Dear Neighbor that lives on my street:

I saw you drive your hummer to work today. Did you see me? No? Oh yeah, that's probably because you were twenty feet above me, and you have a blind 'spot' of about the square feet of my house.

I followed you to work today. You work at 7-11. I waited for you outside all day. I prayed and prayed, hoping that per chance your evening plans somehow included rescuing stranded fools upon our beautiful 'Blue Mountains' a mere 2 hours away. If not that, then maybe you were going to wade through the swampy marsh of the local Intermediate School's 'wetlands' for their Earth Science classes. I mean, surely you had some sort of activity planned that involved an independent double A frame with open-end coil springs and hydraulic shock absorbers suspension. Of course, I don't know what the hell that is, but I sure as hell know it isn't necessary to drive back and forth in Northern Virginia. And after your tedious five hour shift making sure no one stole slurpees, cashews, tampons, or any other random shit at 7-11, I followed you to your home. I waited outside for you all night.

Around 11:00 p.m. you ventured out from your 'secluded' upper middle class subarbanite 2-car garaged home to crossing fingers moonlight as a park ranger, or hell, I'd settle to just have you drive over that pothole that everyone avoids on our street. But no. No. You did not even do that.

Instead of serving mankind with your $100,000 purchase of the most ridiculous automobile ever made, you drove to Wendy's and bought a Spicy Chicken Sandwich.

In conclusion, dear anonymous neighbor, if you are going to continue to drive around our neighborhood taunting us with your retard box on wheels, at least do something that warrants having it.

Sincerely,
Chickie-Legs