The ominous sounds of chubby knuckles being dragged down my apartment door wakes me from my sexual slumber. I sluggishly roll onto my side and through blurry, fog-covered eyes I attempt to focus on the vintage Kiss clock that resides on my bedside table. I think it may read 0800 but I'm not entirely sure. Either way, I am awake and there is something terrible on the other side of my apartment door.
I need to find some money. I cannot bear the thought of eating Bulgarian taco. I only know of one sick, twisted hag that would attempt to wake me at this time of day. It's her, my infamous and sex-starved land lady, Miss Rottencrotch. The mere thought of this behemoth sends chills down my spine. Knowing that my door is locked with two deadbolts, a door knob lock and a chain provides me with a brief sense of safety and security. My temporary sense of ease is short lived as I recall an apartment folk tale telling of Miss Rottencrotch's amazing superhero-like ability to gnaw through doors if she smells a young male or cured meat products on the other side. Lucky for me only one of those known cougar treats is present in this apartment. I think I may be safe…for the moment.
I ignore the thought of this creature trying to claw her way into my apartment. I flop onto my back and place a pillow over my face in an attempt to fall back to sleep. Before I can return to the little town of Slumberland a thought hits me like the slap of a provocatively dressed female being asked, "Hey baby, you want to make five bucks the hard way?" by a desperate guy who may or may not look like me: today is rent day. And I forgot to pay. It is a well known fact that in this building everyone pays the rent, one way or another.
I snap to an upright position like a …child's toy that snaps into an upright position, and cover my face with my hands. What the fuck am I going to do? I don't think I have the cash on me to pay the rent and she won't wait for it. How the hell am I going to get out of this?
With the speed of a guy cursed by premature ejaculation, I dress myself with any and all non-funky, floor-clothing I can find. I have to get out of here. I need to find some money. Fast. I have to pay my rent before I am forced to do something no man should ever have to do. I cannot bear the thought of eating Bulgarian taco. I would rather be starving and homeless living under an overpass somewhere off the interstate. Shit, who am I trying to fool, I would rather die.
After devoting thirty seconds to jumping up and down in one spot and rapidly shaking my hands in crazy circular motions while religiously chanting, "Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck," I am hit with a deep and meaningful thought, one might say an intellectual revelation: go to the bank and take out money to pay the rent. Such a simple plan, and it was right in front of me the whole time. The plan may have one slight flaw though: I'm not sure if I have any money in the bank. There's only one way to find out. I must escape from this building and go to the bank.
This animal has me tight. I feel as though I'm gazing into the eighth dimension of hell. I quietly tip toe over to the peep hole on my apartment door to see if the coast is clear. As I peer through I am amazed to find no sign of Miss Rottencrotch. It's time for me to make my escape. I move swiftly. I navigate the hallway like a chomping half-moon running for its little yellow life from a pack of unpredictable multicolored ghosts. "I'm going to make it. I'm really going to make it," I tell myself. The elevator is in sight.
Arriving in front of closed elevator doors sends a jolt of fear through my entire being. I repeatedly pound on the down button with my middle finger as I am quite convinced that the more times I press the button the faster the elevator will arrive. Time ticks slowly when you are waiting for an elevator that was built well before the Great War. My spirit begins to lift as I hear the elevator coming closer, but before I can celebrate, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I smell coconut cream pie and dog food. It feels like she is right behind me.
In order to satisfy my curiosity I slowly turn around. I must see. I must know. I must find out what is behind me.
It's her. It's Miss Rottencrotch. The horror. Before I am able to blink she has me pinned to the closed elevator doors with one hand over my mouth and the other placed firmly over my crotch. She grips my cock and balls with the strength of a steroid-infused female Bulgarian weight lifter. I cannot move. I cannot even scream. This animal has me tight. I lift my head high and stare right into her eyes. I feel as though I'm gazing into the eighth dimension of hell. I know what pure evil looks like.
The elevator finally arrives; my ride to freedom. Miss Rottencrotch removes her hand from my mouth and pulls my head back by my hair. Her lips are pressed firmly against my left ear as she whispers, "If you don't have my rent by noon, my sexy little piece of ass, I am going to use your face as my own personal vibrating chair. And trust me it will be a long time before I decide to get off. Do you understand?"
I nod frantically. "Y—ye—yes, I understand, I'll have your money."
She tosses me into the open elevator like a rag doll. "I hope not, sexy man. I sure am looking forward to your face." The elevator doors close and I fall to my knees. The stench of humiliation permeates my entire being. I must get her money. I have to get her money. I must have to get her money!