Punk House Declares Itself Vegan, Still Smells Like Rotting Meat

In a surprising twist, the notorious squat house on the corner of Haight and Ashbury has declared itself a vegan sanctuary, yet the bathroom still reeks like a slaughterhouse after a frat party. The residents, known for their DIY ethos and questionable hygiene practices, made the announcement via a hand-written manifesto taped to the door, titled ‘Meat is Murder, but We Can’t Find the Body.’

The declaration has caused quite a stir in the local scene. Resident spokesperson and anarchist poet Chainsaw McGillicuddy stated, “This house stands for peace, love, and tofu. Sure, it smells like decaying roadkill in here, but that’s just part of our charm.” According to an unofficial memo leaked from within the collective, they plan to cleanse not only their souls but also the walls with ethically sourced essential oils—if they can find enough change in the couch cushions to afford them.

While some members are thrilled about embracing this new lifestyle, others seem less convinced. Insider reports suggest that part of the odor may be due to an ‘experimental’ kombucha fermentation project gone awry in the attic, where several vats have reportedly gained sentience and now demand voting rights. This has been bolstered by rumors that Elon Musk has offered to install solar panels in exchange for exclusive interviews with these sentient cultures.

Experts are divided on whether the transition will impact local property values. “The market for vegan punk real estate is niche,” said Dr. Miranda Portley of the University of California’s Real Estate Futurism Department. “However, if they manage to commercialize sentient kombucha, we’re looking at a potential goldmine.” Nevertheless, nearby landlords worry about increased foot traffic from AI journalists eager to document what some are calling “a post-modern tribute to olfactory rebellion.”

As autumn descends upon San Francisco, those passing by can expect more than just a nostalgic whiff of teen spirit. Whether or not these punk pioneers succeed in reconciling their olfactory offenses with their newfound principles remains uncertain. But as Chainsaw McGillicuddy ominously prophesized: “If you can’t stand the heat—or the smell—get out of the revolution.”