So, it appears I took something for granted in my last post, and that is that most people have either experienced or know about heating systems in old apartment buildings. Many of you were mystified--flummoxed, even--that we have precisely zero say in the temperature of our apartment, and asked me to explain it. And I tried--I really did--to write a straightforward, explanatory post about radiators. But hey! You know what's boring? Straightforward, explanatory posts about radiators. You know what's (hopefully) NOT boring, though? RAP SONGS ABOUT THEM.
Yes, seeing as I haven't worked on a rap since Duck This Shot: The iPhone Rap, I figured it was time to give it another go, and attempt to enliven the generally staid world of heating systems. And so I set about working on my rap...
...which was interrupted by the arrival of the Penis Snuggie.
J had told me earlier in the day that he had something "awesome" to bring home, so I was eagerly awaiting a bucket of cash, a new camera, or possibly, a pie. It was, in fact, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Snuggie.
Which, as Twitter swiftly informed me, prominently featured some found porn:
Many people weighed in, and long story short, I have now garnered the nickname Mother Teresa of the Scrotum Blankets. Thank you, Slynnro. Anyway, this (UNDOUBTEDLY educational) rap required photographs to illustrate my point, and so I decided to document it while wearing the Snuggie. Because: Snuggie.
Without any further ado....THE RADIATOR RAP, Y'ALL:
City living is the illest,
Ain’t no better place to be.
But today I’m gonna talk to you
About apartment heat.
Pre-war buildings are the shit, you know
They’re sturdy and so spacious
Higher ceilings, wider doorways,
So good if your bum’s curvaceous.
Yet they have one awful feature,
Like that King in Gladiator.
Ruinin’ it for everyone,
Is heat by radiator.
The steam comes up a’clankin,
Makin my crib hot and dry.
A thermostat? You playin’!
Or just maybe very high.
Can’t control a radiator,
Ain’t no dials there, or valves.
They’re old as dirt, they’re aged,
Like mah granny with her salves.
My skin is oh-so-scaly,
Grody hair in a bandana.
My legs feel just like my pet snake.
(His name’s Tony Montana!)
I gotta fight the battle,
Not with whittled shivs or guns.
I got another plan, you see,
To make the dry heat DONE.
Desperate measures here are what we need,
This situation’s dire.
Gonna call my rhinestone guy,
Bling out my humidifier.