Dear Downstairs Skank and Your Douchebag Boyfriend,
It's fucking hot, it's fucking humid and none of us have air conditioning. That means that every single person in this neighborhood has their doors and windows wide open hoping to get a little bit of a breeze. Since it isn't at all windy either, most of us are cranky, especially me.
The last thing we need to hear is a high decibel concert by some crappy country band and your white trash ass having a high decibel argument with your shirtless boyfriend on your patio. I don't care one bit about how all you need "is what I have here....nothing", or how asswipe and his friends "spend money like water" or "I LOVE YOU! NO, NO, I FUCKING LOVE YOOOOUUUU!!!!!" I also don't think that the little kids that run around our driveway need to hear the F-Word ten times per minute (I counted).
Either go inside and close all of your doors to have your psycho-babble, alcohol fueled bitchfest or shut the fuck up! It is too hot to have to hear your arguing, followed by a country karaoke duet, followed by more arguing, all the while smelling your smoke wafting through my open windows. You're lucky that I am exhausted from sweating my balls off all day, or else this letter would have been vocalized to your face. Your arguing nearly made me do it, I was so close to snapping.
Also, if you are going to have loud, disgusting makeup sex, for god's sake, close some windows. At least you had the courtesy to do that inside, although, it was so loud that you easily could have been outside on the patio again. Yuck!
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go curl up like a sweat soaked baby and try to sleep despite that gross, satanic moaning running through my head. Between that and this heat, I think I may have a long night ahead of me.
Have a great week, you ugly, ear-splitting whore,