Hole in the Ceiling

This is what we get for doing a good deed. We let Cousin Omar stay upstairs while he was between jobs. Little did we know he had this disgusting habit of spitting tobacco juice on the floor. Spittoon manufacture had been outsourced to Pakistan, which decided to impose an embargo on the US as a protest against over use of drones in their territory. You'd think Omar would at least spit into a vase, but no, right on the floor.
On top of that, he was using acrid Mexican juice, which eventually burned a hole in our ceiling. He apologized and offered to contact his contractor friend. If you know anything about Omar's friends, it's doubtful this guy was licensed. Lois, my wife, and I were not crazy about Omar hearing all our conversations. Plus we could hear him singing old Crosby, Stills and Nash songs.
Now he had to go outside to spit and the neighbors stopped talking to us.
I have to give Lois credit for having the idea to install a pole that reached right up to the second floor and advertizing for pole dancers in training. We cleared $1500 the first month. Neighbors still aren't talking to us, but who cares?
The only downside has been Omar introducing these young women to Mexican tobacco juice. Lois and I are convinced he has them aiming at us.