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House horrifies Rookie Realtor

Police warned of guns, swastikas, beer-drinking children

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And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street. If I had a dollar for every time I've read that line from Dr. Seuss's book to my children, I'd probably be a millionaire. And if I had another buck for every time my kids read it back to me, I'd be a billionaire. Alas, nobody gets paid for reading to their kids–and kids don't get paid for reading books to their parents. Our government hands out billions of dollars every year to defense contractors, and billions more to people who live here illegally, but somehow "Uncle Sam" can't find the mere four bucks it would cost to buy my grade-schoolers new books. There's no street called "Mulberry" in my neighborhood, but there's a house on a block near mine that goes by a similar name. The home is up for sale and–though I'm anxious to close my first deal–I wish I had never visited the property. When I walked into the house, it seemed like a typical three-bedroom rambler. There was a comfortable if well-worn couch in the li...