Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Direction of the Drip


"Hello.   Falling Water Apartment Homes, how may I help you?"

"I'd like to know, is the water falling from the ceiling?"

"Excuse me?"

"If the water's falling from the ceiling, I'd want an upstairs apartment."


"Seriously.   I don't mind my water falling on someone else, but I'll be damned if I'll sit around and let other people's water fall on me.   You know what I mean?"

"Sir.   Sir, that's not what it means.   We have water fountains!

"Oh great, you're into that?   Never mind, I'll try Hanging Gardens instead, I'm feeling suicidal anyway."



D said...

Actually, this was the furst attempt by the little known architect Frank Lloyd Left, at Urban Design. He later moved to a suburb of Phoenix.
Curiously, this tragic story was later adapted into a story by Ayn Remmington, launching her career as a bodice ripping novelist.

Lavi D. said...

Frank Lloyd Left, I get.

But Ayn Remmington?

Is this somehow related to Ayn Rand ???

-Clueless in Sin City

D said...

ding! went the bell on her typewriter. A Remmington Rand typewriter...

Did you get the link to Mr Left and your apartment complex name? Or the location of the house? Or the story?

I admit, the bodice ripping was simply obfuscation.

The_Scum said...

Fucking tough Furst crowd.

I once stayed in a hotel...where? beats me...maybe Cincinnati....first night the ceiling over the bathtub collapsed. Person above me overflowed the toilet....they gave me a new room.

In the new room...toilet stopped up...I called the desk and the friendly lady BROUGHT ME A FUCKING PLUNGER.

I took the plunger to the front desk the next morning when I checked out.

The_Scum said...

Whoops. Person above me overflowed the bathtub...I was getting ahead of myself.

D said...

Perhaps it was the Esteemed Management of your Cinci hotel that resettled in Vegas to make Lavi's Latest List.

vinnymoe said...

Type writers never crossed my mind.

I thought Frank building stick and stucco apartments was nicely analogous to Ayn penning bodice rippers.

Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard from Hollywood to Las Vegas ... with the music at top volume and at least a pint of ether.

-Hunter S. Thompson

Dedicated to the other side of Las Vegas, namely; the sprawling, mad, incoherent underpinnings of the world's favorite destination.

That, and the occasional ranting about nothing in particular.