An Open Letter to My Neighbor

Dear Mr. Alabama,

We've been neighbors for two years now. So far, I can't really complain. Granted, you do like to do your laundry late at night and incredibly early in the morning, but since you are only in residence for about a week out of every month I have been able to overlook it. Yes, I am fairly certain that you are pretty high up on the narcotic distribution ladder but again, your absence has given me a chance to reevaulate my once negative opinion on drug dealers. I don't mind that your clothes never match and you dye your hair blonde. I am not the tiniest bit jealous of your Jaguar, BMW, or Mercedes as they all have Alabama plates and let's face it, Bama and I aren't the best of friends. I admit, your casual questions about my personal life are somewhat unnerving, but again, we are neighbors after all and I might need a cup of sugar one day ... or a new car.

All that being said, Mr. Alabama, the noise has got to stop. I can only take so much of the drawer slamming, the washer cycles, and the woman yelling. Please sir, leave the wife in Alabama next time. Her shrill voice has dogs for miles barking and I am this close to knocking on your door at 11:30 at night to punch her in the face. Excuse me, to punch her lights out (that's for you Alex Trebek). Also, here's fair warning. Next time the Merry Maids come to clean your apartment I am going to slip in, knock one in the head, take her uniform, and remove all the drawers and cabinet doors from your condo. I may even steal your washer and dryer. You now know and I can only take your silence on this matter as consent. I've got finals next week and can't take much more of you or Mrs. Alabama. Glad we could talk this through. I'll see you next month.

Fondly,

Your Neighbor