Well, after about two months of living in limbo, perpetual puppet purgatory, homeless, we have finally moved into our new workshop. And we've dubbed it... The Dutch Oven!!!
So imagine you're a young upstart landlord, eager to make a real positive impact in a challenging industry. Two lovely tenants--a couple--move into one of your apartments, a sweet little second story place in upper Parkdale, and you can clearly see that they have friendly faces, solid incomes and a genuine love for their new home. What you don't see is that this couple has a dark secret, a secret that terrifies you to the core, and coming face to face with this secret will bring you closer to the brink of insanity than you've ever been before.... they're puppeteers!!!! (insert dramatic sting here)
They manage to fly under your radar for a while, quietly scheming and plotting your eventual demise. You don't notice as they begin to nest, bringing all sorts of strange tools and weird materials into the house. Dazed looking young people begin to congregate, with skinny jeans and sawdust in their hair. High pitched squeals, low groans and muffled thuds travel throughout the building. Their palace of torture grows month by month, and you continue to ignore the scrap wood piling up on the rear porch, evidence of their carnage.
Eventually the strange fluctuations in the hydro bill, a number of comments from the neighborhood watch, and the neon glow emitted from the second story window grate too much on your nerves and you decide to take action into your own hands. You storm up the stairs, barge into the apartment, swat through the swarm of plaid-laden hipsters, dive past the giant rack of wooden limbs and severed heads... and emerge staring at something completely unexpected: power machines! Towering over you are three slick steel instruments designed to drill, cut, rip, shave, sand and buff. Their chrome finish reflects back a look of sheer terror on your face as it dawns on you: "I DON'T HAVE INSURANCE FOR THIS!!!! AAAAHHH!!!"
Calmly and fairly, you offer the puppeteers 14 days to remove their mechanical abominations from this place of residence before you brandish your most powerful weapon: legal action. And you rejoice in the spectacle as crowds of gaunt faced, hardened puppeteers emerge from their workshop cocoon, dragging their gadgets and gear to the sidewalk curb to be picked up with the rest of the neighborhood trash.