Curbed Horror Stories are firsthand reader reports about terrible Los Angeles apartment experiences past and present. This week, in honor of Renters Week, we're having a rental horror story showdown. We'll post a few horror stories each day with a vote for the best on Thursday. The winner will advance to the national round of our network-wide contest (and the nationwide winner gets a free month's rent!). Horror stories to email@example.com, if you please.
A couple years ago a supposed pop star, a.k.a. Theodore Chipmunk, purchased the house next door to our rental. Next door as in less than twenty feet away.
The rodent tore out much of the hedge dividing our properties and built an outdoor love lounge.
Even while underage, the Chipster would trawl the Cahuenga bars every night until closing, offering to bring a hundred or so of his newest best friends back to his house for autographs?or whatever specialty vodka he was pouring at that hour.
From 3-6 a.m. our cul-de-sac would be overrun with stiletto heeled waifs throwing their smoldering butts into the hydrangeas as they loudly cackled about being discovered.
Neighbors contacted TMZ anonymously to complain, but within seconds of hanging up they’d be at our doors with cameras. So much for anonymous?
[link to TMZ story redacted]
The neighborhood banded together, calling the police repeatedly, but were told we needed evidence. Each time officers went to his house about noise complaints he’d promise to turn down the music and behave. Confronting him simply confirmed his vocabulary was limited to Dude.
[link to another TMZ story redacted]
If I’d buy a dozen eggs I’d wake up and discover them missing. When I’d confront my roommate he’d shrug and admit he’d been pelting partygoers. A trellis would be demolished and he’d admit it afforded leverage. Awakened repeatedly, I’d hear girls shriek as hurled oranges shattered martini glasses. Localized rain showers would seemingly come out of nowhere, or however far the hose could reach.
[link to Perez Hilton story redacted]
Tiny finally sold his place at a significant loss after a machete was found lodged in his front door securing a SHUT THE FUCK UP note.
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