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11:24 a.m. - 2005-05-24
More Loopy Letters.
Dear New Neighbor:

Let me explain something. Our building is not a dorm, a crack house, or a bar. If you want to live in one of those places, they can be found within a one-mile radius of your current address. Therefore, please tell your friends to quit banging on the downstairs door and/or leaving it open when they enter. Additionally, please encourage them to quit drinking once they are spilling more beer on the stairs than into their mouths. Finally, remind them that there is no maid or mommy in the building, so they need to clean up the beer when they spill it…and throw the bottle in the trash.

Furthermore, you need to learn what the yellow parking-space lines are for. They indicate that your car should be between them…not on top of them.


Dear Parking Garage Bitch:

Shut your pie-hole and hand out the tickets when we get there. That is your job. Most of us are already late, and don't want to be later because we have to listen to your ass whine about your back pain, hair school experience, and how much you hate having to be working there.


Dear Bitchy Administrative Assistant Upstairs:

When people are helping your ass on a major project, you should be nice. You should not treat them like crap, boss them around, or act like a know-it-all. Your helpers are paralegals, and are quite well versed in the art of making copies, alphabetizing, and slapping stickers on paper. We used to do this, but by demonstrating that we're smarter than that, we no longer do. Quit popping an attitude, get over yourself, and maybe one day you won't have to be someone's bitch anymore.


Dear Weather:

Why you got to go from 75 and perfect to 95, humid, and gross in less than a week? Seriously. My air conditioner doesn't like it, my wardrobe doesn't like it, and my car doesn't like it. It's not fucking summer yet…so knock this shit off, already.


Dear GEB:

Quit abusing the cell phone love. I think you were responsible for most of my "anytime minutes" usage last month, along with the 20 text messages I had to pay for. You are one of the reasons I didn't want a damn cell phone in the first place…I knew you would do this. Please learn to make decisions and figure shit out at some point in the next 3 minutes.


Dear Body:

Can you please do me a favor, and not be hungry anymore? And can you quit replacing one ache and/or pain with another? First the respiratory infection, then the sprained ankle, and now the lower back pain. For real. You need to quit protesting and accept the fact that yes, I went back to the gym, and no, I cannot afford a new ergonomically correct computer chair and/or bed right this minute. You've been fine for months. Get over your little sulking fit.


Dear AOL:

Quit giving me stupid "problem" messages and crashing whenever I try to play Pogo games. Furthermore, when I accidentally make a typo on a webpage address that I frequently visit, and compound the problem by hitting "enter" on the incorrect address, please quit suggesting the incorrect IP address every. time. I. type. the. first. three. letters. I've rebooted, cleared the cache, cleared the history, and you still don't get the fucking hint. What do I have to do, wipe the fucking hard drive?


Dear Work IT Guys:

Please quit surfing the internet and fix the fucking server so we can at least pretend to work.




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