An open letter

Dear inconsiderate assholes living above us,

This is a letter from one of the people living below you.

You are fucking assholes. Why do you have to move furniture before nine in the morning? How much furniture do you actually have to move that you do this every single weekend morning? Why do you think that telling your children to stop running around and screaming like banshees means that you're "stifling their creativity"? You're dickheads. You're also dickheads because your children will grow up and start writing really shitty poetry but they will think it's great because their mom never stifled their creativity and then they'll get big heads and they'll become convinced that they're poets when their poetry makes me cringe. And then they'll post it on some popular social networking site for their friends to read, and their friends will unknowingly open the post because they'll be curious about what it might be, and then they'll be forced to read through the drivel written by someone with the IQ of a shoe who thinks that they can see all the world truths that nobody else can.

Your dogs are also really noisy. Your children are noisy. Your children are very noisy when they play with your noisy dogs. Those children will get sick when they move into this place because there is mold, and I feel badly about that, sort of, but maybe if you weren't such fucking assholes I would put more of an effort into making sure that something gets done about it. But really, I'm in this place for four more days, so I don't really care what happens to it after I leave.

The garbage situation here is also intolerable. I get that you have kids that probably still wear diapers (although I'm pretty sure they're too old for that...) but you're filling up our garbage can to the point that they won't pick up our can (which contains two small kitchen catchers. That's it.) and then we have to go another week with you cramming your garbage into our can and then it doesn't get picked up again.

You know what, though? I don't really care about that last one, because you're going to have to deal with it when we leave. And I'm going to create as much garbage as possible for when we leave, just so you have to deal with it.

You know why?

Because I really find you to be that intolerable. You're inconsiderate, loud, creepy as fuck (please stop closing our windows because it's really fucking weird) and you have literally no control over your children, which makes me think that you're not even worthy of an ounce of my respect. Also, your kitchen is mint green. It's really awful and that also makes me hate you.

Sincerely,

The pissed off bitch who lives below you that has been blaring music as loudly as possible for the last week.

P.S. I fucking hate you.

P.P.S. But thanks for the free internet that helped me write this post.