Local Punk Wakes Up in Stranger’s Bathtub, Claims It’s His New Apartment

In a Cleveland bathroom, local punk guitarist Tommy ‘Tatters’ Thompson awoke Tuesday morning, convinced that the porcelain tub he found himself in was not just a temporary resting place after another night of heavy drinking, but his new permanent residence. Thompson, who performs with the band “The Sneaky Ferrets,” reportedly told authorities he had secured a five-year lease with the rubber duck floating beside him as his notary.

Police Chief Randy Marshall confirmed that they were called to investigate a disturbance but found only Thompson sitting comfortably, humming punk anthems while using a loofa as a microphone. ‘He insisted that the bathtub came fully furnished,’ Marshall said. ‘Apparently the showerhead doubles as a bidet. His insistence on living there was quite genuine.’

While city officials are baffled by this new interpretation of urban living, real estate mogul Jerry Holloway sees potential. ‘The market’s hot for unconventional spaces,’ Holloway noted. ‘With rising rents, turning bathrooms into rentable studio apartments could revolutionize housing. We’ve already patented the concept of ‘Bathe & Stay’ suites, complete with Wi-Fi and heated toilet seats.’ Adding fuel to the fire, Holloway plans to launch an app called TubStay aimed at millennials seeking affordable living options.

Economists are skeptical but intrigued by the potential economic implications of this trend. A recent study conducted by the Urban Living Institute suggested that converting just 0.01% of America’s bathrooms into micro-apartments could reduce housing shortages by 13%. The study humorously estimated an increase in sales of waterproof electronics and claimed unexpected side effects like an uptick in personal hygiene awareness.

Thompson, meanwhile, remains adamant about his new lifestyle choice. ‘I never thought home ownership would be so damn easy,’ he was overheard saying, waving goodbye to a disgruntled homeowner wearing nothing but soap suds as he walked out. For now, Cleveland’s housing crisis may have found its most unlikely hero—one bathtub at a time.