Thursday, April 21, 2005

Son of a bitch. And son of a landlord. There's chores in heaven too.

Top of the morning gents,

I can remember way back to when I was 9 fucking years
old. I was cussing to myself, out of earshot of Cully
and my dad, that when I grow up, I’ll do things my
way; way better cuz I won’t ever do chores when I grow up.

I also remember when I was 14, cussing under my breath
this same sentiment. You can’t bullshit me; vacuum
cleaners, carpet cleaners, and Murphy’s oil soap don’t
equal “power tools.”

Just a few years back, I flew all the way from
Frankfurt, Germany to Pullman, Washington to help my
father with the finishing touches, landscape, and
clean up on a house restoration project, readying it
for the realtors for sale.

Ya know something; despite receiving $25 an hour,
meals, lodging, free beer and wine, and a wonderful
summer in the sun with my pops, I griped a little then
too.

I’m not just a whiner, I’m white. My Eskimo wife
calls my blonde dumb ass “Super White.” White cunts
like me bitch for the sake of bitching. Finns
especially; we suffer best.

Shit, I’d bitch if ya lynched my ass with a brand new
rope.

Years have gone by. I’m old now. My blonde hair is
now blending nicely with lots of silver. Our Sara
Magnum is all grown up with baby Inukuns of her own,
and I’m looking back at pert near a dozen home
purchases and turn-arounds, and at the ripe old age of
43, I’m still humping and grunting all over rental
properties.

‘Cept I ain’t bitching so much no more, I’m “painting
to clean”, “sucking shit” and “gorping” my own rental
properties. It’s funner when yer the landlord, not
the landlord’s son and grandson.

Our tenant moved out this week, and I had a new
customer in the pocket patiently waiting to move in.
So, within a tight 24 hour time period, I had the
pleasure of playing with “power tools”, for the
millionth fucking time.

Just like riding a mountain bike, I been doing this
shit for a hunnert years now. Humans will forever be
in need of office space and living space, me and my
pretty Mrs. are the team that provides these; at a
tidy profit.

For the last day or so, I vacuumed, wiped counters,
mopped floors, cleaned windows and sills, oiled all
the woodwork and cabinetry, with a grand finale of a
thorough steam cleaning and power suck job on all the
carpets.

Here’s the kewl part. Dude renter shows up with
dineros (over a coupla grand) in hand, signs my
Jew-ass Heeb-strangling lease without blinking, and
then shakes MY hand.

Way cool.

Strange how life works out, huh? We think we’ll do
everything different when we grow up. Not much
difference between myself and my dad and gramps.

I’m also doing my part to improve my neighborhood. I
snagged me a uniformed felon for a tenant. This muke
spent 4 years in the Marines, then puts his own ass
through paramedic and ambulance tech school. With the
inevitable domestic and subsistence violence on my
street, it’ll come in handy to have a paramedic
nearby.

A young Troxell in the making; I’m starting to like
this guy. I also like having an EMT response unit
parked in my front yard. It’s not as good as having
Columbo and his patrol car out front, but dern good
enough.

The lesson I learned best in all the years I was away
schooling had already been simply and clearly stated
by Warren Buffet, “invest in what you know.”

With regards to the North Slope Borough School
District needing our entire duplex, they’ve postponed
announcement until later in June, so I’ll keep this
soldier as tenant paying our mortgage on a
month-to-month basis until we hear which landlord is
awarded the 3-year lease public offering.

Busy shit ain’t I?

Of course I won’t be bitching about building
maintenance nearly as much as I did when I worked for
other landlords, my gramps and paps.

Now that the apartment is occupied, I can rest my
busted knuckles, clean my tools and equipment and get
back to composing amusing vignettes to you lot.

Mind you, fictional vignettes, of course.

I hope to report more exciting shit soon. I’m still
roughing a draft about the time Officer Octuck was
dispatched to North Tent City to arrest a tall white
guy that was shooting a machine gun at a target
floating in the lagoon.

Nothing illegal, just a dirty 22 pistol that cycled
out ammunition as long as I held the trigger down. I
swear, I’d never alter a firearm. Fuck ye too.

As usual, I was given a ride in the patrol car.

I best get my chores done.


Karl.

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