Nick’s Poetic Ponderings – “Pesky Landlord Blues”

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Have you ever thought to yourself: “ahhhh geeze, I wish I could ask a poet for life advice.” While, you’ve come to the right place. I’m Nick, a real-life poet, and I’m here to give you guidance.


Hello Nick,

Recently, my landlord came into my home to fix my bathroom cabinet. The problem is, I wasn’t home when he arrived, and he didn’t even bother to call me and let me know he was coming! What should I do?


Concerned Tenant




Hello Concerned Tenant,

I’m going to be honest with you, all landlords are horrific monsters whose sole purpose is to slowly suck money from you, in an effort to destroy your life and pound your soul into a closed circuit of pain and horror, a pain and horror you can never hope to escape until the loving kiss of death comes to relieve you of the disgusting embrace of the modern world.

But that’s okay! We almost all have to deal with it, unless you have a career and a house or whatever. And who wants that?

Here’s what you need to do:

Booby trap the house. I’m talkin’ Home Alone type shit, but worse. Imagine the scene where Marv steps on the nail, the way you can feel his pain. The way you can see the end of the scene without it actually being shown: the nail running all the way through his foot, blood pulsating out like a Yellowstone geyser. Etc, etc.

I would suggest creating a trebuchet of sorts, not to launch your landlord out of the window and to a slow and painful death, but to launch some crucifixion style nails at him, at roughly 90 miles per hour. The nails should be dipped in a mixture of strychnine and arsenic, suspended in alcohol. The edges should be wrapped in 80 grit sandpaper, Mod Podge’d on in case they do not fly true, so you still have the possibility of taking out an eye or severing a nipple even if the tip doesn’t quite make it all the way through their flesh.

While I am legally not allowed to provide you instructions on how to construct this machine, you could use a number of different house-hold items: toothpicks, pens, rubber bands, an extension cord, and a map of the state of West Virginia (country road take me home!)

Or, actually, I guess you could just call and ask them not to do it again. That would probably work too.


Your humble adviser,



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