Dear Neighbor,

When I moved over here to Apartment 7, I had high hopes for our relationship. My last neighbor and I… We had some disagreements. You see, my last neighbor had two giant, horrible dobermans who loved to greet me every day like two hell hounds screaming for my soul.  In addition to being driven to blind rage by my very presence, they also had a very nasty habit of leaving bear-sized stool next to the section of the fence that bordered my back door. This made my “welcome home” a combination of pant-piss inducing velociraptor roars and upchuck-inspiring Jabba the Hutt dumps. By the time I got inside my house after work, I badly needed a change of pants, some mouthwash, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder counseling.

Then I moved here, to Apartment 7. You’re over there in Apartment 8. On the other side is Apartment 6. I thought to myself, “Man, this is just a cozy, bitchless community, isn’t it?” My eyes shone brightly, then. That light is gone, and let me tell you why. You have a dog, but that’s not the reason.  Don’t get me wrong here, I love dogs. I just think having a dog in an apartment or a small, cramped back yard forces that poor animal to get its jollies off by making me scream expletives and drop food items I just f’ing purchased. That is a crime, but that is not the crime with which we should concern ourselves now. No, the other one is far more confounding. Read the full story

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