Where the EFF is that damn bunny? I need an apartment!
Today I was exposed to the infrastructure of the New York City Rental Circus. As an outsider, you might think “what is that - there is no such thing,” but on the contrary, there very much is such a thing.
Today I met Blanche. A 60-something woman (I’d bet all my peanuts that she has spent her entire life tanning) with tattooed eyeliner and an equal amount of lipstick on her bottom lip and teeth (she no longer had a top lip). Her hair boasted a magnificent sheen that would make any mechanic jealous and her troupe of clowns (aka brokers) despised her. They showed us around the barracks (aka apartments) available within their commune (rental conglomerate). After navigating through the popcorn-saturated hallways (no aka there) we arrived at 12F.
A woman with a red nose and pinstriped onesie rammed a key in a door. “Jingle jaggle” pause “jingle, jingle, jaggle” pause. (This proceeded for 25 seconds, I kid you not.) Finally, after spitting into the keyhole, the door opened. Viola: Ben and I stood and saw where they stored the lions.
In unison, we sang the most popular circus song we knew. “No thanks [redacted] properties, we will pass on your available apartment jungle even though it is flattering that you will offer it to us for $3,500. We do love the fact that the Coney Island retirees have taken refuge here but we’re gonna have to pass.”
Then I met Norm. Norm was the lion tamer at a different zoo in the West Village. He had no available cages (apartments) but suggested the following: “Walk up a block, around the corner, and make a left at the knife-swallower. There, underneath the lowest branch a man named Juan lives. If you offer him just the correct amount of carrots he will give you a magic bunny. If you are nice to the bunny, he will show you an apartment. If the bunny doesn’t like how you smell, he will say NO THIS IS A CO-OP - so make sure you smell good”.
I wonder if Norm has any cotton candy cologne we can borrow to lure the long eared guy into our den.
