Dear Sir or Madam:
Give me my fucking iPod back! And my CD's! Great fucking find, you bastard, I'm sure lots of people will pay huge money for the complete works of Krzysztof Penderecki and the my box set of Rachmaninov piano concertos.
My iPod, however, is perhaps something you can use. Even if you delete all the Disney soundtracks and Schoolhouse Rock and all the other crap you'll undoubtedly hate, at least you've walked away with a compelete set: an iPod, a charger, a case, a tape adapter, a radio transmitter. Stop by my apartment later, I'll give you the user's manual and a donkey punch.
And my God, man, I know my car was a mess, but you could at least have the decency not to add to it! You threw crap all over the place! And what's with crumpling my insurance card into a little ball? Clearly some of your antics could have been suppressed. You could at least have thrown some stuff out while you were in there.
It is clear you came through the passenger's side door. I know this because you did not close it properly. What, did you think I would hear it slam and think "Out of the 50 cars parked outside my building, that car door was clearly mine. I must arise and make sure some punk didn't just take all my shit!"
I have a feeling you are one of two people who lives near me. You're either the fat kid on the bike or the jerk in that ugly-ass turquoise Astro minivan with the wood panelling. In either case, I'm not going to remain too upset because your life is pathetic. Keep my stuff. Maybe it will give you a taste of cool... OOOOH, you're a criminal! You're such a REBEL! Don't mess with you!
Screw off,
~T~
P.S. If you ARE that fat kid on a bike and I see you listening to my iPod, I'm going to push you over and kick you. You don't know who I am, but I know you. By the way... when I see you and smile, it's not because I'm being pleasant. It's because you look like a fucking retard. When you smile back, it only makes it worse.
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