Thanks Pesky. Yep, everything started out ok. Nice little condo, nice little neighborhood, nice little granite countertops for my nice little kiwi fruits. Everything was going to be just lovely.
And then I met The Condo People.
The Condo People are a bizarre cult whose religious practices revolve around the sacrifice of young potential home buyers. The Condo People have given up their unique identities and joined The Condo Collective, which forces them to wear cheap suits and staple deposit checks to their foreheads. The Condo People do not eat or drink, but subsist entirely from the smell of fear emanated by home buyers.
In the beginning, I asked one of The Condo People, “How much is The Condo?”
“That is a mystery,” said The Condo Person. “However, there is one who knows. You must climb to the top of Mt. Whitney, and there you will find an old woman. Ask her this question.”
“But why do I have to go to the top of Mt. Whitney? Why can’t you just tell me how much the Condo is?”
The Condo Person laughed, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
So I journeyed to Mt. Whitney, the shallow high rooftop of the Sierra Nevada. There, at the very top, past the skeletons of ill-prepared German tourists, I found an old woman sitting on a rock.
“Hello old woman. Can you tell me how much the condo is?”
The old woman smiled and her skin stretched her wrinkles into mountain ranges on her face. “Oh yes.”
“Ok, so how much is it?”
“Five hundred million dollars.”
“Five hundred million dollars! That’s ridiculous!”
“You live in California. You are ridiculous.” The old woman suddenly transformed into a flamingo and flew away.
I returned to The Condo People several times over the course of the next four weeks. Each time, they promised me more information if I came back the next week. After several weeks, I realized the ugly truth: The Condo People had no “further information” at all. They were toying with me to satisfy the bizarre rituals of their cult.
My suspicions were confirmed when one day, while walking past The Condo Temple (also known as the sales office) three of The Condo People were standing outside smoking in unison. This was clearly some sort of ceremony. One of them looked at me and said, “hello”. The other three looked at him and laughed. I ran screaming back to my apartment.
To make a long story short, The Condo People never produced an actual condo. I cancelled my reservation after observing six of them engaging in an animal sacrifice by the resort-style pool. I now look forward to years as a lowly rent peasant, existing purely for the amusement of landlords. Such is life.
Who
is The Rat? 
Dr.
Sneakypants
Lumpy
the Mongoose
Larry
the Spotted Owl