Looking for apartments

Not that anyone would care, but the rental market in Santa Monica and Venice has reached a fucking frenzied state. IT is total war and I'm no soldier to do battle. People bidding on apartments. Lies. Murder. In Santa Monica they take the term "Yard" literally. A couple blades of grass becomes "Big grassy field for kids and pets" in the description. Total shit. A dining room with no doors or electrical outlets becomes "Optional third bedroom" in the listing. Nice. When they say "Laundry available" they mean that somewhere in Santa Monica you can pay to have someone wash your clothes. Thanks for the tip.
Oggy has plenty of time to find a place...three days.
George offered Oggy a place near the washing machine. This location currently smells so bad. Jane pissed there because it is raining and George got drunk and no one let the dog out. She pissed and soaked the rug and George, in his wisdom, brough out a bucket of water and a straw broom. He soaked the area, spread the water around with the broom and then threw friday's LA times on the spot "To soak up the pee."
This might work if someone ever took the piss soaked paper outside. But this just gets covered up with more paper. At night the rats come out to chew up the piss soaked paper to use as their winter home. Their winter home is in the attic where Oggy imagines dozens of rats and squirrels and mice having all sorts of parties and fun all night.
If Oggy does not find a place in the next three days then that will become his bed.
Is Oggy nervous? No. Because he have a car and he will make it work.
He is Oggy Bleacher and Oggy doesn't give up.

book exerpt

"Did you go in my room, nut bag?"

This could only be my brother addressing me with one of his many inventive titles. I wheeled around quickly in case he was already charging in to give me a beating. Thankfully, I hadn't decided to go into his room to record "Xanadu". See how treacherous expanding your music library was in 1980?

"No," I moaned, "You told me not to go in your room, so I didn't do it. I'm innocent. Please don’t hurt me."

I instantly wished I had taken a different approach. My earnestness was too obvious. He would know I had read one of his Fantastic Four comics.

"So what did you take, Queer boy?" he asked as he smacked his fist into his palm. "Tell me now and I won't beat you up too bad."

"I didn't. I didn't take anything. Dad!" I called to my father just to be safe, maybe get him moving in my direction before the bloodshed began. "I'm not lying. I don't want another beating. Please, Brooks."

Again, this was too obvious. No one telling the truth would ever say, "I'm not lying."

Brooklyn was apparently feeling benevolent because he paused and said, "If I find something is missing then I will beat you down. I told you before, Ogden. You will be beaten until you submit. I might even take your hat."

At the threat of losing my hat my senses were placed on high alert. Nothing upset me more than being separated from my hat.

"Naw!" I said as I leaned away from Brooklyn. "I was just sitting in here trying to tape "Xanadu". That's all.”

“Ha! That’s your first lie. You’re sitting here listening to that fag Billy Joel. And if you’re listening to a fag then that means you are a fag.”

“Billy Joel is a wicked awesome singah.”

“You act like you’ve never heard of Black Sabbath. That is just more proof that you are fag of monumental proportions.”

“B-B-Black Sabbath?” I whispered. “Dad told you not to listen to Black Sabbath.”
"Well, Dad told you to stop being an idiot, so that makes two of us who don't do as we're told."

“But Black Sabbath is evil.”

“No. Billy Joel is evil. Ozzy Osbourne is the God of Rock. You would know that if you stopped listening to that junk. Glass Houses? That pussy never took a chance in his whole life. Now, KISS knows how to rock. Ace Freely…hey, is that an Air Supply record? I’m going to kick your ass if you have an Air Supply record.”

I tried to hide my Air Supply record. My mother had bought the record for me at a Harvard Square thrift store and I didn’t want Brooklyn destroying it. And I didn’t even want to think about what would happen if he saw John Denver’s greatest hits.

“Wait! Please! I never went in your room, Brooks. Anyway, you're in my room."

This seemed like a perfectly logical argument. If he could come in my room then why was I not allowed in his room? Why indeed?

Brooklyn paused and crossed his arms.

"Because I'm older and you're weak. Ha! What? Did you say something, Goober?"

Brooklyn lunged at me. I instinctively fell back to protect my hat and accidentally hit the turntable. The needle skipped to "It's Still Rock and Roll to Me" scratching the vinyl with an ugly synthetic tearing sound that was still about three years from becoming popular among Rap artists. I gasped.

"No! You butt dog. You scratched it. It's mine and you ruined it."

Brooklyn raised his arms up in triumph.

"That'll teach you not to go in my room, you Troll. I guess Billy Joel isn’t so cool anymore. Too bad."

I'd have a bruise where I hit the turntable. My Billy Joel record was precious to me and now it was ruined. All because of Brooklyn.

"I hate you. I hate you so much," I said as my chin began to wobble. "You're...you're evil! You're an evil person. Get out!"

Brooklyn turned around and casually picked up a stack of loose baseball cards. He looked at them with feigned interest and then threw them on the ground like they were trash. I was breathless from horror as the cards tumbled into a disorganized pile.

"No! Dad! Brooklyn's being evil again; he threw my cards on the ground after I just put 'em in order. And he threatened to take my hat! He’s listening to Black Sabbath again too."