My Tap Water Looks Like Goat’s Milk, and Other Strange “Features” of My Abode

A lot of you (none of you, actually) have been asking me about what my house is like, trying to get a better understanding of the genius whose work you regularly peruse.

You may be surprised that I don’t exactly live in a Malibu beach mansion (but that will change soon, I assure you).

In fact, I would even go as far as saying that my house isn’t even really the “liveable” type, but I make do.

And so, if you’d like a short textual tour of my “Writer’s Hovel”, read this blog post and cry for me.

The Kitchen Sinks To One Side As If It’s Drunk On Something Distilled In A Bathtub

Or maybe it was the architect who was drunk on magical good time juice.

Or maybe it’s the foundation itself that’s drunk on Grandma’s Lightning Syrup.

Either way, you know how you get mad at the room for not being still while you’re tipsy? Imagine that feeling every fucking morning accompanying your breakfast of Pop-Tarts and vodka.

That being said, my kitchen floor is a great place to host slinky races and downhill Radio Flyer marathons.

Also, because my kitchen floor is basically one giant ramp, my house is perfectly wheelchair accessible, so no violations from the city, I guess.

There’s A Hippie Commune of Arachnids Living Along My Cheapo Depot Crown Moulding

As someone who’s a bit arachnophobic, this is deeply uncomfortable for me.

However, as someone who supports sustainable living, I’m super encouraging of these bohemian tarantulas.

So I’m in a bit of an ethical bind here.

I don’t mind the free-range, organic webbing they produce, but their constant nocturnal feeding on my sexy person is something I can’t allow.

I loathe the way they spy on me while I shower without asking permission, but at least their grid-free lifestyle is keeping my utilities bills low.

These types of moral quandaries sure do blow, don’t they?

My Backyard May Have Been A Pagan Cult Sanctuary

A couple of years ago, my dog dug up a small wooden statue of something that looked vaguely human, except it was way too thin, wore a strange headdress, and had no face.

A depiction of a nameless god?

Obviously.

In addition, no matter how much I trim the bushes and plants, they always grow at an exponential rate as if they’re chugging Muscle Milk when I turn my back. The strongest doses of weed killer and holy water do nothing to keep these vegetative monstrosities at bay.

Has my backyard been touched by the green thumb of a forgotten pagan deity?

I can see no other explanation.

My House Is Surrounded By An Industrial Wasteland And Now I’m Sterile And Have a Third Eye

I’m not sure exactly what kind of businesses are located around the area, but they all have words like “waste”, “containment”, and “keep out or be shot” pasted on their frontages.

Everyday, countless tankers drive past my house leaking not-yet-outlawed chemicals into the neighborhood. I don’t know for sure if this is related, but all of the local kids now have x-ray vision and the stray cats have gills.

I got lucky, however. Due to the slightly irradiated atmosphere and sickly yellow cloud that hangs over the area like a carsick angel, the only side effects I’ve experienced are the inability to keep the family name alive and a slightly more expensive vision insurance plan.

My Tap Water Looks Like Goat’s Milk — Should I Sell It At Farmers Markets?

And of course, the reason you’re all here: the tap water that looks like it should be bottled and sold for exorbitant prices.

How my tap water came to look like a dairy product is beyond me.

Is it the result of living so close to where heathens sacrificed children whose cursed spirits may or may not still haunt my garden and/or plumbing?

Is it the product of barely-legal chemicals leaking into the local water supply that the city is too cheap to inspect?

Perhaps it’s a combination of these factors?

Either way, there aren’t any rules or regulations on bottling one’s ultra-lactose tap water and selling it to snobby hipsters, are there?

Final Thoughts

As you may have guessed, I don’t get many guests at my place.

But hey, you, dear reader, are always welcome to stop by if Google Maps stops working for you and you end up in a part of town that looks like the perfect setting for a super-villain origin story.

Just make sure to take off your shoes, put on a hard hat, and keep that geiger counter handy.