Dear Drunk-Ass Neighbor,
Sorry we had to have the cops wake you up this morning, bro. You must be real tired from having drunkenly slammed so hard into my girlfriend’s car this morning that the taillight shattered and the gas tank lid completely popped off. How did we know it was you? Well, aside from the cop mentioning to us that you smelled like a Vodka Red Bull sprinkled with date rape and failure but lit on fire (my metaphor) when you answered the door in your underwear looking like Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas right before he falls through the glass coffee table (again, my metaphor), the tread marks embedded in my girlfriend’s car match those of the tires belonging to your big-ass douche jeep, which is parked sideways in your driveway and resting against a cement wall. Oh, your brother was driving? Cool bro you got. Family is tight. Also, stoked your alibi took and that you didn’t get arrested and that you can just drive off and go about your stupid-ass day while my girlfriend gets to argue with your insurance company over the phone before having to find a ride to work because they won’t supply her a rental till they can send someone over to assess the damages, even though we took pictures and filed a police report. Man, hope you feel better. Again, sorry to harsh your buzz. One love.
Neighbors Whose Car You Fucked Up