Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Dispatches from the Field: FMF Asks "Fatty? Did you Hear Me?"

Very Fat Upstairs Neighbor (VFUN),

You are very fat. It is nearing November and you have clearly not taken my advice. Moreover, I am convinced that I have heard you cavorting about in glee up there. What you have to be gleeful about, I surely don't know--unless it is that you've finally removed all of the mirrors from your apartment.

However, all of this is irrelevant in the face of our current neighborly problem.

VFUN, you are large and in-charge. You are a chainsmoking, unbathed advertisement for cardiac arrest at 25. You have cleary upgraded from a used double-wide to our some what janky 1970s apartment complex (which I know must be so overwhelming for you). Congratualtions.

Clearly, you embody many qualities to which we should all aspire.

I have only one question for you, VFUN: How, in god's name, do you get laid?

No, no...wait, I don't want to know. I already suspect you of participation in somewhat illegal activities up there. If you are dragging unsuspecting women into your apartment by their hair (which would explain the curious sounds on the stairs), I don't want to know.

All I ask, VFUN, is that you get a sturdier bed. Or, even just oil your bed springs...take down the headbord--ANYthing to diminish the sounds of your ponderous bulk thrusting incessantly on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday nights. (Do we have a standing appointment with a prostitute, perhaps?)

Very sincerely,

Your hot, smart downstairs neighbor.

At times like these, I am glad the only neighborly distractions I have to suffer is the crazy screaming lady downstairs, and the cop down the hall.

Yes, its a heavy cross to bear.


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