Dear White Trash Crackwhore Nextdoor

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Reply to: [email protected]
Date: 2007-10-09, 11:59AM EDT


I really don't know how you can afford to live in this building -- I'll assume your hillbilly ex-husband who recently pushed you down the stairs is some sort of drug dealer or semi-successful peddler of rabbit, coon, and squirrel pelts. I'm amazed there is a market for that in this city, but you never know. And while I realize that you will never be sober enough to read this, assuming you can read, I just want to tell you that your nightly, profanity-laced ululations, door slammings, and drunken wrestling matches with your wife-beating, [censored]-kicking ex-husband in the hallways have got to stop.

Remember when the police showed up the other night and you were wailing "I ain't agoin' to jail again! You [censored], you!" in the hallway at 3 AM, while the cops tried to stifle their laughter at your drunk hag ass? I didn't even call the police that time, but I wish I did. Amazingly, although you have only lived in this building for 3 weeks, I am certain you won't last another three. You will be evicted or there will be a rent strike -- if not, I have no doubt that I will soon awake to the sound of shotgun blasts in this building, which I'm sure will only remind you of your last wedding. So after you stumble out of this building, you drunk hillbilly skank, I hope you are reduced to selling your nasty, white trash ass on the streets. If that doesn't work out for you, hopefully you can return to your uncle's pig [censored] farm in Arkansas and once again feel the sick embrace of his daily molestations behind the barn.