So I grew up in this incredibly old building in New York. And not a nice, old building, I mean a shitty almost condemnable structure that shook when you walked. The building was a disaster. The water was yellow, it reeked of an indescribable smell that is somewhere between dead-skunk/weed and a fresh human shit that someone forgot to wipe. It was the worst building I've ever stepped in, let alone the worst I had ever lived in. But money was tight (like it always was), so we moved into this apartment across from the projects. For the first month or so, there was nothing going on. And then, we were told of a drug dealer who had lived in the apartment many years before and had murdered many people in the apartment over the years before being shot by police during a raid. His body went missing on the way to the morgue, and that was the last anyone had heard. Naturally, it was pretty freaky, but we ignored it. We didn't have a choice with regards to where we lived. And then, I woke up with piss on me. And not in my pants (it was completely dry down there). It was all over my face, my chest, our TV, and in our pasta pot. There was a fluid that I would later learn to be semen that was drying on the wall. It looked like the fucking Slimer from Ghostbusters had exploded in our apartment. I was like, "What the fuck?" But I wasn't scared. And then, in what can only be described as sleep paralysis, I woke up in a cold sweat during the next night, and I was flipped over by an unmovable force. My pants were pulled down. My thigh was caressed. And in went a finger. It wasn't a normal finger. I had no clue what it was, but boy did it hit that prostate. And then came a much larger thing, most likely a penis, and I was uncomfortable. I finally worked up enough strength to strain my neck around to see the assailant. I was screaming,"Stop! Stop! Stop!", when I realized that I was looking at the loch ness monster, all 40 feet of him. I asked, "What are you going to do with me? What do you want?" "Lemme just blow my load and I'll be on my way. Also, do you have tree fiddy for the subway ride back to Coney Island? Fucking MTA raised the price again." I simply replied,"Oh sure, that's fine. Finish up, and there is tree fiddy in the piggy bank."

Fuckin' MTA. Always jackin' up the prices and forgetting to put a serious tag.