Anonymous

photo / Lord Jim  

Dear drunk assholes with the maturity of a 12-year-old:

Thank you so much for vandalizing the clubhouse and pool area of my apartment complex. I’m surprised you didn’t die when you pulled the lights out of the swimming pool. Didn’t you pay attention in sixth grade science? Electricity plus water equal electrocution. Oh, it was also great of you to drag that parking space bumper out of its spot and put it in the middle of the parking lot around the corner where no one turning the corner could see it. You’re lucky management found and moved it before someone ruined their car and sued your sorry little asses. And dumping garbage all over the clubhouse – genius! I can’t believe you came up with that yourselves. Your little prank did $2,000 worth of damage and resulted in no one being able to use the clubhouse, pool, or exercise room after office hours. So thanks! I hope you had a good time on your drunken spree, because you ruined the apartment amenities for the rest of us.

Dear architects of the new giant condos downtown:

I am really truly sorry about your penis.

photo / Kristin Hillery  

I work downtown, just blocks away from your Congress Avenue location. Since my office doesn’t have a lot or a garage, sometimes I unfortunately have to park on the street. What does this mean? I need quarters for the meter. And where’s the easiest place to get these quarters? My bank.

But giving out rolls of quarters is apparently too much for you people to handle. Gosh, like, I don’t even know if I have any quarters left in my drawer. We’ve given out, like, a thousand quarters this week!

Oh, really? I’m terribly sorry for walking into a bank – where I have two accounts – and asking for my own money like a stupid idiot! And why am I dumb enough to assume that you guys would even have money on hand? I knew I should have just asked the Jamba Juice boys next door.

Basically, if an axe gets stuck in someone’s shoulder for no reason, I’m going to laugh. This is not your fault.