A Letter

Dear Neighbors living above me,

I'm no relationship therapist or intervention specialist or a warden at the insane asylum that you folks apparently should be institutionalized at, but if I were, here is some advice I would give to you guys:

First: 1 am on a weeknight is NOT an appropriate time to have an argument that excels to a full blown out yelling profanity-fest....I'm speaking mainly to you, Mister.

Second: to you, Miss Thang, if my significant other ever referred to me (screaming at the top of his lungs) as "You Stupid F-ing B*tch" you can bet his @$$ would be drop kicked to the street as I get in my car and run over his ankles while I drive away.

Thirdly: If my woman was using all my money to get so sloshed at bars that she slept with heaven knows how many people, Sir, I would politely pack her things, put them in her car, change the locks, and keep the puppy because we know pets don't deserve to be exposed to such irresponsibility. You sort of didn't do this at all and decided to shut her whining apologies up by screaming choice words...obviously that didn't have much success.

Fourthly: Missie, if he's yelling (most likely because he suffers from voice modulation) "I don't f-ing care!!!! Go ahead and marry him!!!" I'm guessing he just doesn't consider what you two have together as that special. This is just a guess, but I'm wondering if it's because you have the characteristics of a traveling alcoholic whore house. But again, that's just my guess.

Fifthly: Back to you, Mr. Hot-Temper Pants, after you and the little lady's verbal brawl and she left the room/apartment, the considerate thing to do would have been maybe to wash your face, brush your teeth if the foul language left a dirty taste in your mouth, and get into bed to sleep it off. Now, here's where you went astray and decided, instead, to practice your shot-putting with 43 lb ice blocks, knock down refrigerators that you apparently have in your bedroom, and make as much noise as you possibly can, ya know, to just let us peeps downstairs know that you are alive and kickin still. I just don't know if the way you handled it was proper etiquette for this situation.

Sixthly: I am more than willing to adopt your doggie as you folks are most def not capable of being pet-parents. From the looks of it, the poor thing has been eating it's weight in puppy chow to deal with the stress of having owners who can't even keep their relationship alive much less a dogs. I would name him Pudge the Pug.

Seventhly: What's up with the vacuuming at 11 pm at night?? What kind of nocturnal fiends are you people??

I have not met you fine folks ever, but all that I have gathered about your relationship merely comes from your guys' lack of using your inside voices. I have seen you guys walking Pudge so I am aware of who you are and what you look like, and it's true: people who look completely normal can be psych ward patients.

You guys will probably never see or hear my great advice, most likely because I don't think you would ever take heed to it. So all I can do is pray: that you break up and one of you moves out, that you both move out, or that you seek extensive counseling.

Best of Luck...