Tuesday, August 7, 2007
On my radio show,(wbai.org), the other night among other things a listener pointed out the near impossibility of life in a studio apartment. For those of you living in civilized countries,..Canada or maybe the Duchy of Fenwick. A studio apt. is a very small place.
It's about the size of a medium living room not counting the kitchen, and bath areas. Small. In New York they sell for maybe half a million dollars. A quarter million if you get a deal. They rent for about 1 to $2000. bucks a month,...depending.
My listener said that one could never maintain a relationship, and certainly not a marriage in so tiny a place. No privacy, no personal space whatever. You'd be at each other's throats in days.
I mentioned that I doubted one could even live amiably with a parrot in so tiny a cell.
I can picture it now. Me, and my parrot "Chucky" slowly get on each others nerves. The little bastard reads my priceless first edition R.Crumb comix's, and tears'em up with his claws. That nasty foul mouthed bat watch's my porno dvd's, and don't put'em back where they belong. He sheds feathers, and piss's'n craps all over the place!
One night the green winged rodent goes too far! He comes home stinking drunk, and fucked up on angel dust. He's got some crack whore pigeons he'd picked up at some dive in the Bronx, and starts fucking'em on my! bed! Btw he throws up in the middle of all this.
That frigg'n did it! We go at it! We're rolling around on the floor try'n to murder each other! The sleazy bar pigeons strip the apartment of valuables during the confusion, and split.
The evil parrot bat has a broken whiskey bottle in his beak, and is trying to cut my throat! I grabbed a butcher knife, the dump we live in is so small the kitchen was at arms length from me. I grabs the shank, and starts slash'n!
The battle turns vicious as the little shit claws at my nuts even as he swings the jagged business end of the bottle at my neck! I grab him by a wing, and attempt to impail the flying rat on 12 inchs of jagged stainless steel!
He hack's back with his razor sharp beak, and chops off my left ear. I'm stunned, and off balance, and he gets away to do an end run. He flys to the farside of our tiny cell to get some traction. Then dives at me landing claws first on my already profusely bleeding head.
His evil talons dig deep into my skull. There's warm blood in my eyes so I'm blind, and lose balance. We stumble about our tiny home. Him implanted on my bloody scalp'n screaming curse's in Yiddish, and me flailing at him with the rusty butcher knife!
Finally I trips over my banjo, and we crash's butt first through the window. Shredded, and dazed we plummet to the congested street below! Our impact cracks the pavement in front of the abandoned "Latin Kings" pipe bomb factory.
Next day the front page of the "New York Post" says,..."Feathered Friends take Leap!"
"An obscure communist D.J., and his parrot "Chucky" died last night in an grisly apparent "murder suicide" tryist. Neighbors were awakened at 3:00am by cold blooded shreiks, and sounds of desparate struggle.
What must have begun as your typical, and routine "studio apartment domestic dispute" clearly turned ugly then deadly."
"Friends, and relatives of the victims said they saw it coming. Said one at the scene,..."At first they was a real nice couple, but after a while you could see things was going south fast."
Another told our reporters,..."It's them tiny expensive rat hole apartments that's the real culprit here." "Nobody can live in them crummy things, and stay sane."
"The building's landlord, and owners could not be reached for comment."