I have written before about Jabba the Hutt, that fat fucktard downstairs who has been making my life miserable, off-and-on, for almost a year now. I learned some interesting things about him last night.
1. Even though he looks like he's at least 70, he is in fact only 52. I guess gross obesity (he is so fat he can no longer walk, and has to push himself around his apartment on a wheeled office chair) and chain smoking unfiltered cigarettes ages you in a hurry.
2. I have been supplying the electricity for his oxygen machine. I suspected there was a problem when my electric usage doubled in the months after he moved in, but the landlord said he checked the wiring and everything was fine. Yeah, fine for HIM! (Jabba is the landlord's father). Last night, Jabba's oxygen machine screwed up and he had to reset it, which promptly blew a fuse in MY electrical box. Was I on the phone to the landlord at 8 a.m. this morning? You bet I was.
3. According to another of the downstairs neighbors (I'll call him P), Jabba has been presenting himself on the internet as a buff, twenty-something surfer from California. When P told me this I burst out laughing, until P explained that seeing as how he (P) has a sixteen-year-old daughter who likes to spend time in chat rooms, he didn't find it quite so amusing. Now my skin is crawling.