This is Why We Can’t Have Clean Things [Irish Adventures]

Some dudes. Living in Ireland. It’s Irish Adventures! Pip pip!

*theme song goes here*

 

So we wanted to vacuum the apartment with the supplied vacuum cleaner. The previous apartment dwellers had obviously, at some time during their debauchedly lifetime,  also had the same notion.

First impression, that led to the discovery of something that needs to be purged a’la lobotomy, was that there was no suction. Strange, says our naive minds, heedless of the terrors beyond the veil. Fuck Cthulhu; this shit is real.

So we opened the poor machine. It turns out the previous dwellers – now forever by the name of “Miss and Mr Bag-of-Dicks” – had not managed to process and act upon the simple act of not being great floating bags of dicks (see previously mentioned names) of the greatest calibre. In that they hadn’t used a bag for the cleaner. And never cleaned it. So the accumulated filth (underlined, bold and coloured for precision targeting) of an indescribable amount of time  had collected inside the machine.

Dog ends in the hundreds, all the dirt on the moon, ash from six forest fires and a sort of a nightmarish… goo… mixed in. It actually got hard to breathe in the room when we emptied it. It felt like being stuck in a 1 square meter asbestos-walled discotheque where the DJ is called DJ AssBetos and play only the most popping of the asbestos songs (like “Knocking on Asbestos Wall” and “Good God That’s Filthy”).

 

And that’s that story told. I’m selling the scrip for the price one bundle of new vacuum bags.

Pi-pi-pi-ip-ip Irish Adventures pip pip!

 

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