The Ten Plagues of the Landlord
When my people settled upon this land bereft of broker’s fee and visible roaches, and hence declared this two-bedroom, three-bedroom-flex rightfully ours, we knew we were its true kings. We knew not of this one they call Landlord, for despite four weeks of occupancy, we had yet to encounter Him nor know His true dominion over our credit card cash advance limits.
Yet still, this Landlord did call upon His prophet, the Super, to decree sacred Word doc upon the hallowed entryway bulletin board: “thy Transients shall know that I am the LORD over this four-floor walk-up in Astoria. No false gods shall defy my power, nor take out trash prior to 4pm on Tuesdays and Sundays.”
How were these texts to be taken as the Lord’s testament without His sight, for where did this Landlord manifest if we had not laid eye upon Him? And though we were, like, 99% sure the first-floor dwelling 1C was His, we were never completely certain on that.
So still, we mocked His rule. Who but we could pronounce the paint color of our walls? Who but we could decide how long a guest could lay their head, providing all other Kings were cool with it? Who but we could wield this land’s power, with no less than three Google Homes to preside over?
But nay, for we soon knew of that wrath to come. In our forsaking of the true Lord of the Land, He cast ten plagues upon our door.
The First Plague
On the first day, the rent was due. This was expected and caused little alarm.
But then, the giving faucets turned a deep, blood-brown. We could no longer directly drink our water, but we had not to begin with, and thus rejoiced in the power of thy holy Brita.
The Second Plague
Amphibians swarmed our homeland, a whole sextet of frogs — or perhaps it was a quintet of toads, be it hard to say.
Twas madness, until we learned the beasts belonged to the neighboring kingdom across the hall. We had yet to greet our neighbors and declared a truce (they also knew not of the Landlord). We felt strong in our unity and optimistic of our proposed joint-Oscars party.
The Third Plague
Lice soon infested our land. The Landlord! But lo, it was only the deed of our dog, Beverley. And while we noblemen were greatly bothered, Beverley is really chill for a Pomeranian, and, according to the found texts on Craigslist.org/apartments, pets are prohibited in this land. So we kept this plague on the low.
The Fourth Plague
Bed bugs! we cried. More than usual! we clarified. It came to be that “finders-keepers” is a lose-lose when regarding mattresses. Whether the Landlord planted them in that dump for us to find is still not known.
The Fifth Plague
Thy livestock perished and spoiled from within the mighty refrigerator. How can this be! we Kings proclaimed. Thy chicken cutlets were procured from good Trader Joe only five weeks prior! We swear we were getting around to cooking them, but the Landlord’s will had beat us to it. Still, trash is not collected for four nights on, so back in the fridge they go.
The Sixth Plague
One morning, I awoke covered in horrid boils! But when thy fellow nobles revealed they were not also groin-blistered, this King sent an awkward text to his recent concubine, Becky. She hath been like, “ye-dk what thou art talking about.” Yee right, missy.
The Seventh Plague
The Landlord, God of the Renews, did then cast a great flood down from above, as a leak in the upstairs radiator brought the worst fate to ever fall upon “3gYpT-5G” since the misguided prophet Spectrum named the router so.
The Eighth Plague
The Landlord did unleash a swarm of needy out-of-towners upon our land, as a wrongly fostered Facebook invite turned King Jeremy’s birthday kickback into an unholy rager. And though many did attest they had prior sleeping arrangements, come nightfall did cover every visible inch of carpet. Such foolery could only be the hand of a mightier power — the Landlord — or Jeremy’s girlfriend.
The Ninth Plague
I did stretch out my hand toward the sky and around the shoulder of Becky, who hath returned for date night, boil-free and medically sound, and given another chance by this horny King. But Icarus doth fly too high (which isn’t biblical but you get the idea) and in haste I did knock over thy good lamp, covering the living room in darkness for three whole days — until Jeremy caved and bought a new lightbulb. We appreciate thee, Jerr.
The Tenth Plague
Finally, the ultimate tragedy did occur. At midnight, Jeremy, having greatly slapped the wineskin, did collapse and most ruthlessly strike down my first Bourne, The Bourne Identity on Blu-Ray Disc. From within my being did a great wailing spread throughout our land, worse than there has ever been or ever will be again — unless I lose The Bourne Supremacy, for though it is only on DVD, Julia Stiles’ sequel-haircut is the Landlord’s gift to Earth.
Having suffered all one can take, we had finally come to know the Landlord, for He came to our door and introduced Himself. Our rent payments had inevitably bounced. But to our relief, thy Landlord was most agreeable, and, having spotted Beverly, even passed over the dog’s eviction, as well as the broken vacuum we’ve just had sitting in the hallway for days.
And although He had finally made His divinity known, once we inquired who shall attend to the aftermath of our plagues, we never saw the Landlord again.
