Dear Neighbor,
Aloha! Your music stinks almost as much as the sand encrusted shoes you leave in the hallway for me to trip over when I’m on my way home from my shit show of a job. I don’t know you because you seem to be passed out when those of us that actually work are awake. When you finally get out of bed to blast your rotten music at 2am, I’d rather call the pot smoking retiree “security guard” (more on that waste of space later) than come down there in my PJs to introduce myself & explain to you in person exactly how much of a bitch on wheels I can be when people repeatedly wake me up. In addition, you might get hit in the face by my hair which I can barely contain during the day & not at all when the sun goes down. Since it would be mean of me to continue to hope that you fall off the balcony & rot in hell, I hope you age ten years and realize that no one wants to listen to your tunes OR the door slamming (that does not need to be slammed because it has a spring on it & closes all by itself) , OR you yelling out random statements like “get this, brother!” Oh, and I heard you bitching to your “bro” last week about not getting laid. Seriously? I CAN’T IMAGINE WHY. Feel free to re-read the above if you still can’t figure out why the ladies are not lining up to see your soon to be evicted sorry ass.
Mahalo!
-Your formerly nice but now sleep deprived for 22 days in a row neighbor.
