An old man lived in this house for forty years. He died in the house and his body was not discovered for some weeks. When the firemen broke down the door they found his corpse rotting into the carpet. He’d choked on a prune and fallen off the couch. The last thing he saw was the remote. The big black stain on the living room carpet is where he rotted. Actually no, that’s where a dog died. Enjoy the house.

This is the work of Skinny Bob. Skinny Bob is a grumpy man who writes ads for houses when they are for sale. The ones in the paper and on the internet. Skinny Bob started out writing the usual guff but developed this style that people really dug. Skinny Bob kept a low profile. Skinny Bob doesn’t like you.

This house has four walls, some floor, a stove. One of the elements on the stove is broken. Sure you can’t cook shit on that element but you know what you can do? You can lean on it when you’re cooking shit on the other elements. Your hand won’t get burnt or anything.

Skinny Bob became this ironic cultural type artist guy. People said ‘his work is so raw.’ They said his ads were like parables for the emptiness of consumerism but also an embracing of consumerism. Some wore t-shirts to the pub that said ‘I am Skinny Bob.’

Easily the most breathtaking feature of this mansion is the blue-tiled shower. To me it feels like the kind of shower in which a vain actress would slit her wrists, lie down and let the life drain out of her. Buy the house.

When people bought a house that Skinny Bob had written the ad for they often framed the ad and hung it in the house. A band called themselves the Skinny Bobs and Skinny Bob sued them and they lost everything.

When I was checking out this house a roof crawler crawled through the sky light, set up a video camera on a tripod and filmed himself doing that dance from Silence of the Lambs where Buffalo Bill puts his cock between his legs and dances around going, ’Would you fuck me? I’d fuck me. I’d fuck me hard.’

An exhibition of Skinny Bob Originals was held in a trendy gallery. At the opening Skinny Bob got drunk on Veuve and kicked the gallery owner in the shins. Everyone clapped. They sure loved Skinny Bob. He bought an apartment in Rome.

I made love to a limbless prostitute in the spare bedroom of this house for a laugh. When I was done I washed myself and I cried. It wasn’t funny at all. But I was on mushrooms so you can see why I thought it would be funny.

Skinny Bob married the receptionist at one of the real estate firms he’d made a ton of money for. On the honeymoon he had trouble in the love department. His work suffered.

I had a dinner party in this house and served lamb rogan josh and everyone got sick. I am a fucking failure.

Skinny Bob divorced the nymph receptionist and got himself a live-in oriental bird. She had never heard of Skinny Bob. All she wanted was to cook Skinny Bob flat noodles. A return to form is on the cards.

© Rupert Taylor, 2011