letters from biddy

Dear Guy in the office behind mine,

OK, here’s the deal. We all know how much I hate the location of my new workspace. Why the fuck must you continue to make it worse? While you have indeed been smart enough to NOT ask me to do something for you (most likely because it would result in your castration), you continually annoy the piss out of me. I’ve almost grown accustomed to the fact that you insist upon using speaker phone, even when you are talking to our boss, whose office is literally 12 steps away from yours. I’ve learned to keep one ear in your office at all times because you like to look at my computer screen every time you walk by, which by the way, seriously pisses me off. I’ve learned to bite my tongue when you leave for lunch at 10:45 and come back at noon.
Yes, you do many things that get on my nerves on a daily basis. I like to think I’ve grown as a person. It takes great restraint to stay in my chair and not send myself hurtling across your desk and strangling you. But today. Oh, today…I deserve a fucking medal. Not gold, but PLATINUM.
You see, around the 15 millionth time you walked by my desk to go to bathroom, you thought you were all smug and cool and let a silent one slip. Seeing as how you spend a good 60% of your workday walking to and from the bathroom, I’m sure this has happened several times. Today, however, the silent creeper that escaped from your ginormous ass cheeks stank. I’m talking, eyes watering, green faced, stanky.
Do it again, and I will purchase a hazmat suit, knock you on your fat face, and staple your ass completely shut.

Sincerely,
Brandy


Dear Old Geezer driving down Treadaway,

I realize that you earned a driver’s license back when the Model T was THE car of choice, so you probably think you’re a pro when it comes to driving. Newsflash! You’re not! You see, when you pulled out from the stop light at 10th, you failed to notice the BIG RED JEEP that had the right of way. Lucky for you, I slammed on my breaks, while simultaneously throwing my coke into the floorboard and strangling myself with the seatbelt. Lucky for you, the fucking 18 wheeler behind me was able to slam on his brakes as well. Then, instead of speeding up to the speed limit of 45, you continued to drive at a speed somewhere between turtle and snail. I feel that speed limits are merely a suggestion…suggestion for a minimum speed. Naturally, I tried to pass you. Unfortunately, every OTHER vehicle on the road was also passing us, so I had to stay behind you. Then, when I didn’t think we could possibly go any slower without stopping, we did. Things started getting really fun when you started swerving. Left and right, left and right. It was like a fucking rollercoaster ride. I fucking hate rollercoasters.
The left lane finally cleared after the guy on his bicycle passed us, I put my blinker on, started to move off your bumper, and I’ll be damned if you didn’t move into the left lane! After creatively cussing your bony ass, I whipped back into the right lane, floored the accelerator, and discovered (while passing you and flipping you the bird) you were on your mother fucking cell phone!
Hang up the phone, sell your car, and please get a bus pass. I hear citilink will even come pick you up at your house because you’re apparently over the age of 200.

Keeping the Roads Safe,
Biddy