cruel to be kind

Dear next-door neighbor,

I don't remember being invited to your nine a.m. dance party this morning, so thank you so much for reminding me by blaring bad rap music through your living room/my bedroom wall and waking me up. By the way, I feel it is my neighborly duty to unburden you of a certain notion you seem to have: YOU ARE NOT A GANGSTA. Since I know that you're not listening to gangsta rap because it's musically interesting, I can only assume it's because of the heartfelt lyrics. You don't seriously identify with that stuff, do you? Because...yyyyyyeaaaahhhh. Not a gangsta. Those basketball jerseys? Not fooling anyone. You're just a pudgy, fuzzy white college dude with a contrived Blaccent. Would you please turn that shit down, please? A couple weeks ago, we asked you twice, over the span of about ten minutes, and nothing has changed on our end since then.

While you're at it, can you turn down your girlfriend? We've been privy to every knock-down drag-out the two of you have had for a year. We know that you can't be bothered to help out around the house. We know that you don't try and that you take her for granted. We know, because she proclaimed it to the four winds a couple of months ago, that you're the first boy who ever hit her... back. We know that you categorically did NOT hang out with Her on New Year's Eve, since you reiterated this -- verbatim -- about four dozen times by way of compelling argument. For future reference, offering to call Her up on the spot to provide you with an alibi is not the best way to convince your girlfriend that you did not spend the night with Her. In fact, we recommend that you leave Her out of it altogether. It might behoove you to brush up on your rhetorical skills, since your girlfriend has definitely got you beat in the vocal projection department. Jesus, where did you find her? That girl has the pipes of a circus caller.

Now, about the trash. Seriously, where does it all come from? In one week, the neighbs and I can generate roughly three plastic grocery bags plus one recycling bin of refuse (if we're really trying), yet by the end of the week you not only fill up a whole Herbie Kerbie but also the landing down to the basement with garbage of all varieties. Nary a bulk trash day goes by that you don't expel a piece of furniture or carpet or a couple of boxes of random waste. How many couches do you have in there, and what are you doing to them? If I only knew, perhaps I could offer you some tips on where you're going wrong with the furniture.

Evidently, whatever you're throwing away, it's not your empty detergent bottles, because you've taken such a liking to my detergent that I can't leave it in the shared basement any longer. And while we're at it, next time you borrow someone's vacuum cleaner, make sure you empty the canister of all chunks of drywall before you attempt to claim you have no idea why it's broken. These incidents did not start us off on the most auspicious of neighborly relationships, you see.

Just one more thing: can you please spend a little bit more on weed? Because if my apartment has to smell like the ganja from time to time, I'd prefer that it be just a skosh {sp} less skanky.

Thank you for your prompt attention to the above matters. I'm sorry for the mean-spirited sniping. You know, I think I could tolerate it all and even withhold judgment if you were just basically considerate people who listened to bad music and didn't get along so great. But since you're not, all bets are off.

Yours truly,

The Girl Next Door