Original subtitles

Previously, on "Surrealestate"...

I don't believe in ghosts.

Neither do I.

I just work with them.

I still have these moments

when I think maybe you should be detained and studied.

Well, you'd have to buy me dinner first.

Zooey! You get to drive Susan out to the coast.

And leave her for dead, right?

This is why we don't have HR.

I just thought you were

the office manager.

- I contain multitudes. - Anything else?

Who's the referring agent?

- Seriously? - Rita Weiss.

Hm.

This got scary fast.

I know I'm late

but people took forever

and there's no way they could afford the place.

I'm on my way, Honey.

Okay! As fast as I can! Geez!

Whew!

Hnh...

A touch after 5 o'clock

on this beautiful Tuesday afternoon.

Next up, handyman Andrew Anderson

talks to us about the wonders of

low maintenance composite decking.

Some might call it a mundane topic.

Well, there is fun

in the mundane!

Beat ya!

Pass me another one, would ya?

Sorry. You asked for it.

All right, here's to Friday

and a weekend of possibilities.

On the count of three. One...

Two... three!

*SURREALESTATE* Season 01 Episode 06

Episode Title: "Roman's Six" Aired on: August 20, 2021.

You're late.

For our 9:30 meeting, which you rescheduled twice?

Look,

I'm giving you this listing. It's a present.

Like the dollar bills all those sad women used

to tuck into your Speedo in college.

Why me?

Taking some time off.

You remember my assistant, Gabriel?

Oh, I try not to get attached to your assistants, Rita.

They're like bunnies in cosmetics testing...

you just know something terrible's

going to happen to them.

He died.

The dim bulb ran into a tree branch.

It went through his eye socket and into his brain.

Who knew he even had one? Ha.

I'm sorry for your loss.

Yeah, well, I've had this vacation

on the books for months and now this happens.

Gabriel's final middle finger from the grave.

Is this why you're giving me the listing?

Look, if you don't want it, I'll call someone normal.

Let's go inside and look around.

Sorry, but Mister "I'm going to die

and complicate Rita's life" took the lockbox code

when he became a baritone in the choir eternal.

I've got a locksmith coming out later.

Anything else? I need to pack.

Again: why me?

Gabriel's death wasn't the first on the premises.

It's your kind of place.

We should send flowers or something.

Gabriel was Rita's assistant.

Almost qualifies as euthanasia. ‐

There is more. The house has history.

So, the former owner,

Catherine Owens,

was arrested for murdering her tenant about a year ago.

Hm. Nana broke bad.

Miz Owens was kind of agoraphobic.

Owned the place for ten years, hardly ever left...

Just sat in there playing her cello.

Cops had to drag her out. ‐

She ever confess?

Says she plead innocent.

No other fingerprints or forced entry...

Jury saw enough circumstantial evidence to convict.

What happened to the victim?

Well, it just says a head wound.

Let me see if I can get any more specifics.

Would it be insensitive to ask why we care?

Hm.

Well, it's our listing.

We have a duty to report any murder

to any prospective buyers.

Wouldn't hurt to know the details.

Rita didn't mention any residual phenomena?

Of course it could have

slipped her mind in her crushing grief.

When you do the PKT, stay outside the house for now.

We don't know what we don't know yet.

It seems overly cautious.

I get a big "stay out" vibe from this house, Augie.

Until we know what's up, just use the exterior sensor.

I have a meeting but I'll be reachable.

Oh! Ah, that reporter from Channel Six keeps calling.

Do you want me to forward the message?

Hey, do you know an Edwin Calabasas?

Left us a bunch of staticky voicemail messages.

Turns out he owns one of those big old houses on University Row

and wants to list it ASAP.

Wow. Those sell instantly. How'd he find us?

He said we were recommended by an associate

and he couldn't remember the name.

Okay, two listings with no sellers

looking over our shoulders.

How lucky are we?

Hm. Your dad used to make this?

I looked forward to it

every weekend.

My dad marinated the chicken for hours.

Then he'd cook it in oil and sugar 'til it caramelized

and he'd add other spices and stuff.

And he'd make enough for ten or twelve people.

And the house was filled with this wonderful smell.

I used to think Trinidad must be this wonderful place

that always smelled like a Sunday afternoon.

It's really good.

Mm, I love this place, Zaboca.

They make the best Pelau in town,

but dad's recipe spoiled me for life.

Parents.

They mess you up, right?

Sorry.

No, it's okay, you're right.

My dad made me a Padres fan.

What time is it?

I have a ton of classes and labs to register for.

Already? We haven't even looked at any listings!

The new condos on Daly... they're incredible.

Beautiful views. I can get you a deal!

I'm gonna send you a link! Hot, 11‐foot ceilings

in your area, waiting to meet you!

Ew.

What?

This lady got her eye shot out with an arrow.

It's all fun and games until someone pokes an eye out.

Hm.

I need to see your superior.

Uh, Luke's out. What's up, Rita?

He asked to see the open house guest book for the Owens house.

Here.

So, what, this was, uh...

Last Saturday?

Mm‐hm.

Feel free to sell the Owens place to one of those people

but the other 15 names on that list are my clients

and out‐of‐bounds. Mitts off.

Anybody here was particularly interested?

Mm, I'm afraid my assistant took that insight to his grave.

He's literally in a better place now.

If so, he's wearing some kind of corrective lenses.

He died from a stick through the eye.

Bye‐bye!

Huh.

We better call Luke.

This woman is on the list.

Oh, I don't think so.

It's like it was daring me

to come inside.

I'm glad you didn't.

The exterior sensor

should still allow us to monitor its activity.

Telling me four deaths have been associated with this house?

Yep.

Four counting the original murder victim.

Okay, let's just look at the first name

on the open house list for a second...

Marcy Nunes. Had an accident at home.

Tuesday.

Yeah. Impaled herself with a knitting needle;

right through the eye.

Like Gabriel. We are sure?

Yeah, I confirmed with my contact at the coroner's.

Then, three days later,

Anna Mayer.

Bizarre archery‐related mishap.

God, so much death and yet Rita Weiss

still walks the earth.

Rita Weiss wasn't at this open house.

Knowing her management style,

it's possible she never even went inside at all.

It's like this house doesn't want any visitors.

It seemed to invite me in.

Gabriel died on Saturday. Marcy Nunes, what? Tuesday?

Then Anna on Friday.

Three days apart. Anything?

Oh, pick your poison: Celtic Triads, Holy Trinity,

the Osirian triad, all of Pythagoras.

Okay, so the first thing we need to do is warn

the next name on the list.

Three days from Friday is tonight.

Ross Parsons.

- Phil, you'll get in touch? - Mm‐hm.

Call the warden, Braden Correctional.

Let's see if I can get a few minutes

with Catherine Owens.

Think she has an accomplice?

Think she might be innocent.

Oh!

I can say cheese in the next one.

Oh! My bad.

No big thing.

I'm Reese. You can, uh, come on up. Who're you here to see?

Taylor? Or it's probably, uh, Mason, actually.

Wha! Watch your, uh...

- Oh! - ...step. Hm. Party foul.

- Ha‐ha! - Hm.

I'll, uh, yeah, I'll go wake up the Maceman.

We had quite a night last night, but I'm sure he'll be happy

you're here. You guys can talk...

compounds and, uh, valencies and whatnot.

I‐I'm sorry, you are the, uh...

chemistry tutor his dad hired, right?

I sell houses.

I left you three messages.

Right. Right. I'm, uh... wh‐what'd they say?

Your landlord's selling the house.

I just need to take some quick pictures.

Don't know how I feel about that.

Great. Great!

Yeah. Sure.

Oh, my god!

This is a dumpster with utilities.

Yeah, we like it.

Look, I'm going to be honest with you, all right?

Our landlord is kind of a douche, all right?

And I don't really like the idea of helping him sell,

but this new owner jacks up our rent...

He has the right to sell his own property.

Yeah. Yeah‐yeah‐yeah, of course. But, uh...

talk to the boys first, right? And our buddy, Chops,

he's pre‐law, so

he'll know something about our constitutional human rights.

By all means, consult Chops, but I need these photos.

You gotta call me. Tomorrow, no later.

I mean it.

Just gotta find the phone.

I'll let myself out.

You do that.

So, you're saying

I'm going to die by a thing through my eye?

This sounds like so much bullshit.

Three people are ahead of you on that list.

All three have died.

You appear to be next...

Because we looked at a house.

We don't know.

But I thought you should, at the very least...

Buy the house?

Well, I was going to suggest that you be careful.

Take a few precautions.

Stay where you are.

Just a moment.

I don't know you.

Luke Roman. Thanks for seeing me.

There was a window in my busy schedule.

Ms. Owens, I am the, uh, real estate agent

who's in charge of selling your, uh...

The house you used to live in.

I thought you were a writer.

Or one of those movie people.

A commission‐craving house hooker.

What a disappointment!

I see you've been talking to my mom.

I do love my house.

How is it?

Well, I was just there the other day. It's fine.

But you did not go in.

Ms. Owens, Catherine?

You've always claimed to be innocent

of Amos Allenby's murder.

I have.

Because I am.

I think that it is possible

we might be able to help you prove that.

You think so?

How long had you had Mister Allenby as a tenant?

Four weeks.

Maybe five.

I did my best to pretend he wasn't there.

When did you find out he died?

When the police told me my prints were on

the murder weapon.

I wasn't aware I even owned a murder weapon.

Surprise!

It was my bow, the bow from my cello...

covered with my fingerprints.

People are such snobs about their precious Pernambucos

but carbon fiber provides the perfect blend of flexibility

and strength.

I suppose the murderer proved that.

Perhaps there's an endorsement in his future.

At the time of the murder, you were...?

Riding my bicycle by the water,

like I did most afternoons.

By yourself?

The killer knew my patterns,

my habits,

and found them suitable for framing.

Being in here is a pretty good alibi.

This past week, three people who attended an Open House

at your home died.

In a way very similar to Mister Allenby.

Officially, they're all accidents.

But unofficially?

If you're in here,

maybe the killer is still out there.

Real estate agents fighting crime.

I thought you spent your time posing for bus benches.

Look,

can't promise you anything but, uh, we're going to look into it.

I'll be in touch.

Mister Roman...

Take good care of my house.

Do sell it to somebody nice.

So I said, "Look, I'm not trying to be an asshole,

but there's no excuse for missing that deadline." Okay?

Now, I know you're a vegetarian. You just...

Whoa.

Jeezus...

You'd think they'd be a little careful.

Awesome. Yeah, this is what I'm talking about.

Best steak in the city.

Give it to me!

It's great, thanks. Keep it coming, okay?

Hey!

Ahh!

God! Oh my god. Oh!

Mom!

Is there a doctor here?

Friends say Parsons was smart,

friendly and enjoyed fine dining.

I should have scared him more.

Should have done something.

No. No way.

You warned him.

I was pretty sure the house was the problem

until I looked into Catherine's eyes.

And what'd you see?

Arrogance.

Precision. A kind of self‐satisfaction

you don't expect in a correctional setting.

What have you got?

The, uh,

PKT monitor showed very little initial activity.

But we clearly see psychokinetic energy

rise steadily for 48 hours until it peaks here.

Spikes, actually.

Right when Ross Parsons was getting his eye poked out.

And exactly three days after

Anna Mayer got her shot to the eye.

What kind of monster wreaks vengeance

on a few looky‐loos at an open house?

I'm gonna look into death markers, tracers, homers...

Rippers?

Could be rippers.

Maybe look at hollabacks, too, flycasters, inkstains.

Mumfords.

Wait, what are these things? What's a Mumford?

It's a spirit that does the same thing

over and over and over again.

Hey, I like Mumford and Sons.

I keep coming back to precision.

What about a Poindexter?

What about...

Even worse?

What? Peabody?

Nah, a killing spree is way off‐brand

for a Peabody.

Oh, shit. A Watchmaker.

It fits. You gotta admit.

Oh, dear.

Bring me along here, guys. What's a Watchmaker?

They came over with the flood of German immigration

in the mid‐1800's.

They gave us kindergarten and Christmas trees and Watchmakers.

Basically, it's a very methodical demon

that does very bad things in the same way

in a very precise order.

We need to find all the people that went to that open house.

We need to warn them. We need to scare them,

if we have to ‐it is literally life or death.

That's gonna be a problem.

This is the next name in the book.

Is that even a name?

Is there a number? An email?

So, we just need to warn a nameless, faceless person

that they're the next victim of a nameless, faceless killer.

I have my own problems.

Reese?

It's the real estate lady!

That is correct.

Hi. Can you open the door?

Sure.

Taylor, Mase.

Hm.

You didn't call.

Yeah? No. Yeah!

That was, uh, on advice of counsel.

How is Chops?

Chops says that you need a warrant.

I'm not a cop! I don't want your weed.

Unaware of this, uh, "weed" you speak of.

Reese, I just need the pictures, okay?

Please?

Oh, I'm getting real disappointed mom vibes from you

and I already got one of those, so...

You're gonna need to go. Sorry. No pictures.

If‐Yo...

I am so sorry, I hate to do this

especially since you're already on our bench.

Oh, this bench isn't so special.

I'll hang with anyone who sits down.

We attack at dawn!

Let me go!

Oh, he seems nice.

So, you have class tonight?

Nah, think I'll just chill at home.

Got a huge endocrinology lab coming up.

Maybe head up to the attic and have a pillow fight

with your mom?

Or, maybe you should help me...

find a new place?

I'll call you. I promise.

Goodbye.

It's a lovely property in a desirable neighborhood,

Mister Calabasas, but the current...

Tenants are being difficult.

They're parasites.

Overprivileged, little dung beetles

who chose my property as... shit shack.

I've tried to evict them.

Now, I just want them to be someone else's problem.

We need great photos to sell the place.

Then we'll "leak" the listing to a‐a curated list of investors

and parents who want a great campus location,

or income property. It'll sell instantly.

I've chosen the right agent.

But it all starts with the photos.

Nothing fancy, empty rooms is fine,

but they won't...

You figure it out.

The thought of those little tapeworms burrowing deeper

into my portfolio vexes me. I can't rest.

Sir, you should know that...

I have every confidence in you, Ms. Ireland.

Goodbye.

I'm not even sure these characters are from

the modern English alphabet.

Zooey, who do we use for legal work?

Wait, you want to sic a lawyer on the frat guys?

I need the photos.

That is the absolutely the wrong way to do it.

All right. One question:

Did you ever own or operate an iron during college?

Natural fabrics require proper care.

Hm. We have our answer.

I just need the name of the lawyer.

All right, look, I...

...can get you your photos without the lawyer.

Why would you, even if you could?

Because

I am

loving the fact

that you can't. Hm‐hm.

Fabulous for you.

Hey, Luke.

Any luck on the autograph of the damned?

Nope. August is trying to hack Gabriel's email,

see if there's anything there.

Another great idea.

I always send out follow‐up emails for open houses.

I'm all over it.

Look, I talked off‐the‐record to a guy I know.

A homicide detective. As far as they're concerned,

these are all accidents.

Whoever's doing this knows exactly where the victim is

and how to murder them at any precise moment.

Not any moment. Three‐day intervals.

Why not just knock them all off at once?

I'm telling you, it's gotta be a Watchmaker.

Whatever it is,

we're running out of time.

Boom. Boom.

Boom! You did not see that coming! Ha‐ha‐ha.

Wow, that was awesome! Can you show me?

Yeah. It's just, uh, B, left, down, up.

I‐I'm sorry. Who are you?

I'm Zooey.

I live, um, over there. Anyways, um...

me and my roommates, Amber and Sheera,

we were doing this Tik Tok challenge where we, like,

party in every room in every house on the block.

Sounds like a lot of work.

Omigod, I know, right?

Thought it was going to be, like, way easy.

I just came from next door.

No offense, but they are, like, really boring.

Well, we are way more fun.

If you are, you usually don't have to say that.

You guys are kind of cute.

Can I post you doing the Wake Down dance?

Um...

So easy and my roommates would, like, die.

Ta, sure.

Yeah? Awesome! Let me hook up to your Bluetooth.

All right.

Sweet! We just got to, like, clear all this...

stuff.

I can move it?

Yeah, like, now.

- Move it? - Yeah.

Oh, okay. Sure. Yeah.

Sweet.

Um, okay, this will go over here?

Just over there. No! Watch the floor.

Watch the floor, she says!

Ah! Yeah. There you go.

Ohhhh! Skate style.

Does it have to‐have to come down?

Just move that right over there.

Whoa! Whoa‐ho.

Fantastic, boys!

It's dance thing?

Yeah.

Ready, boys?

Mm‐hm.

Five‐six...

Seven, eight.

"Cookies on my Plate" by Richard Mead and Cayte Webber plays...

♪♪♪ Cookies on my plate While life can make me wait ♪♪♪

♪♪♪ Cookies on my plate I've got cookies on my plate ♪♪♪

♪♪♪ Cookies on my plate While life can make me wait ♪♪♪

♪♪♪ Cookies on my plate, what? ♪♪♪

♪♪♪ Oh‐oh‐oh‐oh ♪♪♪

Can you get a lower angle?

I said I have got this.

God, Zooey, it's like you have some strange, hypnotic power

over these poor boys.

Thank goodness you're using it for good

and not evil.

Ooh! I'm trying to show off some of that crown molding.

All right, guys, back to ones!

Good, job, boys!

We got it!

Guys?

Oh!

Ah. I got you. Pull.

Yeah. Phil.

Hey, you visit the prison yet?

- I'm on my way. - Okay, stop.

Just stop. I found something.

Okay.

In 1969, a 16‐year‐old named Margaret Heyward

died at Adreniland on a school trip.

The safety bar on her chair swing

came up all by itself.

- So? - Okay,

three days earlier

Margaret Heyward had recently bested

half a dozen classmates to become first‐chair cello.

So?

Second chair was her best friend,

Catherine Owens.

Three days...

Exactly three days.

I did it! Whoo.

All right, let's post!

Oh, I would, but...

You want a beer?

Sorry, my ride's coming.

Oh, um...

So...

you, uh, want to hang out some time or...?

Oh,

Reese.

I'm grown enough to be your hot,

unattainable, slightly...

slightly...

older cousin.

All right, so...

You'll text me?

Okay, bye.

I have no words.

I think that's best.

Are they still looking?

- Yeah. - Okay, can you go now?

- Yeah. - Please? Thank you.

All this attention.

You're gonna turn a girl's head.

Tell me: how'd you do it?

I don't know what you mean.

You didn't like Amos Allenby.

He was in my house.

Did you know he watched me in my shower, Mr. Roman?

But what about Margaret Heyward?

You killed your best friend because she beat you out

for first chair?

I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.

I think we should talk tomorrow.

There will be lots to talk about tomorrow.

Mr. Calabasas? Susan Ireland.

The listing is live!

The offers should start rolling in.

Um, I've sent you the link

and I just want to make sure that you...

Splendid. Contact my attorney when you have offers.

He'll be pleased to consummate the sale.

So, I‐I should talk to him, not you?

You've ‐great help to

Uh.

...at last, I can move on.

Sorry, you're breaking up. I can't...

Hello?

Hm.

Hm.

Hey, I'm sorry. Did you order?

You're starving.

Luke, I love seeing you,

but if work is too crazy, I get it.

No, I need to eat. Let's eat.

Here we are, two normal adults, eating.

The Owens house has just been‐been nothing but trouble.

Oh.

I'm sorry, it's just...

I can't believe people were into that house.

That striped wallpaper in the hallway?

Made me crave a peppermint stick!

Or a haircut! God!

What?

You were in the Owens open house?

You caught me, Luke. I'm cheating on you.

I'm seeing other agents.

I hope we can still be friends.

Your email...

wasn't on the guest list.

I gave it to the guy afterward.

Verbally.

Luke, what's wrong?

You told me to look at anything I liked.

I'll give you guys a minute.

What about the spoons?

You really think she's going to get spooned in the eye?

Guys in prison sharpen those things and use it as a shiv.

Spoons.

Mm. This is ridiculous.

Okay. You're scaring me.

Why did you scribble like that on the sign‐in sheet?

That's how I sign my name!

Hm. You'll make a great doctor.

August, what's your timeline? What could we do here?

If the, uh, PKT patterns from the Owens house

continue to replicate those recorded before the, uh...

the untimely passing of Ross Parsons,

it will peak... roughly four hours.

She likes to keep to her schedule.

Yeah, she has to. Gotta take a lot out of you,

structuring destinies to smite your enemies.

You'd need some recovery time, too.

Three days.

Then your eye lights up, see your next target and...

boing!

Sorry.

But remember: she's a watchmaker.

She has to kill in the order of the list.

Anything messes up the schedule, or the order, it's a problem.

Enormous problem.

Game changer.

You guys know how dumb this sounds, right?

The truth can be dumb.

But that doesn't stop it from being, you know, true.

Now, see, if you would have said that,

it would have come off all brilliant and ironic.

Delivery.

Okay. Check this out.

Meter readers. Cable guys. Jehovah's Witnesses.

All of them entered Catherine's house at some point

and all of them died from a bizarre accident afterwards.

This lady is a Dahmer‐scale mass murderer,

but since everything looks like an accident,

nobody ever noticed.

I've never even met her!

And didn't you say she was already in jail

when I went to the open house?

When you went inside,

she saw you.

The house had marked you somehow.

Now she's aware of where you are.

Probably not a constant awareness.

I mean, structuring events in the mind? That's one thing.

Omniscient awareness?

That's reserved for God.

And Facebook.

She is not watching you right now but she will be soon.

Yeah. In four hours.

So,

that's when she takes something like Phil's tablet stylus

and pokes it into my frontal lobe?

Dude!

Why is she doing this?

I don't know.

So what if it doesn't?

What?

What if it fails?

What if it gets off schedule or out of sequence...

What happens then?

That's an interesting question.

Watchmakers need everything in sequence,

in order.

One, two, three.

But if we interrupt that order...

One, two... four.

You throw it into a loop.

What kind of a loop?

Imagine a computer with a spinning wheel that never ends,

searching for an answer it can never find.

An electronic stroke.

I know that this is a desperate time

and I really want to be here for both of you,

but

I just got a cash offer on Calabasas,

20 grand above asking.

Would it be in horribly bad taste if I...?

Go, for crying out loud.

Go. Take care of business.

She powerful enough to get past Zooey, we are all doomed.

Where're you going?

To the bathroom.

One door away.

You removed everything sharp, including the hand soap.

Hey. Don't be mad.

What are you, crazy? What are you do...?

Look, I remembered:

today's the last day to register for my endocrinology lab.

I needed to get that lab in person or my year is shot!

Okay, you can be all mad at me

when I get back.

This is your life.

I'm fine! I gotta go.

Oops! Sorry.

Hey‐hey‐hey. Whoa‐whoa‐whoa.

Well,

aren't we a little dark raincloud today.

Why?

She did nothing to you and she meant nothing to you.

Before I dispatched that little shit‐weasel

who watched me in the shower,

hardly anyone entered my house.

I was hungry.

But now I have real estate people,

lookers, shoppers...

Soon I'll have a family.

And they'll all have horrible accidents.

And the whole wonderful dance

will begin again.

Precisely

three

days

at a time.

You loved her, didn't you?

Better to have loved and lost,

no?

Need a medic in visits!

Code blue! Medic in visits! Code Blue!

Code blue! Medic!

It's the Calabasas commission.

Ooh. Doing deposits this afternoon.

By the way, Luke approved a bonus for you on it.

You earned it.

Thank you so much for assigning a dollar value

to my dignity.

Ooh. Not bad.

That's odd.

What?

James Lattimore.

Mr. Lattimore, you are Edwin Calabasas' attorney, correct?

That is correct.

This is Susan Ireland.

I just received a commission from a property we sold

for Mister Calabasas?

The Edwin Calabasas Memorial Trust

has real estate holdings all over the world.

I assume they hired you.

I actually dealt with Mister Calabasas directly.

Ah‐ha. That's not possible, Ms. Ireland.

Mister Calabasas passed on eight years ago.

Will there be anything else?

Un, no, that's everything. Thank you!

So, to recap,

we got hired by a ghost

to cleanse his house

of the people who were haunting it.

Hey, as long as the check clears.

So, what just happened?

She's a watchmaker. She knew you'd be dead,

yet she saw you alive.

Enough of a paradox to send her into a loop.

Forever?

Well, way beyond Catherine Owens' expiration.

Good.

I'd hate to have died in vain.

"Aye Aye Aye" by Bodyshakes plays...

♪♪♪ Well, I‐I‐I‐I wanna make you cry ♪♪♪

♪♪♪ But I, I, I, I Gotta take my time ♪♪♪

♪♪♪ Yeah, you ♪♪♪

♪♪♪ got a lot to say ♪♪♪

♪♪♪ I'm gonna break it down, baby ♪♪♪

♪♪♪ And I bet you that We're all the same. ♪♪♪

That was a hell of a performance.

Oh, you killed it.

So, now what?

Well, first off, we need to find you a proper home.

One without devil dogs, aggressive fireplaces,

strange noises, or any members of my immediate family.

Ah! Sounds dreamy.

Could it have a whirlpool tub?

Jeez.

Clients, man!

♪♪♪ "Aye Aye Aye" reprise ♪♪♪