Every Friday starting today, real estate legend Barbara Corcoran answers reader queries in her new Daily News column, Ask Barbara. For kicks, we invited the one and only Fake Michael Shvo to weigh-in on Barbara's first piece of work. Because the only thing better than Barbara is Shvo on Barbara, even if it's not real.
It's me. The shark. The assassin. The master of the fucking universe. Hey?caught your first column in the Daily News. Nice effort. Very nice effort. We're all extremely glad to see you're keeping busy. Truly. But look, Babs, the rules have changed. I am the new rules. Did you not see my three nicknames? You have one: horselady. That should tell you something. And I have some thoughts on the advice you're giving, Barbara. Let's look at what you're telling the masses:
You say: "Asking prices don't have a damn thing to do with sales price."
I say: Barbara, don't you understand? Asking prices have everything to do with sales price. I ask, I get. It's as simple as that. The only time that changes is when I ask, and I get more.
You say: "White houses sell for a reason: White is neutral, it makes a room look larger, and it naturally reflects light."
I say: You're right, Barbara. You're so right. White houses do sell for a reason: because I make them. You know this. White is the new white because I say it is. Simple as that. Before me, white was nothing. It was Ku Klux Klan outfits and paper. Now, white is money. White is green. Because of me. By the way, Barbara, nice red door.
You say: "Back in the mid-'70s, I got a call from a West Side wacko trying to sell his 12-room apartment at the famous Dakota building on Central Park West. 'I'll give it away,' he insisted, 'just find me a guy who can pay the $1,400-a-month maintenance fee and it's his.' 'No problem,' I said. Well, it wasn't so easy, and I never found a buyer. Everyone with that kind of money to spend on the maintenance was shopping over on Fifth Ave., the hoity-toity part of town."
I say: Oh, Barbara. Never found a buyer? Wow. It truly hurts my heart to hear you talk like this. Do you know what I could have done with that Dakota apartment? If only I wasn't five years old then. Actually, I still could've got $20 million, even if I had to fit the negotiations in between milk & cookies and nap time. Actually, that's a lie. Napping is for the weak, and I swore it off at two years old. Barbara, do you nap?
· Ask Barbara [NYDN]