Dear Bel,
Could you come to Tampa and help me move out of my apartment? My roommate and I are tired of dealing with our psycho neighbors.
– Emory
Well, the other day I got two of my burly lesbian friends together and helped these two guys move their furniture out of their apartment. I have a few good reasons for doing this for a complete stranger. The most important of which is getting them to buy us all dinner and drinks at Ybor City. Another good reason was to see the look on their faces when I actually showed up at their front door with two burly lesbians and insist they let us sleep at their place since we were helping them move and all. Yet another good reason for going was so that I could write about it on TheWeirdcrap.com!
We arrived to find the apartment in total chaos. My lesbian friends were quite a sight. They are both bearded, stand at about five foot four and were sporting shirts that read “Love Hole”. We were left standing on the threshold for quite some time, and I thought they were not going to let us in, but I later found out that they were just having trouble finding the front door.
I felt like I was in a Maurits Cornelis Escher nightmare painting. This “Emory” fellow opened the front door while standing on The ceiling, which led into a living room with all of its furniture twisted at 90 degrees. It was all very confusing. The living room floor moved like a bed when you stepped on it. And I could stand on the kitchen wall and wave at my lesbian friend, Leslie, making herself at home on the toilet. It was so confusing in fact that we decided that it would be better to move the neighbor instead. The neighbor proved to be very stubborn and after an hour and a half of intense debate, we concluded that the neighbor was happy where she was, so we ended up moving “Emory” and his roommate after all. I felt like I was missing something. Something was bothering me and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I checked “Emory” and his roommate for demon possession. They were clean. But I did find a CUTHULU doll standing ominously on a shelf by itself in the corner blinking electronically. I decided that was what was bothering me and packed the doll into a very small box and threw it out into the street. I almost immediately felt better.
I never learned the name of “Emory’s” roommate, the entire time we were there he thought he was a meatball. He had a picture of himself in his mind complete with little feet, arms, and stray noodle. After Leslie made sure those little feet and arms could move stuff, we decided that he could be a meatball if he wanted to.
It didn’t take long to move their things. I must say that I enjoyed the excitement of realizing at the top of the stairs that my grip on the dryer wasn’t so firm after all. You have not lived until you have seen a man who thinks he is a meatball stumble down a flight of stairs under the weight of a large appliance. Needless to say, most of their things were destroyed in transit. I think Leslie was angry at the meatball for something, she kept throwing stuff; she threw a dresser, part of a bed frame, and a towel at him. I told her that if she really wanted to freak him out she should chase him around with a fork, so she did. Later we went to Ybor and had a fancy dinner at “Emory’s” expense.
Later all,
– Bel
COMING NEXT: I GOT GAS!
