 By Dan Brooks |
My new apartment exists in a hilly region bounded by the dog park on the east, the river to the south, the creek on the west and Taco Ball to the north. In addition to its native population (see below) the area hosts a substantial migrant population, composed primarily of old white ladies on their way to the dog park and bums. |
Little if any interbreeding occurs between these two groups, and the region remains diverse but segregated. It is divided into four principalities:
My Apartment
An intermittently warlike but fundamentally just nation, the Glorious People’s Republic of My Apartment views itself as a stabilizing power in the region. As one of only two nation-states in the area with a job, the GPRMA is primarily interested in A) maintaining a long and economically beneficial peace and B) increasing its female population. The me administration has met with only limited success in both areas.
Across the Street
Given semi-autonomous government by the Federal Housing Authority in an intervention undertaken several years ago, the three bungalows across the street are the least stable part of the region around my apartment. They are home to a population of two 45 year-old alcoholics, their daughter and an itinerant population of boyfriends.
While the daughter and boyfriends are relatively peaceful and seem focused on infrastructure development in the form of jobs at Taco Bell, the alcoholics are a warlike people. The region nearly erupted into violence after last week’s Bottle Rocket Incident, in which their leader, Earl, spent all of Wednesday drinking and attempted to launch a low-payload explosive device into my open window.
The missile did not strike its intended target and badly burned Earl’s hand during launch, but retaliation was swift and brutal nonetheless. The dominant power in the region, me, launched a brief territorial invasion culminating in what is now known as the F**king Hick Edict, by which stupid f**king hicks who engage in any more hick shit will have their asses permanently occupied by my left shoe. The unfederated states of Across the Street have grudgingly agreed to this treaty.
Next Door
In comparison to the hicks of Across the Street, the college students of Next Door are a peaceful, almost sedentary nation. They depend heavily on Taco Bell for resources, and seem reluctant to upset the region’s balance of power or involve themselves in international disputes. While they sided with allied efforts during the Bottle Rocket Incident, their support was limited to standing on the porch and yelling “Woo!”
Downstairs
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Less pleased by the military intervention following the Bottle Rocket Incident was the sister state of the apartment Downstairs and its population, Liz. Diplomatic relations with Downstairs initially seemed promising, particularly after the Liz’s Boyfriend Moves Back to Boston Like the Day After I Move In Affair, but they have since soured.
A noninterventionist nation whose primary import is free trade coffee and primary export is Indigo Girls music, the Smug Republic of Downstairs was extremely unimpressed with my handling of the Bottle Rocket Incident. The Liz administration has since adopted an anti-me stance, aggravated by my questionable response to the SRD’s purchase of a wind chime. “Now your apartment can make noise even when you’re not home!” I observed. This was probably a diplomatic error.
Dan Brooks writes about politics, consumer culture and lying at Combat!
