This I address not to my regular lovely readers. You are sexy, beautiful people and probably good at everything. Oh, no. This goes out to one particular person. You know who you are.
Dear Syphillitic Piece of Loosely Organized Dung:
How frelling dare you deface my mailbox.
I did not invite your sorry ass to my house, nor do I ever anticipate doing so. I do not care that your sorry OCD arse is maddened by the lack of numbering on my house or mailbox. Who the hell do you think you are to take a Sharpie and write numbers on my melon-farming property like some apocalyptic white-trash wastrel???
That the lack of numbering drives you nuts matters naught to me. This is not your home and you do not rate here. Again I say I don't want you here and I'm fine with other random undesireable people not knowing what my street number is, either. Somehow, my bills manage to find their way to my mailbox. My friends and family have no difficulty finding my house. If you're not my friend or family member and you are not my mailman, then kindly bugger yourself running elsewhere forthwith and forget my house exists.
Now I have re-painted my lowly little mailbox and I realize this will be sorely tempting for you, but I want you to think long and hard before you act on your inane, no-life impulses: be aware that all my neighbors are elderly, retired and keep a pretty good eyeball on the goings-on around here. Disposable cameras are cheap, and even if all others fail me, I know I can rely on Mrs. Kravitz. When I catch you vandalizing my property, there will be a reckoning.
Love & Kisses,
Phlegmmy
