dear handsome

YEAAAHHHH!! high five. sup brutha. me and travis be drinking some beers at the office, friday night style man. we're superstars...

dude, peep this story.

so last night my landlord calls and he's like, 'bobsled, there's a leak in the restaurant right below your apartment, we need you to come home and let the super in so's he can fix that shit.' (note: this is a huge hint where i lives at all yous stalkers. good luck)

anyways, i'm all like, 'yeah, whatever, i'll be at the spot in like a minute.' so i hop the F train at herald square and pop back to the spot, bang on the door to the downstairs basement/apartment/pit of darkness and call for the super. open the door and the smell of weed is like overwhelming. like, the chronic man.

dude comes running up the stairs and he is ripped. blood shot eyes, the whole nine yards. i'm like, 'hey, mr. G says you need to get in my apartment to fix the radiator' and he's like 'oh yeah, lemme, um, lemme, um, oh, uh, lemme just get my, i just need to get my tools, i just need to get my tools real quick.' seriously, he was high as hell.

so he runs downstairs and then there's this pause. then he's like, "uhhhh, you wanna come downstairs for a minute." and, i'm like, hells yeah!! but less gay than that, more cool, you know how i do.

handsome, i've lived in that building for four years now, two of which you were partying at pretty regularly. and i've never, ever met someone who's been in the basement. imagine my excitement! i was like a kid on christmas morning (or channukah you jews)!! what the fuck is down there?? and why does it force my super and his buddies to smoke so much weed all the time.

well, actually, it was pretty anti-climatic from there. there was like a bathroom, and a chill out room, and three other thug-like kids passing a huge joint. it was the chronic, lemme tell you. they were all a bit stressed out and then i was like, 'damn, this is some good shit yo. i was just in amsterdam and man! they got the shit there!!" and everybody eased up, my super was like, "SEE! i told you everybody in this building smoke weed yo." hilarious. i threw out some pounds and like five point handshakes and 'ayight den, be good yo' that kinda stuff. i got all kinds of black friends.

then my super proceeds to come up to my apartment, high as a kite, and try to fix my radiator. HIGHLAERIOUS!! he couldn't do shit. he like, looked at the radiator, hit it with a wrench, twisted it for a second, looked at it some more and then pretty much left. he was like, "call me if anything happens."

five minutes later i'm watching the pistons kill the lakers when steam starts pouring out of that radiator thing. so i call him and he's like, "uhhhhh, turn it off till i come look at it."

and he hasn't been back yet!

happy weekend you fucking LA piece of shit, betch.