STRAIGHT UP CRIMINALS

The world is full of all kinds of criminals: dudes who tried to steal your bus pass in 8th grade, Ken Lay, Child Molesters, Republicans. But I would argue there is no colder a criminal than the real estate agent. Recently me and my girl have been looking at apartments like it's our job, and have run into various criminals along the way. One set of brothers who straight up tried to rob each other over the sale, a landlord who could raise your rent $500 if you gave the shit in the 2nd of the month, and then there was "Josh."
So me and my girl we were waiting on this corner for an agent who was already 25 minutes late, which was not too crispy since it was a cold cloudy shitty day, where a Bro is just trying to nurse this hangover with the crisp netflick/popcorn/cherry coke jumpoff. So we're waiting and I see this massive "tool" walk by wearing sunglasses, a tie and blazer and jeans, and generally looking preposterous. So I think, "man, dudes around here really look straight foolish." 2 seconds later the phone rings, the moron in question was none other than the agent Josh [no relation to the one and only Peesky]. In my head the word "Herb"just kept repeating. I keep old school in my unspoken insults. So he then rolls into what looks like a straight abandoned storefront. That joint was out of the 1970s South Bronx; and comes through with some keys. I expect the worst, but the apartment was a beast, and me and Erin decide to holla. So after a few days of mad phone calls from the "j man", as I've taken to call him. Each phone call costing more money with some random new fees involving the lease. leaving me feeling like, yo instead of ringing whenever the j-man calls it should make a cash register sound ala Pink Floyd's "Money." So we sign this lease and go to meet the landlord. We roll back to the abandoned storefront mentioned above. We enter, and the inside perfectly matched the outside. Literally nothing is for sale in there, save for 2 packs of 9 volt batteries, and maybe lotto tickets, although that lotto joint looked very broken. Random trash is laying about and one out of every four light blubs is working.
Then I meet a 150 year old (at least) Arab man who looks like he has been crying (I don't think he was but it really looked like it) and definitely has vitaligo. He gives me such a weak-slash-weird handshake, that it might have been my first homosexual experience. My girl gets no handshake, no anything, and is basically immediately debowed outta the conversation for being a woman. So as he tells me about which days to put out recycling, blah, blah ...and I start noticing pics all over the wall, not of family or friends, but of straight up dictators. The first couple are horrible but normal: Bush, Cheney, Delay, Gulinani. But then it starts getting weird, I'm almost positive your man Idi Amin was up there. It's one thing is have war criminals that history has yet to judge (i.e. the Bush Clan), but to have dudes who are known mass murdering villains is, to say the least, a little weird. So as we breakout Josh says peace to dude and said his name, but I couldn't quite catch it, did he call him "Charlie"?, nah it was probably some weird foreign shit I misheard.
So I ask Josh outside the guy's name figuring I'd have to work hard to remember his weirdo name... But Josh tells me his name and it's ... MR. CHARLIE. This 80 year old crying, disfigured Arab man is named MR. CHARLIE, if that's not poetry I don't know what is.