Dear Lady that lives upstairs,
I am usually entertained when I see the disgusting men you bring around but last night that entertainment came to a screeching halt. I heard you having rather violent sex in the room above me (I’m pretty sure you were with the Mexican guy that drives the old Dodge minivan). At first I thought it was one of your children jumping on the bed. But then I thought to myself, “who jumps on the bed at 2 a.m.? And why are their jumps getting progressively louder and faster?” Then it hit me. Your kids were NOT jumping on the bed. They were asleep and you were having dirty sex with one of your boyfriends!
I’m pretty sure you have somewhere in the range of four to six children. I’ve never been completely sure which ones are yours because they all look completely different. One is fat with brown hair, another skinny with red hair. The oldest and youngest look alike. You told us once that one of your middle kids is retarded. That’s why he stomps all the time. This disproved our ongoing bowling ball theory.
Anyway, I just want to point out how much your sexual intercourse disrupted my night. My plan was to go to bed early but instead all I heard was the pounding and squeaking of your trash tainted bed. My first piece of advice, get a new bed. Yours squeaks uncontrollably. Are you sure the thing isn’t stuffed with corncobs? And speaking of squeaking, get some rhythm. I’m embarrassed for you and your partner—no sense of tempo at all. Save your tips and consider buying a metronome.
Lets wrap this up. You gross me out. OK I get it, I live in “community apartments”—translation: cheap and infested with low-income families that feed their children McDonalds 6 days a week, give them Mountain Dew instead of milk, make them carry cases of beer in from the liquor store, and let them call the Asian neighbors “pussies.” I also understand that perhaps you have yet to pick up on the circle of life. I’m here to help you out. Here’s your social studies lesson for the day: Sex makes babies. Sex with multiple partners makes lots of babies—babies that all look different. Here’s your science lesson for the day: Babies + alcohol = babies with disabilities. Your math lesson: Babies cost money. You want to know what doesn’t cost very much money? Condoms. And finally, your English lesson: “No Thank You” is the proper way to let someone know that you do not wish to have sex with them. Anything else simply results in more babies.
Forever in ear plugs,
The Girl downstairs
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