Dear Jack,
Happy Labor Day from your neighbor! This joyous day celebrates the accomplishments and spirits of workers like me and your parents. Though I suppose it can also commemorate the state your mother must have been in just before you were, naked, bawling, and weighing one four thousandth of what you weigh now, ejected out of her cavernous and torn vagina, simultaneously marking the last time you will ever come into contact with a vagina and the beginning of your pathetically luxurious life. I hope this letter finds you festive enough to endure a little bit of criticism. I’ve tucked it in the front cover of your Maxim magazine, just in case.
Take down your God damn Christmas lights. It’s been six years. Perhaps I should have voiced this opinion earlier, but I always thought you were going to get to it eventually. I mean, even though you’re not exactly busy, to get your bulk on a ladder would be a massive thermodynamic expenditure. But given the rate at which your mass increases, I’m afraid you’ll reach the threshold for stellar collapse into a God damn black hole before being motivated to take those lights down. I’d do it myself if you didn’t threaten to shoot me with your shotgun, which has a spread significant enough to actually have a fair chance of injuring me. Suffice to say, I’m no fan of your light pollution. I can’t see any stars—much less tell if any are on route to share your fate of massive cataclysmic collapse. The way you’ve screwed up the wiring doesn’t help either. It isn’t fun seeing your neighbor’s house explode into festivities to 120 decibel renditions of low quality Jingle Bells every time someone rings your doorbell, which is pretty often because you are so damn easy to Ding-Dong-Ditch. And while it is amusing to be able to successfully describe my house as “the one next to the idiot’s,” to any that need directions, your lights have taken quite a beating over the six years they have been up, and have started to spray sparks onto my property. And while I am legally justified in suing you, I don’t believe you deserve the additional burden of being convicted of indecent exposure simply for presenting yourself to a jury of your peers. So I recommend that you take down your God damn Christmas lights.
Sincerely,
Fuck you
– KS ’15.
