If anyone has seen the movie Idiocracy, you know how far Mike Judge has fallen since Office Space, but the opening sequence still bears reiterating in our current context.

Thomas and Rachel are 2 self-respecting, intelligent people. They have one kid, and raise that kid to be like themselves; a self-respecting, intelligent person. They work hard, pay their taxes, pay their mortgage or rental agreement, and don't expect the government to hand out money, jobs, etc to them.

Bobby Sue and Bobby Joe are two uneducated, ignorant, inbred, IQ-of-87-on-a-good-day pieces of garbage. They have 8 kids, all of whom grow up to be (you guessed it) JUST LIKE THEM. They DON'T work hard, they don't pay taxes, and they're excited that "Obama will pay their rental agreement for them."

Who inherits the America of tomorrow? Sure, there will still be geniuses and well-raised citizens, but their proportion of the population is shrinking. "But," you say, "with so many people in this country, we'll still have plenty of intelligent, hard-working, tax-paying people to hold up the high end of the tax bracket, we can continue to lean on them." That logic is flawed. Already, 10% of the population pays 68% of the taxes (and earns 44% of the income), and every year that unequal wealth/tax distribution grows (which, of course, pisses off liberals for obvious reasons, but fiscal conservatives and libertarians should be equally horrified, and here's why). I won't bother trying to convince the social conservatives; if you think intelligent design is legitimate science, I don't expect you to understand high-fallutin' concepts like, say, macroeconomics.

If a shrinking proportion of people are contributing to the system, and a larger number of people are demanding handouts, at a certain point (read: NOW) the financial equation will no longer balance. This phenomenon builds gradually over time, but accelerates and becomes a "crisis" when a catalytic event such as an economic collapse (September 2008) or an international pandemic that kills off half the world's population (September 2010?), leaving only a handful of genuine contributors to the system.

"We need to care for the weakest among us!" cry the bleeding hearts. "Ok," I say, "Who are the weakest among us? The mentally ill? Ok. Veterans who lost limbs and are unable to earn much? Ok. Tell you what, I'll even kick in the poorest 10% of the population, just to satisfy the bleeding hearts. Fair?"

Hmmm... that all sounded fine, except... what percentage of the population do we ACTUALLY carry?

Here are the numbers: the "weakest among us" is the BOTTOM 50% OF THE POPULATION, who only pay 3% of taxes, which doesn't even cover the social program payments that go directly back to them. That means that we are literally carrying half of our population's weight.

What do we do with all that dead weight? Euthanize them? Sterilize them? Make them serfs like the old Russian system?

Here's an idea: we could stop paying them to breed.

Idea 2: Abolish the IRS altogether, and raise sales tax to 30%. "Oh, but all those poor out-of-work lawyers, accountants, and IRS agents!" you cry out. "We can make them serfs too," I reply.

Perhaps Messiah Obama will find a solution to our problem of shrinking Providers and growing Demanders (a problem compounded by our aging and retiring society). I'm not holding my breath though, so it's a good thing I'm not making any money from a single rental agreement, so I can be taken care of by all you hard working Providers!

suckers.

Source of Data: IRS

I've frequented some pretty dingy movie theatres in my day: art-house theatres, indie hubs, converted barns, etc. And that's fine. You know why? Because movie theatres are one of the few establishments in the world where it doesn't matter how nice or shoddy the actual establishment is, what matters is the people who go there. This is why, incidentally, if you're thinking about buying an old theatre to start your commercial rental agreement empire (no Dive Bars for you, you say!), don't worry about the shape of the building, worry about the kind of people who go there.

As anyone who's ever been to a slum movie theatre knows, the human trash is far thicker than the candy-wrapper trash, and here are the list of femme-fatales and mustachioed-villains to look out for:

1. The Moron Who Thinks the Characters Can Hear Him

"Turn around! Turn around! He's behind you with a knife! Ohhhh, nooo!!!!" You know them just like I do, and their mothers shouldn't have drank so much MD 20/20 during pregnancy. Who said euthanasia was wrong, again?

2. The 17-Year-Old Mother Who Brings Her Brat

No, little Dontavius doesn't need to watch R-rated movies at 11:00 at night when he's four months old. What, you want him to grow up to be a screw-up just like you and your baby daddy? Give the kid a chance, at least. Oh yeah, and there's that little issue of the rest of the audience suddenly losing control and bashing the kid with a melty Twix bar because he won't shut the he11 up.

3. The Cell Phone Talker

You know, I put up with it for a little bit, when you were just texting. But instead of having the good grace to be embarrassed when your electronic tumor started going off, you actually picked up and answered. I know, I know, your friend just got out of jail after that armed robbery stint, and you want to catch up, but do us all a favor and go do it with a forty in a dark alley like a good little thug.

4. The Candy Thrower

You'd be surprised how often this is NOT someone under age seven, but rather a fully functional sixteen year old. They leave you with only two options: 1. Fire back, or 2. Climb over the seats towards them, stand in front of them, loudly assemble a particularly disgusting loogie, and let fly on their face. (Note about Option 2: check to see how big the Candy Thrower is before attempting)

5. Huge Head Guy/Girl

It could be a hat. It could be hair. It could be a fro hat (see a few entries back for details). But I feel that there should be some guy with a hedge-trimmer standing by to buzz down that monstrosity on the person-in-front-of-me's head.

So remember, if you're thinking about going into the movie theatre rental business, buy the crappiest building in the nicest neighborhood, and carefully screen your entrepreneurial tenants before signing a rental agreement. Sure, they may seem nice, but you already said you have a no-animals-in-the-building policy, and you don't want them violating the rental agreement by allowing the savages above into your building. I mean, what's the point of owning a movie theatre building if you can't enjoy the free movies as a perk?

Ever tried out being a commercial slumlord? No? But you must try it! Really, nothing like it in the world. What's that you say? You don't know where to start? Well now, pull up a chair, pour yourself a lukewarm can of Schlitz, and everyone's favorite bachelor uncle will tell you all about setting up the commercial space for a dive bar.

Now I know what you're going to say, something about that whole "liquor license" nonsense that your state's government will whine on about, but don't let some bureaucratic nitpicking get in the way of your dream.

To begin, you must find the part of town that most fits your Dive Bar Personality Test (rate each on a Tolerance Scale of 1 through 5, 1 being Least Tolerant, 5 being Most Tolerant):

1. Will you allow women with hairy armpits in your lease premises?

2. What's your tolerance for blather about whose favorite band/movie/naked play is more indie?

3. How do you feel about college students shotgunning beer cans in the establishment?

4. Where do you stand on cougars, bathroom sex, and cover bands of limited talent?

5. Does the sight of ten gallon hats send you into a belligerent rage at the expense of tractor-owners nationwide?

Now that you've decided that you are least tolerant of rednecks and most tolerant of hippies and hipsters, it's time to find an abandoned alcove in the artsy-shartsy part of town. Don't worry, you'd be amazed how many hairy, misfortunately-dressed people you can fit in 300 square feet.

Next, it's time to install the actual bar. Your great-aunt's old horizontal refrigerator will suffice (she's blind with dementia and won't even know it's gone for a solid two weeks), provided you have at least 3 blind, demented great-aunts, and then a few 2x4s from Home Depot will have the job done.

No dive bar is complete without a pool table, and this is the tricky part. You'll have to steal it from somewhere, but given the girth and weight of the average pool table, it will require an Herculean effort. I recommend dating someone whose parents own one, slipping them all a fizzy pill, and calling in your less scrupulous friends to help move the thing to your truck.

We're getting close. Darts will help distract the clientele from the fact that they're all unfathomably boring individuals with little to discuss except the latest edgy performance artist bent on publicly circumcising himself, and additional distractions might include hookahs, oxygen bars, and midget bartenders.

Finally, you might ask, where will you find a sucker dumb enough to sign a lease agreement on this thing? Here's the unfortunate catch: you'll probably have to run the place yourself. The good news? Your friends will come drink there, and keep you in business so long as you all don't drink up any possible profits.

So live the dream, hire that dwarf, and pray frantically every night that the local Liquor Board doesn't discover your little covert operation!

(song and dance routines skipped by popular request)

Game Show Host: "Welcome to Slumlord Millionaire! You will be asked a series of questions, and when we think you're cheating, you'll have to explain how such an unlikely person knew the answer. If you successfully answer them all, you'll be our next Slumlord Millionaire winner!"

Question 1: Which of the following is the least dangerous method of heating a home?

Options: A) Leaving the oven on and open, B) Lighting a campfire on the dirt floor of the basement, C) Turning on an old radiator system and hoping for the best, or D) Feeding Cousin Jerome six cans of baked beans and handing him a lighter.

My Answer: C

How I Know: I've tried the other 3, and lost at least an eyebrow in each attempt.

Question 2: What is the lowest proof of liquor that will reliably burn?

My Answer: Trick question! 80 proof liquor will burn, but very poorly. At 100 proof, a more reliable flame can be achieved.

How I Know: My sister's boyfriend's neighbor's nephew (who happened to lease the next trailer over from me at the time) lost a bet and had to douse his arm with vodka and light it. The good news: he sustained lesser injuries from the mild burn than he did from his parents when they found out.

Question 3: Which of the following best explains why parents in the ghetto have more children, and start reproducing in their teenage years?

Options: A) Women below the poverty line are impervious to the chemical effects of birth control, B) The mischievous Condom Sprite flits from 7-11 to 7-11 poking holes in the condoms, C) Diaphrams are not manufactured large enough to adequately fit birth canals loosened from overuse, or D) They are paid to do so.

My Answer: D

How I Know: I'm one of the people who contributes money to their fecundity cause, through a distant uncle known only as Sam.

Question 4: How Many Legs Does a Dog Need for Mobility?

My Answer: Another trick question! A dog can walk with 3 legs, but can MOVE freely with 2, provided it has a Radio Flyer ghetto-rigged for it properly.

How I know: Little Max was unfortunately mistaken for a 200 lb. buck last hunting season, despite his diminutive 20 lb. stature and lack of antler rack. Billy Joe's lease agreement on his trailer was not renewed, despite his sincere efforts in rigging up his son's wagon for Max.

Here are some statistics and facts that I found to be extremely surprising: (most from the US Census Bureau)

1. Poverty is classified by the US Census Bureau based on number of family members and number of children under 18, so by way of example, a family with 2 adults and 2 children would be below the poverty line if they earn less than $21,027 annually.

2. Among households classified as in poverty, 76% have air conditioning, 97% have at least one color television, 78% have a DVD player/VCR, 62% have satellite/cable TV, 73% have microwaves, and almost 75% have at least one car.

<--- (American Poverty)

3. Here's a big one: 46% of poverty-classified households own their own home, and the average home owned by poverty-classified households has 3 bedrooms, 1.5 baths, a garage, and a patio/porch.

4. The average person (not household, PERSON) classified in poverty has 439 square feet of living space to themselves (ie if 3 people share a 1,500 SF house, they'd each have 500 SF). This is less than the average citizen (not person in poverty, but AVERAGE CITIZEN) in Munich, London, Vienna, Paris, Athens, and almost any non-American city worldwide.

5. According to surveys of those classified as in poverty, only 4% reported severe physical problems with their residence. Of that 4%, half reported "having to share a bathroom" as the severe physical problem.

Still not to the Unfounded Opinions yet, but we'll get there.

It turns out that almost every measure that describes the average person in poverty, also describes me. I actually lost money in 2008, which offsets my roommate's income and puts us below the poverty line. Our 2008 house was 906 SF, or 453 per person, we did not have satellite TV, the house only had 2 bedrooms, no garage, no patio or porch. Oh, and we had to share a bathroom, which apparently was a "severe physical problem" in our house.

Wow, I can officially say I've lived in poverty. That's kind of cool (actually it was a really bad year and I hate the world now, but instead of going out and shooting a few dozen people over it, I started a blog). I think that means I can get away with writing this kind of stuff... right? Hehe.

(International Poverty)------>

Let's have an Unfounded Opinion or two, shall we?

1. Americans, even those who live in poverty, live better than almost anyone else in the world, but they whine a lot harder than citizens of other countries.

2. What's the real difference between someone living in poverty in America and someone who's not? Standard of living? Possibly, but more likely it has more to do with whether or not you were raised to value things like education over things like shooting someone because they looked at your Iroc wrong.

3. Tempting as it is to pin our national misconceptions about poverty on one or another political party, the fact is that both parties throw around hyperbolic cries of poverty in America when it suits them to achieve some political goal. But you'll never hear any of these stats from a politician because it's not "politically correct" to say that our poor people live like kings compared to anyone else in the world.

4. The next time I hear someone talk about the tragedy of abject poverty in this country, I'm going to hand them a fistful of deeds to rental properties in "poverty-stricken" neighborhoods, and give them a first-hand window into poverty in America.

...rant complete. Whew!

WOW!!!! Everyone came out of the woodwork on that last one, good times. But fear not, I'm not a comment wh0re, I won't take it mainstream like that everyday (shout out to some of my fearless commenters, like Jason Sardi, Georgina Hunter, Amanda Hall, Sandy and Jennifer and Russell - you guys have metaphorical coconut balls).

All right enough of the mushy stuff. Let's get down to business.

Some people think that long finger-and toenails are not only unattractive, but impractical. But what if these growths offer the specimen an evolutionary advantage, by frightening away predators? They are purportedly also useful in the act of coitus, by disfiguring the male's back so as to render him incapable of mating with other females of reproductive age.

If you're new to the trailer park, there are a few looks that any budding fourteen year-old trailer kitten can pull off. One is clothing made from the Stars 'N Bars; at once timeless and classy. Another is cutoff sleeves (fashion note: you must cut the sleeves off yourself). If you're a woman, you might consider a black eye, to better fit in, and it makes for an EXCELLENT conversation starter. But, man or woman, a beer gut is a must, which establishes trust and makes a careful statement of "I don't think I'm better than you."

Another important fashion tip for the fashion-forward teenager of today's slums is the fatherless pregnancy look, which makes a bold statement of "independent woman." You don't need a man to help you raise that kid; you've got your mother to raise it for you! Accessories to this look include Jim Beam whiskey and/or MD 20/20 bottles, with a possible "I screwed Jeff Foxworthy and all I got was this crappy baby" T-shirt to demonstrate your think-positive sense of humor.

Hats are important, no matter what low-end neighborhood you inhabit. These could be 10 gallon hats, or baseball caps, or even doo rags (I just learned how to spell that, incidentally). Or, best yet, you can make your own hat out of copious quantities of pomade and hair! (Safety Warning: extremely flammable, do not play with matches, lighters, or crack torches around Fro Hats).

You're never too old to keep up with today's fasions, so grab a bottle of pink Sutter Home wine, break out your best plastic wine glasses, and have all your girlfriends over for a Fashion Slum Party!

Not to be confused with a Fasion Slumber Party, involving naked pillowfights and $exual experimentation, which I insisted on believing in long after I stopped believing in Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy.

If anyone makes a comment about ending that title in a preposition I'll reach across this computer and slap you. True story.

It occurred to me, late last night while floating on a nimbus of hookah and wine, that it's been a long time since we really talked about the basics of how to be a good slumlord. I'm talking old school, like why-not-to-install-central-air-conditioning (Entry 1, mofos!). So, without further ado, we're taking it back to basics.

One of the shadiest real estate investors I've ever met (and I've met more than my fair share, I assure you), used to buy properties that appeared in desperate need of a $50,000 overhaul, and put them in rental shape with $4,000. After signing a rental agreement with the first over-paying crack addict that came along, he would sell the house to another investor, for a steep mark-up because of the high rent.

You might think of this as the old carnie trick with the goldfish. "Step right up, pay $5 to play, it's easy, and win a goldfish to take home!" Never mind that the game wasn't REALLY easy to play, or the fact that those goldfish had a life expectancy of 72 hours.

There are some lessons to be learned here for you, my dear budding landlord or real estate investor. First of all, do your homework on the property's history and the tenant's history before buying a rental unit with a tenant. If the wholesaler bought it a month ago for $23,000, and is now trying to sell it to you for $75,000, I promise they didn't do $40,000 worth of work in that month, and you can bet that tenant was qualified for the rental agreement based solely on their pulse.

But most real estate investors know that already. Here's something you may not know: one of this guy's tricks was popcorn ceilings (and walls), to cover up all the rotting plaster, uneven walls, water-damaged ceilings, and (worst of all) structural problems in the property. If you see popcorn ceilings, you RUN. And maybe give the guy a good ol' manslap for good measure.

Alternatively, you could always take out a huge insurance policy on the property, and make it easy for the crackhead tenant to burn the place to the ground. Not saying it's a good idea, just saying it's an idea.

Nothing tells you that you're doing something right as a humorist like receiving copious quantities of hate mail. The idea, you see, is that if you're totally off the mark, no one pays you any attention, but if you hit the jail on the bed, well, suddenly people get angry. Because no one wants to hear about all those ugly little truths that plague us all; they live happily under the rug, and only become a threat when someone comes along, picks up the rug, and beats you with it.

I'm pleasuring myself with words again (disgusting habit, really), so I'll rein it in, but here are a few gems that just couldn't stay confined to my inbox any longer. By the way, all are welcome to share their OWN hate mail stories in the comments as well, so let's keep it... colorful.

"I find your blog offensive in the extreme. Your lack of compassion demonstrates your ignorance toward people who weren't born with a silver spoon dangling from their gums, and I highly recommend you spend some time actually getting to know the very people you insist on lampooning so caustically. E.S. Dubuque"

CSD: I know you! You visit the ghetto once/year for Flower Day, where you participate in "beautification projects," wherein you plant flowers and nod to "those poor souls living in abject poverty." Your condescension does not escape the notice of the residents, who resent you eternally for your "charity" as you climb back into your yellow Hummer and go back to rich suburbia. At least my condescension is honest!

"You college boys are all the same, always looking down on someone just cause they didn't grow up in a big city. I live just fine in a TRAILER PARK, and don't feel lik I gotta explain myself to you damn city liberals.

-Pritchett"

CSD: Nor do I have to explain myself to you, because it would fail to penetrate that unsightly white sheet on your head.

"It's conservative a$$holes like you who keep me living in a filthy ghetto. You probably think the south should've won the civil war and that my people were still pickin cotton in your daddy's plantation! ~Ledasha"

CSD: You're lucky that a$$holes like me are stupid enough to put money in your filthy ghetto, because it'd be a lot filthier if no one were willing to buy rental properties there and fix them up.

"You hide your black, soulless heart behind a veil of irony and sarcasm and wit, and think it makes you clever. When you rot in he11 don't say no one ever told you that God has plans for those who offer nothing but mockery to the wretched.

-ModernAngel"

CSD: Where to begin? 1. I offered high quality rental housing long before realizing my mistake; the mockery comes extra on the side, 2. I think calling poor people "the wretched" is easily more offensive than anything I've ever said, 3. If, somewhere deep under the surface of the earth, it turns out there's a creature with goat's feet, bull horns, and red skin that gets his jollies by poking dead people with a pitchfork, then I stand corrected as that disbelieving fool who should have been more gullible.

I don't know, I got a kick out of some of these, and figured I'd pass them on for their entertainment value. Don't be strangers! Keep the hate mail coming.

On the Slumlord Manifesto, we agreed that camouflage techniques for visiting the ghetto after dark were probably not a great idea.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not proposing you go to the ghetto after dark, unless you want your kids to collect on your life insurance policy. But sometimes, you have to visit your slum properties, and you may want to hide the fact that you, well, may not belong there. So here are a few ideas on Camouflage for the Slums, to help you fit in a little better.

Not Acceptable: Painting Your Skin Black

Hollywood can do miraculous things, such as the impressive camouflage job done on Robert Downey Jr. Unfortunately, you don't have their money or talent.

Acceptable: Hoodie Sweatshirt

This is ONLY ok if it is NOT your college sweatshirt, or any college sweatshirt for that matter.

Not Acceptable: The Tie around the Head

It didn't work for Steve Martin, it's not going to work for you either.

Acceptable: Sneakers/Tennis Shoes/Trainers

Do Brits really call them trainers? Add that to the list of questions that may never be answered.

Not Acceptable: Suits, Dress Pants, and Dress Shoes

You think you look damn good in that suit, and you want to wear it, don't you? Guess who else might start thinking THEY'D look just as good in that suit?

Acceptable: Literal Camouflage Pants (recommended for trailer parks only)

Only try this if you've worn them before, and been happy about it.

Not Acceptable: Showing off Your Brand New Viper

I wouldn't have included this one, on the assumption that it went without saying. But when I was 22 my boss actually drove his cherry red Dodge Viper convertible to the ghetto, and I learned a valuable lesson that day: it takes years of making smart decisions to afford a Viper, and only one moment of stupidity to ruin it.

All right, now I know you all were shocked and appalled by my slumlord Extreme Eviction Practices last time around. "What on earth," you wonder, "could a tenant do to deserve such cruel and unusual treatment?"

Ok, ok, you twisted my arm. I'll tell you.

Extreme Eviction-able Offense 1: Being a Crazy Cat Lady

We all know one, and they're usually harmless older ladies. Unfortunately, their feline friends leave an odor that could choke a grown yak, and cause permanent brain damage to future tenants' children (and guess who they'll sue when THAT happens?).

Extreme Eviction-able Offense 2: An Adult to Child Ratio of >1:5 

It's a strange thing, but when I was growing up, my parents taught me that having kids was a… what was that long word? Oh that's right, "responsibility." I really, REALLY want to rant for a few pages about this one, but I'll leave it at this: If condoms cost a dollar, and children cost $6,000-20,000/year apiece, and you treat them like crap because you never wanted them in the first place, MAYBE YOU SHOULD GIVE THEM TO SOMEONE WHO WON'T RAISE THEM TO BE A CRACKHEAD LIKE YOU.

And get your tubes tied while you're at it.

Extreme Eviction-able Offense 3: Committing a Crime that Carries a Prison Term of More than 10 Years

As a new landlord, I didn't want any crimes being committed in my rental properties. Later, I realized this shrunk my rental applicant pool to somewhere around zero, so I've been slowly lowering this bar ever since. You know, things like Murder 1, Violent Rape, and Driving Honda Civics with Vertically-Opening Doors are all on my current list of prohibited activities.

Extreme Eviction-able Offense 4 (Corollary to Offense 3): Playing P. Diddy (or Puff Daddy, or Puffy, or whatever he goes by this week) Loudly, or at All, for that Matter

Part of me wants to expand on this point, but the other, rational part says I don't have to. But he makes for one handsome mug shot!

Extreme Eviction-able Offense 5: Burning Tires to Cook Squirrels

Trailer parks are notorious for this one. But the beauty of this particular offense is that you can actually witness natural selection at work, by watching the physiological consequences of doing something this stupid. That said, the smell is intolerable, so you have to step in BEFORE their transformation to vegetable is complete.