House # 3

The third house was really more of an apartment. And when I say really more of an apartment, I mean it was the exterior of an apartment building that we were locked out of. I found it really hard to get a feeling for the place from the front entrance, and we didn't have any pictures. I'm guessing that it had five walls in every room, a live in cockatoo, that strangely butch maid from the Jetsons, and a harpsichord, played by someone distantly related to the English royal family. One does never know, now do they?

Additional questions for agents that every D.C. owner/renter should ask.
With the help of Mike.
"Does this place have asbestos in the walls? No. How much would it cost to get something like that put in?"
"I'm thinking of flooding the exterior of the house and sort of turning it into an aquarium. Do you think that table will float or not? If you want me to buy the house Ted, you'll say that it will stay anchored. (It's important to nod or wink at Ted at this point in your conversation, so he knows he's dealing with a real player).
Granite, Granite, all I ever hear about is granite. What's it going to cost me to get some sheep's wool on these f-ing counters Ted!?"

Random conversations from a night spent at home.

S: Oh, I almost asked a stupid question.
M: Well, you were asking a question so....
S: I will stab you in the eyeball with a fork.

S walks toward the dish drainer where I've been "stacking" the dishes. I use the term loosely because I've piled them in some strange configuration, which resembles an Egyptian hieroglyph/impending disaster.

S: What is going on here. (Begins fixing the dish drainer)
M: What are you doing?
S: I'm fixing this.
M: You're destroying a very complex system that I've worked out to put away the dishes.
S: I'm fixing your system.
M: I worked hard on that system. It took hours.
S: I'm fixing your broke ass system.
M: That hurts. Don't forget, many a truth is said in jest.
S: Who said I was jesting?