Letter
Dear Mr. Gerard,
Normally, when Meredith, Jacob or I send out these notices, we go out of our way to maintain a positive tone. It's not easy serving on the architectural review board of Gurgling Brook Estates, you know. We have to balance the gentle, neighborly manner that we've worked so hard to establish with the firmness necessary to make change. And you, sir, have made life exceedingly difficult.
Let's review our brief history together, shall we? You first moved in after the death of your dear father. He was such a darling man, old David. Always out walking that adorable little Scotty, Chester. When I found out that the stench coming from your backyard was his rotting body, tangled up in the garden hose with wildlife nibbling at his fleshy parts — oh my… The image is just too horrible.
I thought that when you moved in you would be a “chip off the old block,” as they say. Dickens, was I wrong. They had barely scraped the body off the patio before you had your first keg party. Things got so out of hand that night. I've heard numerous reports of neighbors being terrorized by your guests. Mrs. Reynolds up the street insists she saw a man's naked posterior with the phrase “Rectum, don't even know 'em” pressed up against her window.
And then came your “home improvements.” As you know, there are only 5 acceptable paint colors for homes in Gurgling Brook Estates: cantaloupe, sky, chiffon, umber and topaz. When you decided to paint the entire exterior of your house black, save the blood red pentagram on the front door, I felt compelled make a statement on behalf of the community — and my position as chair of the architectural review board gave me just that opportunity.
The day after I served you with what was, in my opinion, a very diplomatically-worded letter, I received it back in my mailbox, smeared with a sexual lubricating cream (I found the empty tube at the end of the cul-de-sac).
Before I had a chance to draft another letter, our next problem began. I noticed that you began your small construction project during the night. The hammering kept Harold and I up until the wee hours. I had to go downstairs and fix myself some brandy to conk myself out for the evening.
When I drove to work the next morning I saw your crude structure. What is that made out of? Twigs and rotten lumber? But I was not pleased with the fact that you applied a piece of plywood to the front and labeled your little shack “The Fuck Hut.” Even more disturbing was the fact that whenever I pass your little construction, there always seems to be something moving inside. I even saw a long-haired man, smoking a cigarette out front and he wasn't wearing a shirt! These are not the individuals we like to see in Gurgling Brook Estates.
I would like to say that it is a heavy duty to ask you, on behalf of the community, to pick up and move out. Instead, I find it a very gratifying task.
Unless, within the next fourteen days, you repaint your house one of the aforementioned colors, disassemble the “Fuck Hut” and issue an apology to the neighborhood for your conduct, we will be forced to pursue legal action.
Yours,
Trudy Smithers