Before you start posting irrational hate mail, hear me out. I love me some pork product. When cooked properly, bacon could bring about world peace. No joke.
But then I found this. And I’m confronting the demons of my greatest culinary love.
Yes, that is a real, taxidermied piggy turned piggy-bank. For the
reasonable insane price of $4000 (not including packaging or shipping), you can have a “died of natural causes” piglet hollowed out, preserved, and fitted with a coin storage pouch and cork plug. Oddly enough, it is not mentioned where said plug is installed. And I’m not sure I want to know. Half the money is due up front and the other half is due 12 months later when Pork Knox is finally complete. You know, so you can spend an entire year drinking away the nightmares of that sweet little porcine face looking deep into your eyes and consuming your soul like so much salty bacon.
Pork may be off my menu for a while.
And if that’s not enough fuckery for you this week, here are a few more love letters of doom from the walking, talking mental disorder that is my day job.
So you have “cash flow problems.”
Your rent was due 2 weeks ago, and despite numerous phone calls, you haven’t felt the need to pay up. So it should come as no surprise to you that I won’t be letting you make payment arrangements on the day that we filed your eviction paperwork. Given all the drugs/paraphernalia in your apartment on a daily basis, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where rent is and I’m more than reasonably certain that the judge won’t buy your sob story either. Court is really just a formality at this point. You should probably just pack your bags and call mommy to get your room ready for you.
Adulthood is a bitch, ain’t it?
I know you’re all butt hurt that I just sent you an invoice for a few grand worth of damages you did to the building, but suck it. This ain’t my first rodeo, wank blanket. Having your lawyer parents call to drop hints about their legal careers and making vague lawsuit threats clearly isn’t very effective. Also, I took the liberty of emailing them police reports and photos naming you as vandals and drunken public nuisances. So now that you’re grounded at the age of 22 because you’re still attached to your parental units at the purse strings, your next best option is not to call me with fabricated work orders. I know that your dishwasher isn’t broken because I know that you don’t have a dishwasher in that apartment. And that rotten ass smell you keep complaining about? Given that nobody in the building likes you, I’m pretty sure that another resident in the building has been spraying it under your door intentionally. See, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that there’s a big contest to see who can make you the most miserable. Hell, I’d play the ultimate endgame card and set your dumb asses on fire, but seeing as how you’re Jewish, I’m pretty sure they’d try it as a hate crime.
If you’re micromanaging, you clearly don’t have enough of your own work to do.
Easily 85% of my job is to rent property, and to that end, I’ve already done a damn fine job this year. That said, it would go faster and much more smoothly if property owners would stop arguing with me when I say that the property is overpriced compared to the comps, and stop ignoring that beautiful fucking spreadsheet that I gave you outlining the proof. If I keep pushing your numbers, you will have many, many vacancies for which you will blame me, and try to deny me a well deserved raise. I will respond by setting my resignation to an interpretive dance that ends with me shitting on your desk. Then I will cite this very conversation when I’m giving you the finger on my way out. I know you have trust issues with anyone in possession of a vagina, but I also have some brass balls and I know what I’m doing. Now let me do my damn job.
Frustrated? Tearing your hair out? Rolled your eyes so much you’ve had an aneurysm? Lost your innocence? Let your hate flow into the comments.