This Murder House Isn’t Up To Code

I’m sorry, doctor, but if you want to keep burying bodies in your handsome sand-floor basement, you’re going to have to make sure all flammable materials including corpses are kept fifteen feet from the heater, and bring the rest of this place up to par. You’ve done, what? Fifteen executions of blonde white women here? It’ll be zero going forward if you don’t hire a contractor to fix the central air and do a mold check. 

If this is coming as a shock, doc, I’m sorry. I guess we figured you knew what you were getting into when you signed a mortgage for a three-story mansion in Pleasant Run. Here, we don’t care about your being a successful OB GYN moonlighting as a serial killer, we simply cannot abide your crabgrass and rusted siding. In my 25 years of inspecting homes, yours is the worst case I’ve seen. Arnold Garth, the rotund man who wears those Gucci tracksuits every day, said his kids are too scared to go ring your doorbell on Halloween because your house actually looks haunted. Pleasant Run is a place for families every bit as much as it is a place for handsome middle-aged men who are single and have a million dollar net worth. 

Alright, let me take a look around. Now I already see one tripping hazard. This severed arm here. You’ve got all of these limbs rotting here with the windows sealed shut and inadequate insulation. This is going to stink up the place even more than it already does. I know you think your Barado room spray covers that up, but believe me, the neighborhood feels differently. 

Woah! Nice bedroom,  Mr. Medicine! A girl could easily overlook a lot of red flags if they got to wake up basked in the light from those incredible floor to ceiling stained glass windows! At least, she could if there wasn’t duct tape patching fist-sized holes in the glass. You’re a medical professional! Pollen season is over, so we’re about to enter flu season. Do you really think a broken window is smart, health-wise? 

Is that armoire holding up those cracked beams? Oh, buddy. What’s that? It’s made of reinforced steel and has a drop-out bottom that leads to a secret dungeon? Well, if that beam falls, the ceiling could collapse on you. If you’re underground, it means you’re trapped in your dungeon with your thoughts. This house’s foundation is stone and concrete. There’s no way in hell you get enough reception to stream podcasts down there. 

I’m not going to bother looking in the attic, because I don’t need to double my xanax prescription, but I hope you get the idea. Look, we love having you here. Most of the community is excited to hobnob with a real psychopath, because they think it makes them more interesting and edgy at dinner parties. And your chili at the cookout…that meat is unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. Just, mwah! So please, bring this house up to code, or we’re going to have to get the Homeowners Association Involved. You think the police are scary? You should meet these fucking douchebags. In fact, you should have them over!

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