![]() ![]() ![]() Cave-humans once stalked lions on the veldt, but you intrepid hunters track itty-bitty homes - houses compressed down like coal until they become the shining diamonds of Spartan living. And she said, no, no, “It’s a new House Hunters show,” and I thought, well, where else can they go? Maybe House Hunters New York Apartments where we follow a broke single person trying to fight rat-swarms in order to find a rent-controlled outhouse-sized apartment for less than the cost of a mansion in Minnesota. ![]() One day my wife said, “You need to watch this new show.”Īnd I said, what is it, and does it star Guy Fieri, and will he milk the donkey sauce from his pubic beard into a chicken stock in order to make the soup that takes us all down to the FLAVORPOCALYPSE. We used to watch House Hunters until we learned the whole thing was a crass, reality show lie, and then we watched House Hunters International because even if it was a lie you got to see how they took showers in Iceland or what atrocity they called a “kitchen” in Hungarian apartments and of course we’d occasionally wiggle our toes in other shows, like that horrible one where people who are way too rich actually try to buy entire fucking islands because sure, why not, buy a whole fucking island, assholes, but if you’re not turning it into a villainous fortress then I just don’t understand you. I started watching your show at my wife’s behest. For sweetness, I will mist them with agave syrup the way the lady at the fragrance counter mists you with perfume as you walk past. I will defy gluten and cast sugar into the sea and JUST SAY NO to pizzas and ice creams and tacos and all I will eat are these rods of asparagus and these spoonfuls of chia seeds and once a week for dessert I will treat myself with these delicious crackers made from ancient grains (amaranth, motherfuckers!). People will admire my lean frame and my culinary judiciousness. A robot horse who will live forever and be the handsomest robot horse ever. I will juice cleanse and then eat asparagus and chia seeds for the rest of my life, and sweet hot fuck, I’ll be healthy as a horse. You look at it, and you think: I can do that. It’s cluttered and chaotic and - I mean, is this a house, or is it the airless infinity of outer space? Right? Am I right? What if I could just store my fruit under the sink, or in a secret ceiling cubby hole, or in a quaintly hollow tree stump outside? Are hallways anything but just the middleman of architecture? Do I truly require this much oxygen? My own house suddenly feels bloated, like a gassy belly. Do I really need all that floor near my bed? What am I doing with it except walking on it in order to get into bed? Do I really need that much counter space? Yes, I have a bowl of fruit on the counter, but surely that’s an improper and extravagant misapplication of three-dimensional space. Looking at your existing home or apartment, you start to think, LOOK AT ALL THIS WASTEFULNESS. Everything is so neat, so compact, so pragmatic. They’re like dollhouses that you get to live in. Boy howdy, those tiny houses sure do look cool. ![]()
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