It’s not that you guys aren’t super cute and everything. I mean, I appreciate a little eye candy as much as the next Goddess. And I’m sure your Lexus and BMW and Acura and Cadillac would do wonders for my house’s curb appeal, if not for the beer cans and cigarette butts and golf balls that keep finding their way into my yard. But the thing is, I really did not move to the suburbs so that I could live next door to a frat house.
Your midnight barbecues sound like heaps of fun, and as entertaining as it is to watch your little girlfriends skank out of the house in the mornings, here’s a little heads up for y’all: If you wake me up at 3:00 a.m. again, I am going to turn your deck into a flaming inferno.
Oh, and I’ll be very careful to make it look like an alcohol-related barbecue accident, which means you totally won’t get your damage deposit back, so why don’t you go ahead and save me a match and some lighter fluid and CUT IT THE F*CK OUT, ‘kay?
Thanks.
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