Popcorn... candy corn... movies... soda pop... fire escape. What did you think?
I'm exceedingly pleased that there is only a minimum day of school between me and spring break, along with all of the great stuff that's going to entail, like Easter dinner, Kauai, and everything else. So pleased, in fact, that I was inspired to write a story about a landlord who eats his tenants when they don't pay their rent. Joy!
Room and Board
“The sun is sitting beautifully in the sky this evening,” the fat landlord said to himself as he chewed through the gristle of his former tenant’s arm. “The way it hangs like a red balloon, oozing orange into the horizon. Simply remarkable.”
He’d always fancied himself a bit of a poet, and in between chomping on the chewy morsels of his old tenant, he rattled off flowery figurative language, taking advantage of the chipper mood a tasty dinner invariably gave him. “Almost to die for, wouldn’t you say, Dave?” He addressed the large plastic tub behind him that contained the raw remains of his hacked-up neighbor. “I jest, of course,” he said to what was at one point a man called David. His terribly clichéd and hackneyed remark, notably untactful and unoriginally usual, was just another product of the joyful mood his dinner put him in.
A small terrier ran out of the sliding glass doors of the man’s third-story apartment onto the small patio where the man was enjoying his meal. It barked its shrill, abnormally high-pitched bark, and the man’s eyes shifted from the skies to the dog. “What do you want, Byron?” inquired the man. “Did Daddy forget to set out a place for you? Oh, tsk, tsk…” The landlord reached into the plastic tub with a large pair of barbeque tongs and pulled out a blood-soaked hand for his scruffy companion. “There you go, puppy,” he said in an apologetic tone. “And when you’re all finished, you can play with the bones.” Byron barked again, seemingly unsatisfied by the fat man’s offering. “What is it, boy? I thought you loved the hands.”
From inside his apartment there came a knock on the door. The fat landlord took the folded napkin from his lap and wiped his lips. “Now, now,” he said to Byron, “who could that be disturbing my dinner?” He pushed back the chair and stood up. He was wearing a nice suit, made up of a black vest, a crisp white shirt, and a tie with a particularly classy pattern. His belly protruded from the center of his torso and pushed out the buttons of his vest. He squeezed through the opening of the sliding glass door, closing both it and its curtain behind him, and stepped into his poorly furnished and decaying living room.
The place looked like it had never been dusted, and around the dimly-lit room sat various empty food containers, pizza boxes, and beer bottles. An old television, its screen cracked in two places from the struggle with David, sat face up on the floor next to its stand, and in the corner of the room, a phonograph piped Miles Davis tunes through the apartment as the record wobbled against the needle. The landlord walked over to the record player and lifted the needle, scratching Davis’s frantic trumpet solo into a punctuated silence. Another knock sounded against the landlord’s wooden door. “Just a second, I’ll be right there,” he said while self-consciously wiping the rest of the former tenant’s blood from his lips and running his fingers through his thin, graying hair.
The landlord reached out for the doorknob and turned. A flood of light rushed into the room, changing the apartment’s hue from yellow to white, and standing before the landlord were two men in black jackets.
“Excuse me sir,” said the man on the left, noticeably younger than the man on the right. “We’re with the San Francisco Police Department.” The two officers flashed their badges while the landlord’s chubby face remained stony and unaffected. “We’ve had a disturbance call for this apartment. Apparently, your neighbors heard something that sounded like a chainsaw coming from here a few hours ago. May we come in?”
The fat landlord smiled at the two detectives. “Most certainly. That is, of course, if I may see a search warrant.”
“Well, now that you mention it,” said the older detective on the right, taking on a smug grin, “we’ve got our search warrant right here.” The detective took and unfolded a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to the fat landlord. It was signed by a judge and dated just a couple of days after the landlord’s last tenant went missing under similarly mysterious circumstances. The fat landlord’s forehead began to sweat.
“Ah… yes… well, I’ve only set one place for dinner, so I don’t think you’ll be able to join me this evening.” The landlord attempted to shut the door in the detectives’ faces, but the younger man managed to get his foot in the door before he could do so.
“I’m going to ask you to step out of the way, and then I’m going to have to ask you to let us in.” The fat landlord hesitantly obliged, stepping out of the way and pulling open the door.
“Of course, officer. You’ll pardon the mess, I hope - I haven’t yet had time to clean.”
“Don’t bother. We’ll have forensics in to do it for you. They love a good clean, ain’t that right Detective Carter?”
“You’re damn straight. They’d have this place cleaned spotless in no time.” The landlord stood stoically next to the front door while the two detectives looked around. Fortunately for him, aside from the mess of empty containers and the broken TV, it didn’t quite resemble the type of mess the detectives were looking for. The landlord had taken care to scrub away David’s blood and had gotten rid of the chainsaw he’d used to cut the former tenant into pieces. The sliding glass door that led to David’s final resting place in the landlord’s plastic tub was behind the door’s curtain, hiding the tub from the detectives’ notice.
“I don’t see anything, Detective,” said the younger policeman to the older one. “Nothing but this broken TV. Care to explain how that happened, mister?”
“Ah… yes… well, what can I say? I’m a clumsy man. I knocked it over while I was trying to turn it off. Actually, that could have been the noise that the neighbors heard.”
“You gotta be shittin’ me,” said the older detective. “You tellin’ me you accidently knocked over a twenty-seven inch TV screen while you were tryin’ to turn it off? And that when it fell over, it made the sound of a chainsaw? Excuse my French, guy, but you’ve gotta be fuckin’ joking.”
“But I don’t own a chainsaw,” said the landlord. “What would I do with a chainsaw?”
“That’s what I aim to find out.” The detectives continued their search of the apartment, going through the various rooms, making sure one of them always had an eye on the fat landlord who stayed stationary all the while.
After a few minutes, the detectives became impatient and disheartened. Their search was proving fruitless, and they were fed up with the landlord’s disaffected confidence. With their final searches ending without their preferred and intended results, the two detectives reconvened in the landlord’s living room and the younger one shook his head in disappointment.
“Looks like it’s your lucky day. We didn’t find a goddamn thing. Sorry to disturb your dinner, mister.” The older detective’s face suddenly scrunched up in an inquisitive expression.
“Dinner? What dinner? I don’t see your dinner anywhere in here.” The fat landlord began to make an excuse.
“Ah… well, you see, I was just finishing up as you walked in…” Suddenly, a shrill bark sounded from the patio as Bryon noisily scratched at the closed sliding glass doors. The landlord’s face went white as a ghost.
“What the hell is that? You got a dog, mister?”
“No. I don’t know what that could be. Anyway, you were just leaving, weren’t you--” The scratching continued, interrupting his frantic attempt to send the two detectives away.
The younger detective moved toward the door. He pulled back the curtain, and, after their eyes had adjusted to the sudden flood of natural sunlight into the darkened living room, all of the men looked toward the apartment’s patio.
Behind the sliding glass door stood Bryon, a severely mangled human hand in his teeth dripping blood onto the concrete ground as he sat waiting for the detective to open the door and let him in. Behind Bryon was the tub filled with David and a small dinner table set for one.
The two detectives stood dumbfounded as they found themselves staring at the heinous and disturbing scene on the patio. The younger detective, closest to the glass door and green from inexperience and deeply disgusted, vomited. The older detective simply stood there with a shocked look on his face.
“Ah, yes. There’s my dinner. Like I said, I’ve only set the table for one. Then again,” said the landlord to the two detectives, “there’s plenty to go around.”
I've been pretty happy lately. I think it's just because of the weather and the fact that my college plans are pretty much set now, and that everything is just going right for some reason. School is going by really quickly, graduation is coming up fast. That's pretty exciting, too. I'm glad that I'm going to get to study writing in college, and that it's going to be a new experience, and that I'm going to meet new people. That surprises me, but in an uncharacteristically pleasing way.
Just as a side note, anyone who is a fan of Aqua Teen Hunger Force or Mr. Show (or both, as it is for a few of you) show check out the Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters site and click on the link that says "I Love Movies," 'cause it's a video of Bob Odenkirk as a film critic asking Dana Synder (the voice of Master Shake) some questions about the movie. It's hilarious.
Since I'm not probably not going to post anything else for a while, I'm just going to wish an all-around happy Spring Break to everyone, and I hope you do a lot of cool stuff with cool people. If nothing else, see the ATHF movie 'cause it's coming out on Friday the 13th and it's going to be awesome.
Room and Board
“The sun is sitting beautifully in the sky this evening,” the fat landlord said to himself as he chewed through the gristle of his former tenant’s arm. “The way it hangs like a red balloon, oozing orange into the horizon. Simply remarkable.”
He’d always fancied himself a bit of a poet, and in between chomping on the chewy morsels of his old tenant, he rattled off flowery figurative language, taking advantage of the chipper mood a tasty dinner invariably gave him. “Almost to die for, wouldn’t you say, Dave?” He addressed the large plastic tub behind him that contained the raw remains of his hacked-up neighbor. “I jest, of course,” he said to what was at one point a man called David. His terribly clichéd and hackneyed remark, notably untactful and unoriginally usual, was just another product of the joyful mood his dinner put him in.
A small terrier ran out of the sliding glass doors of the man’s third-story apartment onto the small patio where the man was enjoying his meal. It barked its shrill, abnormally high-pitched bark, and the man’s eyes shifted from the skies to the dog. “What do you want, Byron?” inquired the man. “Did Daddy forget to set out a place for you? Oh, tsk, tsk…” The landlord reached into the plastic tub with a large pair of barbeque tongs and pulled out a blood-soaked hand for his scruffy companion. “There you go, puppy,” he said in an apologetic tone. “And when you’re all finished, you can play with the bones.” Byron barked again, seemingly unsatisfied by the fat man’s offering. “What is it, boy? I thought you loved the hands.”
From inside his apartment there came a knock on the door. The fat landlord took the folded napkin from his lap and wiped his lips. “Now, now,” he said to Byron, “who could that be disturbing my dinner?” He pushed back the chair and stood up. He was wearing a nice suit, made up of a black vest, a crisp white shirt, and a tie with a particularly classy pattern. His belly protruded from the center of his torso and pushed out the buttons of his vest. He squeezed through the opening of the sliding glass door, closing both it and its curtain behind him, and stepped into his poorly furnished and decaying living room.
The place looked like it had never been dusted, and around the dimly-lit room sat various empty food containers, pizza boxes, and beer bottles. An old television, its screen cracked in two places from the struggle with David, sat face up on the floor next to its stand, and in the corner of the room, a phonograph piped Miles Davis tunes through the apartment as the record wobbled against the needle. The landlord walked over to the record player and lifted the needle, scratching Davis’s frantic trumpet solo into a punctuated silence. Another knock sounded against the landlord’s wooden door. “Just a second, I’ll be right there,” he said while self-consciously wiping the rest of the former tenant’s blood from his lips and running his fingers through his thin, graying hair.
The landlord reached out for the doorknob and turned. A flood of light rushed into the room, changing the apartment’s hue from yellow to white, and standing before the landlord were two men in black jackets.
“Excuse me sir,” said the man on the left, noticeably younger than the man on the right. “We’re with the San Francisco Police Department.” The two officers flashed their badges while the landlord’s chubby face remained stony and unaffected. “We’ve had a disturbance call for this apartment. Apparently, your neighbors heard something that sounded like a chainsaw coming from here a few hours ago. May we come in?”
The fat landlord smiled at the two detectives. “Most certainly. That is, of course, if I may see a search warrant.”
“Well, now that you mention it,” said the older detective on the right, taking on a smug grin, “we’ve got our search warrant right here.” The detective took and unfolded a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to the fat landlord. It was signed by a judge and dated just a couple of days after the landlord’s last tenant went missing under similarly mysterious circumstances. The fat landlord’s forehead began to sweat.
“Ah… yes… well, I’ve only set one place for dinner, so I don’t think you’ll be able to join me this evening.” The landlord attempted to shut the door in the detectives’ faces, but the younger man managed to get his foot in the door before he could do so.
“I’m going to ask you to step out of the way, and then I’m going to have to ask you to let us in.” The fat landlord hesitantly obliged, stepping out of the way and pulling open the door.
“Of course, officer. You’ll pardon the mess, I hope - I haven’t yet had time to clean.”
“Don’t bother. We’ll have forensics in to do it for you. They love a good clean, ain’t that right Detective Carter?”
“You’re damn straight. They’d have this place cleaned spotless in no time.” The landlord stood stoically next to the front door while the two detectives looked around. Fortunately for him, aside from the mess of empty containers and the broken TV, it didn’t quite resemble the type of mess the detectives were looking for. The landlord had taken care to scrub away David’s blood and had gotten rid of the chainsaw he’d used to cut the former tenant into pieces. The sliding glass door that led to David’s final resting place in the landlord’s plastic tub was behind the door’s curtain, hiding the tub from the detectives’ notice.
“I don’t see anything, Detective,” said the younger policeman to the older one. “Nothing but this broken TV. Care to explain how that happened, mister?”
“Ah… yes… well, what can I say? I’m a clumsy man. I knocked it over while I was trying to turn it off. Actually, that could have been the noise that the neighbors heard.”
“You gotta be shittin’ me,” said the older detective. “You tellin’ me you accidently knocked over a twenty-seven inch TV screen while you were tryin’ to turn it off? And that when it fell over, it made the sound of a chainsaw? Excuse my French, guy, but you’ve gotta be fuckin’ joking.”
“But I don’t own a chainsaw,” said the landlord. “What would I do with a chainsaw?”
“That’s what I aim to find out.” The detectives continued their search of the apartment, going through the various rooms, making sure one of them always had an eye on the fat landlord who stayed stationary all the while.
After a few minutes, the detectives became impatient and disheartened. Their search was proving fruitless, and they were fed up with the landlord’s disaffected confidence. With their final searches ending without their preferred and intended results, the two detectives reconvened in the landlord’s living room and the younger one shook his head in disappointment.
“Looks like it’s your lucky day. We didn’t find a goddamn thing. Sorry to disturb your dinner, mister.” The older detective’s face suddenly scrunched up in an inquisitive expression.
“Dinner? What dinner? I don’t see your dinner anywhere in here.” The fat landlord began to make an excuse.
“Ah… well, you see, I was just finishing up as you walked in…” Suddenly, a shrill bark sounded from the patio as Bryon noisily scratched at the closed sliding glass doors. The landlord’s face went white as a ghost.
“What the hell is that? You got a dog, mister?”
“No. I don’t know what that could be. Anyway, you were just leaving, weren’t you--” The scratching continued, interrupting his frantic attempt to send the two detectives away.
The younger detective moved toward the door. He pulled back the curtain, and, after their eyes had adjusted to the sudden flood of natural sunlight into the darkened living room, all of the men looked toward the apartment’s patio.
Behind the sliding glass door stood Bryon, a severely mangled human hand in his teeth dripping blood onto the concrete ground as he sat waiting for the detective to open the door and let him in. Behind Bryon was the tub filled with David and a small dinner table set for one.
The two detectives stood dumbfounded as they found themselves staring at the heinous and disturbing scene on the patio. The younger detective, closest to the glass door and green from inexperience and deeply disgusted, vomited. The older detective simply stood there with a shocked look on his face.
“Ah, yes. There’s my dinner. Like I said, I’ve only set the table for one. Then again,” said the landlord to the two detectives, “there’s plenty to go around.”
I've been pretty happy lately. I think it's just because of the weather and the fact that my college plans are pretty much set now, and that everything is just going right for some reason. School is going by really quickly, graduation is coming up fast. That's pretty exciting, too. I'm glad that I'm going to get to study writing in college, and that it's going to be a new experience, and that I'm going to meet new people. That surprises me, but in an uncharacteristically pleasing way.
Just as a side note, anyone who is a fan of Aqua Teen Hunger Force or Mr. Show (or both, as it is for a few of you) show check out the Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters site and click on the link that says "I Love Movies," 'cause it's a video of Bob Odenkirk as a film critic asking Dana Synder (the voice of Master Shake) some questions about the movie. It's hilarious.
Since I'm not probably not going to post anything else for a while, I'm just going to wish an all-around happy Spring Break to everyone, and I hope you do a lot of cool stuff with cool people. If nothing else, see the ATHF movie 'cause it's coming out on Friday the 13th and it's going to be awesome.