American Slobcore

I live with three very messy men. I myself am a huge slob. This makes for a roach-filled disease-pit of a rat-hole pigsty house.

It's hard for me to find places to live and even harder to find a landlord who is oblivious enough to let us stay there and destroy their property. We have been destroying this house for almost two years now, and I can't believe nothing has happened.

Maybe it's because we live on the hub of the crack center of Chicago and, even when a full streetlight collapses on the corner, nobody picks it up for weeks. The whores and drug dealers just step over it and wait for the live wires to come and electrocute one of the children.

Recently our landlord decided that this crack-pile of a neighborhood was not getting white fast enough for him, so he wanted to sell this place. In order to sell it, though, he has to show our half of the house. Good luck!
Since we live in a horrible shit den, the landlord hired maids who claimed to be really good at cleaning big fucking messes. These maids came over and told me, not to my total surprise, that this was one of the few places that they had ever seen that they would not even touch. That made me feel great. Fucking assholes.

My landlord's daughter lives beneath us and she's handling everything. She's about nine months pregnant and ready to explode out a parasite, so she's all bitchy and pissed that we have ruined the apartment.

This got me thinking about the probably 15 other places that I had lived in, however briefly, and how I've gotten evicted from each one of them. It's pretty amazing, some of the damage I have done.

In one house, I decided to raise chickens, and there was room in the backyard to have these chickens, and I was a good mom, except chickens shit … a lot. And having a concrete slab filled with chicken shit would piss our Ukrainian landlord off to hell. But his kids seemed to like the chickens.

Another landlord stormed in once, shut off the power, and told me and my roommates to leave by the next day or he would kill us all. Now I know that there is some kind of eviction process involving a lot of paperwork; I didn't know it involved threats on our lives.

But perhaps the worst I ever did--with the help of about 30 people in the matter of three months--was to completely destroy a storefront right next to the Congress Theater. The living situation started out very optimistically, with lots of promises of turning the place into a vegan coffee shop or some bullshit. Of course, it was not long until we got the vegans out and the crack addicts in.

My roommates and I then had a rave with about 600 people in the basement, and then a truck started parking across the street watching our every move. I felt really cool. There was something about having one of those trucks watching you, at least for me, that gave me some reason to live. It was even better than having a stalker.

We got paid in hits of acid to have the rave in our place so we, all 16 of us, were on various large amounts of acid and we just completely destroyed the place. Downstairs there were a bunch of ravers dancing and being idiots and upstairs there was us, a bunch of legally insane drug addicts ripping our own ceiling out and laughing hysterically about it.

I realized that some serious shit was happening when a pipe in the basement broke and water would not stop coming out of it. But I was way early in my thinking. I kept thinking it couldn't get worse and it did.

Someone threw a rock through the glass door. Air conditioning pipes fell out of the ceiling and were ripped to shreds. We had already had a hole in the bathroom wall big enough so that you could see anyone doing his or her business and watch whenever you wanted to, but I think the destruction culminated when the toilet was smashed--and the floor started flooding with shit.
That's how we knew the party was over, when the toilet died. It usually tells you something.

The next day our house was raided by cops and we had guns pushed up against our heads. We had a Mexican guy sleeping in the basement using his kilo of coke as his pillow. When the cops came in they were floored. But they did not find anything, very much to my surprise. Where did the crack pillow go?

One man showed me after the police had left. He pulled out all his back teeth and then dumped a bunch of rocks he had been hiding in there into my hands. I was thoroughly impressed.

This was all about six years ago. From there, my roommates moved into another poor unsuspecting house in Lincoln Park and our drug habits got bigger, I got more pets, and the house got completely destroyed in three months.
We had a dead raccoon named Chauncey in the freezer who was our pet and we would have visitors over and ask them to get us a beer out of the freezer and open it to find Chauncey's big glassy eyes and teeth flashing at them. This house was also oddly equipped with a pigeon coop. So occasionally we would get pigeons there with little bracelets on saying who they were. It was really exciting when one showed up.

The landlord of this place was this bizarre pervert who decided to show up at our house in a dress upon our moving in. He was extremely rich and lived next door and would have extravagant parties with underage girls where he would feed us coke and let us amuse his friends while they watched hardcore porn on this guy's huge television upstairs.
He soon got tired of us after he realized that we were destroying the fuck out of his shitty house next door. Then he told us that his uncle was the mayor and that our families were going to "live with the fishes" because of what we had done to his house. Again, this was not a tactic that I thought was a step in the usual eviction process, but what can you do?
We weren't normal tenants, and even though we paid the rent, we were very efficient at destroying places in very short amounts of time.

So here I sit now, six years later, in another house … waiting to get evicted. Maids won't clean it, and I wonder what the fuck the problem is. I like to blame it on everyone else, but the fact is that I'm just a fucking slob and that's all there is to it.

I lived with clean people once, and I kept the place clean, but that was almost worlds of time ago. In a different life. Maybe it can happen again, but it's hard to change when you wake up in a shitty filth-filled wastoid slob house and you surround yourself with wastoid cum-bags like me.

Do I even want things to change?

Sometimes I have to say no.

I'll probably live in roach-pits like this for the rest of my life, but that doesn't mean I'll ever stop complaining about it.