Bella, dan's yippie blue heeler! She bites faces!

Cicadas. The new stinkbugs. They don't smell as bad, but they sound like the way the 1997 horror/scifi film Event Horizon makes you feel.

Why are they everywhere? Why do they never stop making the horrible noise they make? I ask the same thing about every 1994 chevy caprice that has to floor it up and down broad street. 68% of vehicles in Pittsburgh are equipped with a shot exhaust, but a 5300 dollar sound system. At least they can't help it. Stupid cicadas. Infinite Space, Infinite Terror. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0119081/

The Steve room.

The Steve room had humble beginnings. Demolition, more demo, more demo, wiring, insulation, drywall, mudding, more mudding, more mudding, painting, shellacing, staining, polyurethaning, and finally a nearly finished product. Steve's dirty couch sleeping days are surely numbered.







Publish Post

Yes, that is the same bandanna Steve puts over his face bandit style to stave off the numerous carcinogens he inhales every night, morning, and most of the day on the dirty leather couch. That is going to be one happy Steve when he can finally call the Steve room home. I really don't know where he is going to put all those fucking mattresses though.

So just who are these crazy crackers living in this old crackhouse?

In order to further drive home the point, the residents of crackhouse have been shown in order of insignificance. Beginning at the top, we have Steve, a native of some area outside of Pittsburgh. Steve enjoys driving his shitty car, drinking, painting, drinking, going to the bar, drinking, working like 4 hours away, and drinking.

Next we have Cassie, the resident girl. She enjoys cooking, cleaning, shopping, barbies, the color pink, and yelling at everyone for smoking and drinking too much; especially Steve.

Third there is Tom, the resident sweaty fat guy who never wears a shirt. I mean, we know it is hot outside, and appx 17x hotter inside, but come on

Finallly, there is Alex. Resident CEO, President, Esquire, DO, General Secretary General, Chief, King, Foreman, Judge, Senator, Quarterback, Captain, and Patriarch. Hygiene and eating habits are suspect, but this fearless leader has a big ass axe under his bed at all times.

The laws of gravity state that there should be less dust and debris upstairs. Crackhouse knows no bounds.

What do you mean they won't deliver pizza to Garfield? Oh yeah....the robberies.

For the men of the house, this where you go get either a pbr or some old crow. If you are feeling particularly domesticated, this is also where you will stack empties.

For Cassie however, this is where magic happens. It is downright awe inspiring some of the delicious meals, smoothies, and combinations thereof which she concocts within these semi-insulated walls.

Man, I'm real hungry...

But unless your diet consists of bicycles and all 8000 lbs of Steve's fucking shit, you're out of luck.

The chandelier does however set the mood for a romantic evening...or, well, it would if it were wired.

Choosing a color for your dining room is never easy, and some say it can be a reflection on the owner's dining habits. This color really says "Holy shit I'm high on crack."

To the right there is a bathroom behind all 76 of Steve's mattresses. Well, it is not a bathroom as much as it a tiny hole with a toilet and sink. The toilet does work though! But it leaks so you have to shut the water off....and the sink's drain just has bucket under it. It sure as hell is a step up from a Pittsburgh potty though.

You can gauge a living room's progress by the evolution of its ash tray:

First was the floor. Next was the casing of a broken saws all. Finally, your empty pbr can; which means it is a place you will sit long enough to enjoy more than one pbr. Win!

Take a load off on the big dirty leather couch, but if it is between the hours of 6am and 4pm watch out, because odds are Steve is asleep on it.

The single window allows an abundant amount of light and ghetto ass thumping jams to pour in, while the boarded up one keeps up with neighborhood's indigenous roots.

Be sure to cover your drink if you are watching cspan or poker, because if someone or something moves upstairs, dust and crack residue will fall through the floorboards into your delicious pbr or fruit smoothie.

You'll also notice where alex & co. fixed the floor. Great Job!

Oh Hi Marc, come on in. Could you lock the door? No, and the deadbolt. Yeah both.

This is where you walk into crackhouse. The beautiful brown paint sweats a nicotine and crack based, burnt sienna liquid which is both intoxicating and delicious. The plywood covering the bottom third of the door was painted a brilliant black in order to match the rest of the shit in the house.

Welcome to crackhouse.

Yes, that is a no trespassing sign, and no, that is not a yard; it is a burnt down empty lot.

To whoever has crackhouse.blogspot.com and others like it...

Your crackhouse isn't a crackhouse. The crackheads lit fires on the floor in this crackhouse to stay warm and cook the crack. There was a bucket of tranny shoes in the closet. There was a sticky maxim with Sarah Silverman in a gorilla suit on the cover. There is an old, dilapidated bomb shelter in the back yard, in which lives Gandalf the gigantic groundhog. There were holes in the floor, the walls, and the ceilings.

Bottom line, your crackhouse sucks. This crackhouse is the definitive crackhouse. Represent.