It’s not easy out there, folks. Not even for quasi-immortal spectral worms infesting the corpses of Victorian serial killers dead of consumption. If that’s too vague a description, I’m talking about Stephen Miller, seen above post-autoerotic asphyxiation. You may remember him as the white nationalist tasked with turning his artisanal orphan procurement service into a large-scale government program, but he also served as Trump’s Senior Advisor during the Presidency. Mr. Miller, spotted exiting the White House last January with a dead kitten hanging from his mouth, first listed his luxury condo located in CityCenterDC last October. It’s currently unlisted but still available. The $1.2 million price tag for a condo in which multiple sex workers almost surely died may explain the lack of interest, although according to Pajiba’s own DC local Genevieve Burgess, it probably has more to do with CityCenterDC being a development property of office buildings and empty designer stores.
Miller, seen here after he put the GPS tracker under your rear bumper, currently lives in Arlington with wife Katie, née Waldman. There’s no word yet of ghostly Union soldiers rising from their graves in the nearby National Cemetary to do battle with Miller’s undead hordes every witching hour, though it’s only a matter of time. But if you’re looking to move to the DC area, perhaps to a home where even bleach can’t entirely mask the scent of old pork, check out Miller’s condo here on Zillow. As you can see it has a lovely view of some concrete and all the warmth of an illegal surgical suite.
To be fair to Miller, properties are often listed with the blandest possible décor to attract more interest. And in the realtor’s defense, it’s difficult to sell a luxury condo with walls that almost imperceptibly expand and contract, accompanied by the faint sound of respiration. The wetly glistening ceilings don’t help, or the keyholes that whisper in Enochian. Nothing an alcoholic priest seeking redemption and a couple hundred gallons of bleach can’t fix, am I right? A citrus candle and a few of those decorative soaps couldn’t hurt either.
So if you’ve got a cool $1.2 million in your pocket and a burning desire to live where (future) serial killer history was made, give Stephen Miller a call! He’s waiting by the phone. Always. Waiting.
Image sources (in order of posting): Getty Images, Alex Wong, Drew Angerer; zillow screenshot; Getty, WashPo