So! It turns out that our goddamn motherfucking ass-eater of a former landlord isn't too keen on returning our deposit! This is great news!

This is what I'm assuming, anyway: we haven't gotten any actual notice of this, or really anything apart from his verbal assurances two weeks ago to return it. Since then, however, he has ducked multiple emails and has stopped answering his phone--which, incidentally, has no voice mail either, so it just rings and rings! Which is not at all fucking maddening.

This mealy-mouthed fuck-wig had the goddamn fucking nerve to actually call us a few weeks ago and lick our crotches with a bunch of meaningless happy talk about what great tenants we were, and how much he appreciated us--though, apparently, not enough to, you know, give us back our fucking money that he owes us. This ALSO despite the fact that he's run out the clock on his chance to itemize any possible reasons why he isn't refunding us the full deposit; Washington State gives this defective fucking Sears made-by-blind-children tool 14 days to provide us with reasons why he would withhold the deposit; he hasn't given us shit. Actually, shit would be an improvement; an improvement over the nothing that we have received to date for our (very polite) efforts. With a handful of shit, I could, I don't know, go smear it on his fucking windows. It would feel proactive.

You know, I have to ask: where to these fucking amoebas come from, and why don't they spend their miserable lives getting cornholed by giant horned lizards every day like they deserve? Who tolerates these hair-fall-out Morlocks that live amongst us and do nothing but slink around eating millipedes and honking like the subhuman troglodytes that they clearly are? How do they obtain property? Did Gorilla Grodd seize property from some luckless condo hillbilly in some ill-fated land grab and then cede it to his feckless fucking dipshit hairless drool-emperor of a half-cousin only to have this trip-dick then rent it to us in some sort of reckless half-figured stab at the free market in rental properties? This is all I can figure, and now this quarter-gorilla of a landlord is strapped for cash and hiding in some carved-out bunker somewhere mindlessly evading our phone calls and emails and hooting miserably at the four dank walls that enclose him and wondering what ever persuaded him to venture into the world of men.

So I'm a little pissed off with the situation. Happily, the wife happens to have an old friend who is an attorney who specializes in--guess what?--tenancy disputes! So if by the end of this week this broke-dick mammal hasn't responded to my latest grim missive full of apocalyptic warning, we will certainly be happy to--in the legal sense--nail his goddamn fucking feet to a couple of gas cans, strap some firecrackers to his nuts, stuff his mouth full of gunpowder and light him up and then wait to see if we see a real Pynchonesque screaming across the sky as his primate skull launches off his goddamn neck into the sky only to blow up in the aether with the forlorn message "DIDN'T REFUND DEPOSIT" twinkling in the clear night.

Metaphorically. I feel I should stress this.

Oh, and former landlord? If you're reading this? If you can read, you swayback fucking mini-Yeti, if your scleras haven't become completely occluded by ocular damage from spending all of your time reading I Fuck Dead Things magazine while you clumsily jerk off into crusted, abrasive old discarded woollen socks that you scavenge from the dump on your nightly forays to find dead sparrows to chew on, I'd just like to tell you that when we moved out of your place, every single person we encountered in the building expressed severe dismay over the news that you were moving back in. You see, they all hate you.

I can't fucking imagine why.