Mounting Evidence Proving Signals from a Network of Surveillance Cameras Hidden In My Apartment Are Being Broadcast Via a Premium Cable Channel

by Steven Smith

posted 12.16.04

• During a routine maintenance visit to repair the toilet, the Superintendent of my building stopped working on three separate occasions to give shout outs to Kiko, Little Bob and Ray Ray.

• The special ladies I bring back to my bed to consummate our specialness no longer scoff when I tell them that, in order for me to climax, they must first lie in a Plexiglas coffin filled with snakes, rats and tarantulas, then hurl themselves from my roof, anchored only by a flimsy bungee cord, to retrieve 5 orange flags that I’ve buried in the garbage cans on the curb and finally, eat a cocktail of pureed blood beetles and elephant dung. In fact, they take to the tasks at hand with such focus and determination that you’d think there was prize money at stake.

• My neighbor, who until last week has always been very cold and gruff in demeanor, has since begun boldly waltzing in my front door (which I’m almost always sure I locked), making a beeline for the kitchen to raid my fridge. Then, all smiles, he regales me with tales of sexual conquest and get-rich-quick schemes. When I press him about his sudden sunny disposition he delivers a corny, canned line, trips over my ottoman and exits.

• Don Pardo spent the better part of Saturday evening enthusiastically announcing breaking news regarding my bout with irritable bowel syndrome from his perch in the bathtub near the toilet.

• I am almost positive that I’ve heard the laughter of an audience mixed with intermittent applause following the completion of last week’s NY Times crossword puzzle, two days ago when I finished paying my bills and again last night when I broke a dish while cleaning the kitchen. None of which were as troubling as the stray whistling and catcalls I heard when, on Wednesday morning, I ran from the shower to my bedroom past the open living room window, cupping my genitals in my hands.

• In addition to leaf blowers and shears, the landscapers that work in the atrium of my building have begun using Nikon D100 digital cameras with combined telephoto lenses to complete their daily battery of chores. Ostensibly, these are helpful when raking leaves or cleaning out gutters, but I have the sinking suspicion that they’re snapping photos of me when I leave the apartment to buy milk, wearing my shabby hoodie and sweatpants.

• The hunky guy I pay to clean the apartment told me it would make his job a lot easier if he and his adolescent daughter just moved in with me. I told him such an arrangement was highly unprofessional and terminated his employment.

• My five closest friends have begun embarking on short-lived relationships with one another, weaving a dense personal history of heartache, hilarity and the occasional baby. I’ve decided to stop returning their calls since all they ever want to do is “get coffee” or talk me into hooking up with Rebecca since “were both the serious ones.”

• During her visit last month, not only did my mother fail to trivialize my extensive collection of Sanrio-themed feminine hygiene products or guilt me into getting a job, but she also asked for my autograph.

• My previous relationship, a three-month tryst with my personal assistant, fizzled out due to a simple case of sexual incompatibility. She was of a bashful nature and, among other things, would rebuff my requests that she look me in the eyes when we made love. I fired her around the time we stopped dating. Last week, she showed up at my doorstep dressed to the nines and demanded I give her a second chance. While I pumped away at her hindquarters, she not only failed to look me in the eyes, but also insisted that she face the crack in the far wall and read her resume aloud while gesturing with enthusiastic thumbs up.

• The first half hour of last night’s episode of Law & Order, which was supposedly “ripped from today’s headlines”, consisted of uncut footage of me dusting my apartment in that French maid’s uniform I wear when I’m sure I’m alone.