My Slumlords

The one thing I dislike about renting is that I have a landlord. I hate my landlord. I hate her with a capital "F". I hate everything about her. She has only one thing on her mind...the rent. If it's even 1 second late...(knock, knock, knock)...ughh...the sound of four fat knuckles leaving mayonaise on my door. And I know that I am in for a nose full of polyester fumes because when she comes barreling down that hallway, her thighs rub together like two cast members of the dirty dancing road show.

I even hate her car. A 1970's Pinto. It used to be salmon color, but the paint color is gone and now it just smells like fish. She gets over $600 a month from me. You think she would get a net to catch the pieces of car that fall off as she drives down the street. Well last night the car alarm went off on that piece of trash. 3 am... as in Ass Mine...Bite it.

She acts like my apartment is a mansion...and I'm an illegal immigrant maid. Last week, someone dropped a piece of trash on the sidewalk, and she called me to pick it up. She called me "Jose". Look at me...you can't get more Wonderbread than me.

-Ms. Beat