LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 22, 2009
Cannot stay in Marduk's apartment. Found out he moved weeks ago. New tenants arrived, fainted when I burst out of refrigerator screaming "THERE IS NO DANA ONLY LOLSCHAAAAAACH!!!!!!"
Hurm. Fancy apartment.
Never had need of personal living quarters. LOLSCHACH is city's defender. As such, am not required to pay taxes or rent. City owes LOLSCHACH that much. When tired, enter nearest apartment and go to sleep on couch. Home-owners tend to call 911. LOLSCHACH protects them from obscene dangers, such as giant squids, possible homosexuals and child-napping clowns. This is how they repay me. Ungrateful. Punch them. Knock over potted plants. Throw toilet paper in toilet bowl. Defecate in coffee mugs. Urinate in shampoo. Teach them respect.
Dreiberg recommends I find hidden location and transform it into personal base. Like Dreiberg's "Roost". That way can have own space and not have to pay for it. Dreiberg says should call it "The LOL-Shack". Smirk on face. Thinks he's clever. No. Stupid. Name is stupid. Dreiberg is stupid. Tell him he's stupid. Eat his dinner. Mexican pizza from Taco Bell. He ordered Diet Pepsi. Hate Diet Pepsi. Pour it on carpet. Overturn couch.
Wait. What was I doing?
Oh. Yes. The LOL-Shack. Good idea.
Contemplate best secret, abandoned location to transform into the LOL-Shack. Decide to set up shop in decaying husk of Albert's Abattoir. Have ended numerous crimes committed in that location. Seems to be magnet for evil. Instead of going out to search for evil, evil will come to LOLSCHACH. Very clever.
Enter abandoned slaughterhouse. Reeks of rancid, sun-bleached death. Cornfed corpses stacked twenty feet high... hooked, gutted, skinned, processed, packaged, devoured. Stuffed into the slobbering maws of overfed, overweight human cattle to momentarily satisfy their bottomless appetites. Disgust me. Would sooner inhale noxious, putrid odor of this bovine mortuary than so much as sniff the interior of their overpriced, luxury apartments and condominiums, with their Glade Plug-Ins, masking the fetid stink of their own evil-doing and apathy. Human filth, sterilizing their floors and walls as if liberal application of Pinesol could possibly cleanse them of--
Focus LOLSCHACH. Focus.
First order of business. Must do something about interior appearance. Rumpus room is literal chamber of horrors:
Extensive redecorating is required in order to make place liveable.
There. Much better.
Hurm. Will need more tulips. Perhaps drapes to compliment the entrails. Leave the LOL-Shack and head to Bed, Bath & Beyond. Procure mass quantities of throw-pillows, quilts, beanbag chairs and a peculiar device which will add zest to my lemons. Already have ideas for impressive breakfast nook.
Return to gates. Sign has been erected over property in my absence: "Coming Soon: The NEW Albert's Abattoir!"
Hurm. The LOL-Shack is no more. Perhaps for the best. Settling down in single location will make me perfect target for arch-enemies: Jehovah's Witnesses, Girl Scouts and Hispanic landscapers.
No choice but to sleep at Dreiberg's tonight. Hope he has turned couch back over.