I hate to say it, but my husband and I have been considering purchasing this l’il Dutch Colonial torture chamber. Can you believe this is one of the better houses we've seen so far in Marine Park in our fantasy/delusional price range? Yes, certainly, there are redeeming qualities…but, isn’t that always how one thinks after one’s been tortured? Even the torturer can become appealing and desirable to the one who’s been tortured. You’ll take any fucking measly crumb you can take after a beating. Please! Behead me! It’ll feel good after the rack!
In this case, the torture begins with the asking price—half a million Gs—and more torture because we have almost no money to buy it. Begging has begun in earnest. I’m considering cooking meth in the basement to pad my pockets. There’s already a crack-den-like half-bath down there that would work well for toxic drainage from the meth cookage. Poor ventilation is not a consideration when you’re desperate for fast cash. My meth batch would never be Heisenberg quality, but this is real life, right?
Additional torture also includes coping with the interior of this lobster trap. It’s a wonder to behold. Why stop applying vinyl wood paneling in the living room when you can cover the entire house with it? It starts by the door and wraps along the entire living room (save the stairway area) through the kitchen and to the basement and begins again upstairs. Also, it's important to cover beautiful wood floors with gray-blue wall to wall carpeting. Here, I breath in deeply and imagine being hung upside down from the ceiling ala “Midnight Express” and having my feet beaten to death in the “living” room. The definition of “living” is endless in this landscape, but most likely it is closely linked to the “living dead.” Speaking of the living dead, there actually is a motorized stair lift going up the side of the stairs to the second floor (read: coffin area) used to the end of the living’s life (my kid's are playing with it over there...). And, behind every strange crevice I found piles of Jesus games and other bible junk. I’d also pray to the great Sky-Daddy if I were “living” in this bunker for 99 years.
The stair lift is no longer operating, so, yes, you have to force yourself—against your will and better judgment—to climb the steps to the miniature bedroom area on the second floor/coffin area. The listing notes this is a 3 bedroom house. Not exactly sure what they mean by “bedroom.” Maybe they mean you can put a bed in there and that’s it. Like, you open the door and immediately fall onto your bed—the way a corpse would fall into a coffin. And by “bed,” they may have been alluding to a rice-paper mat or a place mat or a coaster. Not sure. It’s all a blur, for you are forced to squint at what is before you as everything is so small.
I can’t discuss the kitchen in detail, for there hardly is one. It’s like driving through a small town, needing gas desperately and then missing the gas station because it’s so small you drive right passed it.
Anyway, as you quickly slip passed the brown hued kitchen you immediately tumble down the steps leading to the basement cum hedge-maze of odd walls and storage spaces. It’s like the Winchester Mystery House in California—you open a door and voila! A wall! Huh?
Anyway, as you quickly slip passed the brown hued kitchen you immediately tumble down the steps leading to the basement cum hedge-maze of odd walls and storage spaces. It’s like the Winchester Mystery House in California—you open a door and voila! A wall! Huh?
The basement is part Winchester Mystery House/drug den/semi-Abu Gharib torture chamber style setting. Note the meth-lab basement bathroom with cement tub where you can dismember bodies you don’t want lying around.
PS-- the toilet paper was hanging off a jerry-rigged metal hanger twisted through a hole in the wall. Ahhh, such bliss when yer takin' a piss!
PS-- the toilet paper was hanging off a jerry-rigged metal hanger twisted through a hole in the wall. Ahhh, such bliss when yer takin' a piss!
A furnace (?) with marshmallow asbestos filled fluff dripping over it? Quite possibly. I was getting ready to whip out my graham crackers and chocolate squares and scrape some off for s'mores, but, lo, I didn't have my crack pipe lighter to heat things up.
Soooooo....after you get over the fact that you may have to hold your nose while you rest in peace in this wood paneled coffin, you can enjoy a very nice, big back yard with actual plantings and green grass. There are sliders (with a broken screen) that open from the dining room to a small deck in the back. There’s a strange, heavy wooden roof top over the deck that occludes all light into the dining room (think: good for a vampire in a coffin), but with a massive sledge hammer and rage (built up from living in a coffin) this can be removed in a day or two. There’s even a large shed (another place to cook meth) in the back and a detached (unshared) driveway big enough to park two cars. Not sure what’s in the shed. Maybe tools? Corpses? Maybe there’s a 1967 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray Coupe that needs a little buffing?
Anyway… I have a dream of having a chicken coop with three l’il hens clucking around and laying eggs. I have a dream of not looking for a parking space for 55 minutes night after night after I get home from work. Eggs and a driveway. Fuck it. The coffin looks better and better.
Soooooo....after you get over the fact that you may have to hold your nose while you rest in peace in this wood paneled coffin, you can enjoy a very nice, big back yard with actual plantings and green grass. There are sliders (with a broken screen) that open from the dining room to a small deck in the back. There’s a strange, heavy wooden roof top over the deck that occludes all light into the dining room (think: good for a vampire in a coffin), but with a massive sledge hammer and rage (built up from living in a coffin) this can be removed in a day or two. There’s even a large shed (another place to cook meth) in the back and a detached (unshared) driveway big enough to park two cars. Not sure what’s in the shed. Maybe tools? Corpses? Maybe there’s a 1967 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray Coupe that needs a little buffing?
Anyway… I have a dream of having a chicken coop with three l’il hens clucking around and laying eggs. I have a dream of not looking for a parking space for 55 minutes night after night after I get home from work. Eggs and a driveway. Fuck it. The coffin looks better and better.