You're Not One of Those Lazy Fags Who Forgets to Raise the Toilet Seat When He's Taking a Leak...

...but you do practically pee all over everything else in your bathroom when some asshole begins frantically banging on your front door while you're draining your lizard of Diet Pepsi. You flush and scream, "Who is it?!" to the potential Murderer on the other side of your six-floor Walk-Up (even though your rational side knows that any Murderer with half a brain would definitely choose his victim on a much lower floor). However, your Cardio-Crazed Murderer yells back at you through the locked door (with the broken lock that your Not-So-Super still hasn't fixed), "Who the fuck do you think it is?!" And just like time will slow down before a car accident, you realize that you're about to have yet another one of your ridiculous Seinfeld-esque social injustice moments.

You peak through the peephole but the hallway is too dark because your Not-So-Super never replaced the burnt out hall light, so you yell back, "If I knew who it was then why would I be asking?!" That's when the Cardio-Crazed Murderer yells, "It's the fucking Super!" So you unlock the non-broken lock and let the Ex-Con into your apartment as you greet him with a pained smirk in lieu of a more cordial, "Hello."

"What's wrong with your fucking lock?" he asks in that oh-so-polite way of his, to which you respond as deadpan as you can possibly muster, "I don't know. It seems to be fucking broken." He actually rolls his eyes as if he were Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles and says, "I know that. You texted me last week about being locked inside the apartment or some such shit." And you really can't believe you are actually getting this kind of attitude from your Not-So-Super who, for all he knows, left you to rot in your Home-Sweet-Hovel for a week. You can't resist so you end up saying, "Yeah. Thanks for responding so quickly." But he's not having any of it, "If you want me to fix your fucking lock then you and your fucking roommate better stop throwing me so much fucking attitude. Especially after the dumb fuck flooded the whole fucking building last month. That asshole better pray that I don't evict his fucking ass."

You are in absolute shock as you look around for signs of water damage as you ask, "Excuse me? Flooded the building?" and all of a sudden it becomes crystal clear why your Not-So-Super has it in for you and your Hobosexual Roommate. "Yeah. I got a call from the restaurant downstairs when their fucking ceiling caved in on some woman who was in the middle of her fucking appetizer. She had plaster all over her fucking head. I checked every floor until I found your fucking roommate mopping up the kitchen floor while he's trying to convince me that somehow it wasn't his fucking fault even though he was the one who left the sink running for forty-five fucking minutes." Your jaw is agape as your Not-So-Super continues, "I'm sick of his bad fucking attitude! And he better pay that $2800 bill he got from the management company or his ass is gonna be evicted. And if for some reason his name's not on the fucking lease then he better start looking for a new fucking apartment right away."

Your Not-So-Super begins to inspect the broken bottom lock while you remain motionless; you're stunned by the breaking news of the Hobosexual's Noah's Ark incident that, somehow, he failed to mention to you. But now you're even more tongue tied because, although his name is on the lease, your name is definitely not. And if the Hobosexual doesn't cough up $2800, then so you might be the one who becomes Home-Sweet-Homeless and will be fondly remembering your time spent in your Home-Sweet-Hovel from the Refrigerator Box that you'll soon be subletting from that Homeless Tranny who lives above the subway grate outside Jensen-Lewis on Seventh Avenue. Anyway...