Requiem for a Crackhouse

As I still haven't figure out how to convert myself into pure energy, I am required to do things like pay bills and eat, so I work. Sometimes my job requires me to do very unpleasant things. Case in point: I've had the pleasure of spending the last few days cleaning out a condemned apartment building in a fun little section of West Phoenix known as Sunnyslope. The odor inside of some of the units inspired the following story:

Once upon a time there lived a fat dirty hippie who hated soap so much, that he outlawed it from ever crossing his doorstep again. Years went by, and the smell finally got so bad that the 14 feral cats who lived with the hippie decided that they'd had enough, and split. This made the hippie very sad. So, in remembrance of his beloved ferals, he dumped all the water out of his 4 foot bong and filled it with cat-piss instead. Then he loaded the bong and smoked it. Naturally, this killed the hippie, and he began to rot on his couch.
Some time later, the bong grew self aware. It celebrated its new-found sentience by eating the hippie's dead body. Then the bong took a dump on the couch, shut off all the air-conditioning and left.

The End.