Squatting in Hawaii

We lived in a house in Hawaii for like 8 years without paying any rent. 

I always wondered how we were able to support ourselves there and why my parents never complained about the cost of rent like they did the cost of everything else until one summer day while I was visiting back home from college a bulletproof-vested man woke me up one morning banging at my bedroom door: COME ON OUT NOW! YOU WILL HAVE TIME TO GET YOUR THINGS. YOU MUST EXIT THE PREMISES AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR 

and i’m like, waking up from an erotic dream, my subconscious smoothly weaving this verbal assault into the dream narrative, and as it slowly dawns on me that this episode of banging and knocking on my bedroom door from a stern serious angry voice I do not recognize at like 9 AM in Kailua Kona, Hawaii is in fact, real, and that this is really happening, my first waking thought is: oh shit, they finally got us. 

Just let me grab my gamecube controller. That thing’s one of a kind, sir. You don’t understand. I need that. Everything else is replaceable, but the gamecube controller is like a well-worn catcher’s mitt. it’s worn in a way I have adapted my play to perfectly and so it really is one of a kind and i’m kind of a big deal in the local super smash brothers ultimate community so it would be just really unfortunate if you didn’t let me back in the house to grab that. Please, sir, I can’t let those spammers win my locals. I need precision to play Pikachu. He’s a hard character. Sir. Yes he’s a hard character. Come on man.