Dear Turdmuncher,

Please remove the effin' cell phone from your ear. This way you might not run my bike-riding ass down when you change lanes in your yellow-ribboned, W-stickered, baby-penguin-killing monster of a vehicle (which I'm sure you use to haul all sorts of rough-'n'-tough cargo through the wilds of Marietta). Or if you do pancake me anyway, at least it'd be a good ol' fashioned vehicular homicide rather than you being a follower and using the excuse of "oh, shit officer, I didn't even see her!". But know this: if you kill me, rest assured that I will haunt your ass 'till your dying day. Nothing will be safe on your shelves and I'll flicker lights until you have seizures. And then when you show up at whatever party the afterlife might be, I will promptly give you a swift kick in the balls.


Edit: I just went into my kitchen to make dinner. Instead I found a bunch of stuff knocked over on my counter, the hood vent screen off, a poster above the stovetop ripped off the wall, and a dead lizard on my floor. I'm not too happy with my cats right now.