.
I've got to go and @#$% myself.