Dear Neighbor’s Stupid Dog,
How are you? I see you everyday, but you know, I’m usually busy with “hurrying to get to work” or “running away from your sharp fangs” to greet you. And during the times I’m not preoccupied escaping your jaws (which from this point onwards I shall call “Fangs of Rabid Doom”), you just sit in your stupid little corner eating your vomit, and all those other stuff only dogs do.
Anyway, I’m writing because I hate your guts. No, not in the general “I hate dogs with a passion” sense, but I really hate you. Yes, you Neighbor’s Stupid Dog. I am singling you out of all the dogs in the world to be the target of my scorn. In fact, of all the people I can write my open letters to (“the fat guy who thinks he can squeeze into the MRT space barely enough for a bulimic Tibetan monk”, “the girl with the big gazongas who likes to smoke downstairs whom my officemates creepily leer at”), I just had to write my first open letter of the year for YOU.
Seriously, I don’t know what your beef is against me. I’m just walking around the village, minding my own business, when you jump out of nowhere and chase me till I get five inches close to a heart attack or something.
I know I ate that Baconator last week, but I’m sure I took pretty thorough baths afterwards. I can’t smell like hamburgers. Right?
Neighbor’s Stupid Dog, I’m tired of this routine we go through. You see, we start the day with me walking happily to work, skipping even, when you suddenly decide to stop licking your ass. Then we have our obligatory daily run, where we get past five streets, you barking like crazy while I scream “AY POTANGENA!” and shriek like a little girl.
This routine has got to change. I’ve downloaded azucena recipes off the net in case I get totally annoyed with you and snap. Also, your owner is a douche for letting you pee in front of my front gate. Guess who’s peed on his front door. Just guess.
Signed with all hate in the world and all that jazz,
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