Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Memo #4: To Fatty With Love, From Funny Mean Friend

Funny Mean Friend has moved into a new place, and is most seriously displeased with the neighborhood. If her fury didn't bring me so much joy, I would almost feel sorry for her.
Instead, I giggle madly in class instead of paying any semblance of attention.

The following, shared with permission, is a public letter from Funny Mean Friend:


Dear upstairs neighbor--

You are fat. Perhaps if you drank less beer I wouldn't live in fear of you plummeting through the ceiling of my apartment with every ponderous footfall. I know it is hard for you to stop consoling yourself on the state of your loveless, purposeless life using food--but for the sake of the structure--you must seek help. Soon it will be November and time to turn the airconditioning off--not only will your humble abode reek with your fat-person smell (made worse everytime you climb the stairs to get into your undoubtedly less-cute apartment), but I will be less able to drown out the sound of your fatness wallowing about. That said, please seek help--there are many reputable weightloss systems advertised on that television you undoubtedly spend hours watching, all of which promise you success in two months or less. Perfect! Get to it, fatty.


The downstairs neighbor.



All rights reserved to my snotty and generally self-deprecating writing. And if your comments bother me, I'll delete them. That's right, pumpkin.
...How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one's name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!
-- Emily Dickinson