Friday, July 14, 2006

Big Blogger 2 - Task # Eleven Eleven Eleven

This week, Big Bloggah has decided to put the cyberhouse up for sale. The lovely cyberhouse that all of us have worked so hard to make livable will be sold off to the highest bidder like a cheap pair of shoes... or Paris Hilton's dignity.

With all the nonsense from moving, I've been light on the blogging - not posting as often or as early as I'd like to. Consequently, Hillbilly Mom beat me to the punch with the sales pitch to beat all sales pitches. Generally, I've always gone into the weekly challenges with the mindset that I would post something that could top anyone else's entry... but not this week. HM has me beat in the "selling the cyberhouse" competition, hands down. So, in true Big Blogger fashion I'll throw in my own twist and write a non-sales pitch, as we look into a posting from the future... all the way from the year 2000.

For Sale, Cheap: Gaudy-assed eyesore in "urban" neighborhood.

This four-roomed monstrocity has recently been condemned by the local zoning board, but don't let that piddling little fact come between you and your dream home! Just imagine all the entertainment you'll have trying to discern if the architecture was designed by a crackhead, a dyslexic baboon, or even Margot Kidder on a bender.

The sleeping quarters leave nothing to be desired by the ursine members of your family. In fact, they'll want to spend half the year lounging about in its cozy warmth. Non-bears, however may take exception to sleeping in a fricking cave. A cave with a portal directly to the inferno, no less. Oh sure, it's a great lark for those of you with small children or stubborn grandmas that refuse to pass on... but why buy when you can rent?

This house is ideal for singles too, because it comes with its own squatter! That's right, folks - the kitchen is currently occupied by Carlos, a swarthy layabout of questionable immigration status who likes nothing more than to relax on the countertops while you're trying to make a sandwich. When asked about his future plans when the cyberhouse changes hands, Carlos told us he might consider going back to school if he could find a new place... or maybe he'd try and get the band back together. At least I think that's what he said, my spanish isn't that great. Does anyone know what "Si, si. Frijoles con queso, por favor." means?

The luxurious seating arrangements and personal home electronics in the living room have long since been looted by the local youths and bogans, though they're on display at a few local trailer parks if you're interested in taking a look. Unfortunately, the sex hammocks are still readily available... along with the lesion-addled occupants who were infamous for their "comforting" skills during the cyberhouse's heyday in the seventies.

Speaking of the seventies, don't go in the back yard. Oh. My. God. There isn't a sufficient amount of smurfs to gag yourself with when you see the hideous Tiki nightmare that has infested itself behind the house. I cound't stomach the place for more than a minute, but I think I saw a vagrant urinating in the hottub... maybe it was the glare off all the colored lights, but I could swear he looked like he'd been dead for a couple dozen years or so.

However, if you're into having grizzled hippies and other crusty types crash in your house with no notice (and less of an invitation) then you'll thrill to the sights and smells of the basement. What was once the private showplace for kick-ass rock & rollers Van Halen, is now a sad monument to their legacy. When Valerice Bertinelli divorced Eddie, the band spiraled into self-destruction and took their playground with them. Occasionally, David Lee Roth puts in an appearance... but it's just a pretense to score herion off the worn-out dregs who crash in this dank hole.

I'm sure you're saying to your self "Self, is this entire house nothing more than a sad collection of dirty broken lives?" Well, let me assure you that nothing could be further from the truth! The toilet is immaculately clean, and while not exactly April-fresh, the cloying odor of Drakkar Noir does make one forget the dilapidated mildew smell of the other rooms.
Yes, the toilet is a sight to perk up the heart of any housewife or mother. however, our lawyers require us to advise you that while you can look to your heart's content, don't touch anything in the room. Even entering the lavatory can prove hazardous ever since a computer glitch caused the automatic cleaning system to develop an acute germ-phobia. It now regards all life-forms as filthy disease-ridden pustules that must be cleansed from the face of the earth... although with the current resident of the house, can you really blame it?

It's a lovely shade of pink though, don't you think?

If you're this desperate to buy, you're obviously a deluded celebrity, location scouting for a porn flick... or both. In any case, make sure your innoculations are up to date and then contact Hammerica Realtors & Pawn Shop at the earliest possible date. Let's close the deal before the bulldozers do!

The Rest
of The Usual Suspects:
The Rachy

Hillbilly Mom
Redneck Diva

and the interloper outerloper, Doctor Evil

Previous Big Blogger 2 posts:
Theyyyyyyyy're Mediocre!
Infectious Grooves
The Shame of the Monkeybars
Roses Have Thorns: The Kleenex Box Ode
Abe Dawg's Playing Poker
Postcards From the Hedge
Your Friendly Neighborhood Asshole
You can't HANDLE the TRUTH!
Get 'em while they're hot!
Peeping In Windows... Sort Of.
The Attention Span of Modern Thought
Stew-Diddy Goes Electioneering
Friday the Post-teenth
Vote Whoring Two: Electric Boogaloo
Politicians Are All Pricks


Blogger Rebecca said...

This Is Big Blogger.

I have selected you to sell the Cyberhouse Stewee, I like your style.

This Has Been Big Blogger

2:17 AM, July 15, 2006  

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