The Blogging Affairs Desk

When It’s Good, It’s Good, When It’s BAD, It’s Better…

Unmailed Letters: Fully Moved In Edition.

Sometimes it’s better to write out letters to people who piss you off and NOT mail them.  Here at IJS, we encourage this behavior, however have found that we have to revoke Jim’s postal stamp priveledges.  -ed.

Dear White Trash Across The Street,

I wanted to drop you a quick line and tell you all to die.  My wife and I do not appreciate your loud, drunken beer can and bit-o-wood fights you have with each other on your front lawn, which is strewn with automobile and what I assume to be non-functioning tractor parts.  Every ten minutes the quiet ambience of our world is shattered with the sounds of a garage door being flung open and some sort of conversation that is being shouted instead of spoken like a normal human being.

So for these crimes, the next time – and I assume it will be soon – you bunch get rowdy at 8 am on a Saturday morning when my wife and I are trying to sleep in, I plan on positioning myself with a pneumatic BB gun with a Tasco 3 power scope and start raining pain on you from the third story of the building across from you.  I’m aiming for necks, foreheads, beer cans, genitals and whatever else I feel will be necessary to drive the lot of you back indoors at least temporary.

Your new neighbors.

To The People Who Live In Our Building,

Why the fuck does it smell like some sort of garlic shrimp dish every time I walk in the hallways?  It’s like as soon as I heave open the heavy security door down stairs, I’m slapped in the face with this gut curdling aroma of 3rd world country cuisine and unwashed feet.  Can any of you backwater Haitians explain this to me?

Or maybe it’s because we’re white and are not used to the smell of whatever ethnic food you either spilled in the hallway and never bothered to clean up, or are constantly cooking.  Seriously, it smells like Top Ramen on steroids and it’s nauseating.

I’m actually embarrassed to bring people over for fear I’m going to have to explain this shit-smell to them.

And what’s the deal with you keeping your apartment door open all the time?  I step out to take the trash to the dumpster and I’m looking into your living room.  And then there’s this sketchy kid of yours, who’s sitting on the couch, looking back at me, like I’m the one with the problem.

If you want to keep your door open, ok, cool.  Just don’t be surprised when I throw a canister of CS gas into your apartment to knock down the smell of god knows what goat-like animal you’re boiling in your kitchen.

Those White Folks Across The Hall Who Just Moved In.

To The Drug Dealer Down Stairs,

No thank you, I do not need your help moving shit into our apartment, please stop asking questions about “what’s in the safe.”  There’s nothing in this big green locked box except instruments of death and destruction.  But since you’ve introduced yourself, I’ve found it impossible to keep the box for it’s intended purpose, instead keeping my shotgun and pistol at easy access should you do enough cocaine to give you the balls to try to burgle my apartment in the middle of the night.

You know how I know you’re a drug dealer?  You wear nothing but sweat pants, drive a BMW 525i, and walk around with half-lidded eyes all the time.  Sure you’re friendly, because you’re a business man always looking for a new customer, but I’m sure your attitude towards us will change once you realize what I do for a living and how close I come to ramming a nine inch combat knife through your neck every time I see your face.
Keep your fucking distance,

To The Person Who Designed Our Parking Lot, and the People Who Use It,

I have no idea what schedule drug you were smoking when you designed that parking lot sir, but it’s a shit show.  It’s a grand mal shit show.  It’s defunctionalism at it’s most ardent level.

You do realize that most automobiles are like, at least 8 feet across by at least 20 or so feet long?  If you understand that, then why would you make the parking spaces roughly 7.5 feet wide by 15 feet long?

Seriously, trying to wedge my truck into a parking space in that parking lot is like playing the game Operation.  I’ve also seen on two occasions already, other tenants scraping their rear quarters against the rear quarter of another tenants vehicle and do nothing but pull forward, adjust their tires and try again, and then pull away without a second thought.

What the fuck?

I also love how there’s one spot per apartment, and yet it seems everyone that lives in this complex has nine cars.  There’s also only so many “guest spots” in the lot, which usually get taken either by guests, or more often than not, other tenants and their non-functioning vehicles.  This will result in me parking behind my wife’s car, causing my giant black truck to stick way out into the middle parking lot, a target for any coke-tripping asshole to slam into my rear end, and not bother to stop to leave a note.

I refuse to leave my motorcycle in this lot, period.

Oh, and the fucking pile up of… random ass cars and trucks left on that strip of grass out front is real classy.  I love the fact we have a decrepit limousine from some 1980s era porno movie just sitting out there, not being moved or used for anything.  Makes pulling out of the lot real easy.  Really, you son of a bitch.

Staying up all night waiting to hear the sound of a car-on-car crash,
Jim and Ang.

To The Owners of Our Apartment,

I don’t even know where to begin with you two.  It shows you really don’t care about your tenants when it takes you a month to deposit a rent check, because of a first name error on the second parties name.  Fuck that.  I’m sure the check was sitting around on someone’s desk and it became one of those “oh shit, I forgot it again,” things.

Do you know how nerve racking it is to have 900 dollars sitting in your bank account, and you’re afraid to spend any money because you don’t want the first rent check to bounce?  Fuck you, both of you, I’ve never met such unprofessional landlords.

Looking for loopholes in the lease,
Jim and Ang.

To The Realtor,

You’re a scumbag.  You’re so much of a scumbag that you freak out my wife and she has fears that you’re going to let yourself into the apartment and rape her.

You’re a fucking Window Nazi too.  You interrupted my shower to complain about a window that was slightly cracked open cuz Ang had been smoking.  You were all condescending about it too, eating a fucking snack and asking me if the “heat was ok.”  I was in a towel, but I would’ve dropped it and rushed you had there been any further sign of provocation.

If it weren’t for the fact that the rent was cheaper than where we were living previously, and that the owners pay for the heat, I’d walk down to your office and kick you square in the balls in front of a group of people.

Pissed Enough to Maybe Actually Do It,

I’m just saying…


April 4, 2009 - Posted by | Corporate America Hates You, Gay Shit I Know Too Much About, Gonzo Journalism, Living in an Insane Asylum, People I Hate, The Great Indoors | , , , , , , ,

1 Comment »

  1. I’ve got this 7 person tent in the back of my Ram, and if you don’t mind three kids, me and willow, a dog, 4 cats and about a half-dozen gerbils, we’ll start up that anti-zombie commune….You guys like Michigan dontcha?

    Comment by Wulfgar | April 6, 2009

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