Satan's Own Shitter

Our house hunt continues, and today we saw a monstrosity that defied the imagination. It was an open house in Bronxville, for a Mediterranean-style creation boasting 3,200 square feet and 4 bedrooms. The square footage resulted in part from one enormous room that once, in the day, must have been quite magnificent. All wood-paneled and draped in dusty, heavy brocade curtains, it seemed to invite ballroom dancing. At the other end of the crumbling old wreck of a house was a huge dining room that apparently once housed a table that could seat 25 people. It also was bedecked in old, threadbare curtains. The room reminded one of a lovely belle ill-used by rapacious men, and now a loose baggage with smeared makeup. There were blackish smears on the walls where paintings had been recently removed.

At the back of the house was a crummy old kitchen with an electric burner and some nondescript cabinets--completely incongruous with the grand rooms at the front. Beyond that, a creepy room that used to be some Certified Public Accountant's home office, complete with gross wood paneling. There was a hallway stained with what looked like bird droppings, leading to a small alcove that smelled remarkably like urine. I backed away quickly, dragging my toddler with me.

Ah! But the convenience! There was a bathroom right off the kitchen. And, it was--I jest not--completely black, but for some gold-leaf embellishments. Black floor. Black walls. Black ceiling. And black toilet! Yes, a black toilet. It was Satan's Own Shitter.

Upstairs was even scarier. Every room had wall-to-wall shag carpet in every hideous hue imaginable. The front room was done in brown from floor to ceiling, and the brown shag rug was covered in detritus and safety pins. Another room was covered with horrific-looking stains that reminded one uncomfortably of murder, and creeping, dank stains on the ceiling where the paint was buckling off. An instant vision was conjured of the family who had lived in this place: The patriarch snorting lines off the belly of some hired slagmount in his king-size waterbed, illegal guns stashed in the attic, with the matriarch counting ill-gotten lucre from their porn empire down in the Grand Ballroom. The place just stank of Badness and, quite possibly, death. Oh yeah, and the musty poo of the devil.

People kept piling in to see the place: whole families! As we fled in a hurry, the creepy real estate agent cackled after me: "Did you see the grand room? Lovely, isn't it?" She tittered wildly and nervously. Yes, we had. But we had also seen Satan's Shitter, and we felt like we needed a strong and abrasive shower.