You will never get my business.
To David Ward, Harriet Drake, Zinky Rodriguez,
Never shall you see a single dollar from me.
For Michael Wagner, Olaf Gartanian, Cindy DuPar,
I do not know you, but I already feel a growing enmity toward you.
We have never met, but I just can’t help but sense there is something incredibly douchey about you.
Douchey and narcissistic and, more than likely, completely full of shit in that special way that seems to come hand-in-hand with the desire to be clad in Dockers pants and Crocs.
I’m talking to you, Real Estate Agent with your face on a bus bench.
Which of you annoying fucktards was first to dip your hairy, gnarled troll toes into the dirty pool of the type of advertising usually only reserved for bail bondsmen? I want to know because you, patient zero, deserve to be bitch slapped into next Tuesday (assuming that doesn’t interfere with your next Open House) for assaulting me with your mealy-mouthed, unattractive gape every time I pull up to a red light. And don’t give me that “nobody liked me that much in high school” look, either.
Okay, if you’re some Adonis or completely hot minx I could see paying an outdoor advertising company a few grand a month to put your amateur-hour headshot on a bus bench. But the truth is that 99% of you realty whores have been blessed with the physical pulchritude God usually only bestows upon high school cafeteria lunch ladies and guys who work behind the counter at bait shops.
Dear Carl Gingiss, Matt Hoversen, Joe Katt,
That Sad Sack look in your eyes, coupled with your male pattern baldness, gives you a certain panty-sniffer creepiness that has obviously followed you your whole life.
That is why I hate you all. As a group, you’re so pathetic I’m considering throwing a telethon for you. Those muscular dystrophy kids have Jerry Lewis, so we just need a celebrity with the appropriate amount of sliminess to match your bus bench glamour shots. I’m thinking we get the guy who played “Larry” from Three’s Company; he would be perfect.
I say when people from all across America call in to donate for your cause, we take whatever few shekels we can scrape up and use it to help bus bench realty whores by giving them plastic surgery.
To Dewey Waterman, Janice Cathcart, Lane Bellamy,
We can pin back those jug ears, pull up those droopy jowls. We can make that nose look more like something that belongs on a human face and less like something skiers jump off during the Winter Olympics. We can fix that WalMart wardrobe and for God’s sake, let me tweezerfuck the shit out of that unibrow.
We get it. If politics is Hollywood for the ugly, then real estate is politics for the fugly. I can’t hold it back anymore Jake Meloni; your cheap hair plugs are just fucking embarrassing, man. From the photo booth snapshot you used, you look like a deranged Monchichi.
Donna Spielman, are you kidding me with those gigantic ears? You look like a taxicab going down the street with the doors open.
My favorite realty whore bus bench ads are the ones in which they display their severe inability to possess a single fucking clue. Yes you, Amir Azar, I’m talking to you with your bench ad on which you claim to be holding the keys to my new house. The problem, oh fucktarded one, is that the black fob on the end of the key you’re holding up is clearly from a Mercedes. Although I’m sure it’s a nice Mercedes, I don’t believe my future plans involve me living in a car. I gave that up after college.
Sure, I get it that the face-on-the-bus-bench thing is because real estate is a crowded and competitive field and you have to come up with any way to stand out and be recognized, because Lord knows actually being fucking great at what you purport to do is just too damn difficult. Why should I choose a realty whore who is the best at their job when I can just pick someone mediocre who just also happens to have enough spare cash lying around to pay for a mini billboard?
You know what the best part is? When the realty whore pays for two identical ads on bus benches that are right next to each other at the same bus stop. I bet they do it in order to keep a competitor from buying that adjacent ad space and giving me the option of choosing between Jerry Briggs and Russel McAdams, or as I like to refer to them: Facelift and Dyejob.
I guess in the fragile financial climate where one home sale commission could mean the difference between survival and selling the kids for medical experiments just for grocery money, you do what you gotta do, right?
I just wish they’d do it somewhere else, like say in a country that has a Hunger Games for realty whores where the weapons are sharp and plentiful and the winner gets a real billboard and not a shitty little one that nobody gives a fuck about anyway.
“Real Estate Whores on Bus Benches” from my book Porn vs. Chicken.