Leann was my absolute stunning fucking knockout neighbor. She moved into my old building a few years back and I found it very difficult to speak with her outside of a stuttered greeting or a "how are you going?" One day we crossed paths in the laundry room and she asked if I could throw her stuff in the dryer when it was done, as she was late for work. I obliged and left a note. Thus began the Leann letters:
My Dearest Leann,
I just wanted to convey what an enjoyable time I had putting your things in the dryer, in what I consider to be our “first date”. I’ve been reeling in severe depression ever since you stood me up for our last “first date’, when you suggested we might spend a lovely afternoon carrying heavy boxes from the back of your truck, an event I prepared for with a regimen of rigorous exercise with a personal trainer who had me lifting his own heavy boxes for weeks until it was obvious you no longer needed me. Now with this whole “dryer’ thing I will once again sleep comfortably knowing our relationship is on solid ground. Though, as you know, I’m not the type to shower the ladies with romantic gifts (hell, I rarely shower at all), it so happens that today I received the master for my CD “Sicko,” a copy of which I have enclosed. Enjoy it free for thirty (30) days. If not completely delighted, simply return the CD to the laundry room. Or keep it and every month receive new and exciting promotional items such as The Doug Stanhope Action Figure or The Doug Stanhope Lunch Box. Never any obligation to buy. Cancel at any time. One other thing, I’ve noticed that occasionally it sounds as though you are being brutally murdered in your bedroom, a sound I can hear quite clearly even though your Hole CD is playing at top volume, and that worries me. Therefore I’ve asked David the manager to install a doggie-door between your hall closet and mine so that I can check on you in these rare instances. God Bless,
Leann, I hope you’re not hurt that I’ll be out of town on Valentine’s weekend. I fear that with all the time I’ve been spending on th road that you’’l feel that I’m taking you for granted. I’m not that kind of stalker. A lot of stalkers are just out for a good time. Rifle through your trash, a couple of prank calls and Bang! onto the next girl. I’m not like that. But with all this road work I’ve been doing, I’m afraid I’ll come home one day to learn you’ve found a new stalker, one that has more time to devote to you. The thought of returning from a grueling week on the road only to find another man suspended from the roof by a bungee cord over your bathroom window, naked but for a football helmet and a butt plug like I used to do is a terrible thought, indeed. I won’t let that happen. So, although I can’t be here in person this weekend, I’ve signed my interest refund check from the landlord over to you. Use it to buy something we might both use together, like Windex or pepper spray. Remember, nothing says “ I love you” like $8.61.
Doug, the guy in the apartment next to you on your right
NOTICE TO ALL TENANTS
On Sunday, May 28th, we will be spraying every other apartment for bolweevils, chiggers and silverfish. The duration of this fumigation will be three to four months during which we advise you to stay with your neighbor to your left (as your standing in the kitchen with your back to the sink facing the street). Once we have completed this very necessary de-lousing, we will then begin the process with the other apartments while your neighbor to your left (as you stand in the shower with your back to the Russians facing the street) stays with you. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. On the bright side, the management will be implementing some new amenities for our tenants to make living here even better! Beginning Monday we will be starting a brand new service... Proofreading your mail! No more bothersome typos or tax refunds! Also, sometime after 4th of July weekend we will begin Surprise Forced Random Pap Smears that many of you have requested. Remember, a healthy tenant is a happy tenant! Other events planned include Doug Stanhope show at the Mint on June 27th, 9pm. Your attendance will not only insure that you dont come home to a street full of scab riddled homeless folk wearing your clothes you left safely in the dryer but it also guarantees you Reenies parking space when she dies. Thank you. The Management
Today I overheard Mother chastising you for the volume of your music. You were very kind to turn it down but there are a few other things that have been upsetting to her peace of mind. For instance, she’s noticed that when you move around your apartment you have a tendency to use your feet. This can create a “walking” sound that tends to interrupt her long conversations with the cats, forcing her to start over and further annoying the cats. Rather than all the boisterous “walking”, maybe you could try slithering belly-down like an earthworm. Another thing that sticks in her craw is your extremely impolite habit of getting phone calls. You don’t hear anyone calling Mother, now do you? No, you don’t. Also, and I hate to sound nit-picky but you’re chewing is getting a bit on her nerves. The constant smashing of your teeth against one another is disturbing her Home Shopping Network. Maybe you could buy baby food or foods that were pre-chewed by caring others. Thanks. Mother understands that you’re young and will occasionally do things like bathe. Perhaps a membership a the YWCA would benefit all parties. The sound of running water can make Mother incontinent. And any more of this breathing while you sleep will force Mother to bring in the police. It’s unneccessary and mean-spirited. Please try to keep these things in check so we can all live together peacefully.
Doug, the guy two down from Mother
PS. When you throw this letter out, try not to crumple it. Mother hates crumpling sounds.
Leann or current resident,
I just wanted to say that - yes, I may not be the greatest catch for a lady - I’m short, balding and out of shape. I am soft in the middle like baby shit, I smoke too much, I drink to excess to the point where my liver is sore to the touch. Yes, my ambitions in life are weak at best and I am not one who can easily pick himself up by the bootstraps. Sure, you could say that I live like a pig, that my hygiene is lacking on the on good day and my teeth are chipped and stained from a constant diet of coffee and nicotine.
You wouldn’t have a hard time gathering that I am insensitive and certainly not a good listener. I am self-centered, possibly borderline meglomaniacal. You could look simply at the squalor I have my own Mother living in to gather how much I care about even those closest to me. You might even say I’m morally reprehensible for my lack of concern for others.
I may be a sexual deviant like some people have branded me. Yes, I need a veritable buffet of niche gutter porn and dangerous latex implements before I even can even achieve mild arousal. No, I am no stranger to erectile dysfunction, some stemming from my use of non-prescribed anti-depressants and black market hair-growth products, some stemming from years of sexual practices that range from vulgar to gray-area illegal.
If someone told you I was a tragedy waiting to happen, I couldn’t tell you they were wrong. A smart person might say to keep a wide berth from me, that I could only make trouble for you. Yes, I have tax problems and no respect for money. I may spend frivolously and God forbid you find me gambling. I’d go til I lost everything and then borrow from you.
It’s true, I have no culture. I have no appreciation for music. I don’t like television or films and you wouldn’t find a book in my hand if I were using it to prop up a wobbly chair. Nature is annoying to me and the beach just seems uncomfortable. Fine cuisine is wasted on me and I wouldn’t notice your new perfume from a strong chemical smell.
You may say that I have no respect for women, that my series of failed relationships that have left me a bitter hermit are no ones fault but my own. You could even say that I had it coming. My breath might be that of 1,000 unwashed asses and I sometimes I may break out in tears in public places for no apparent reason. Children are aborrhent to me and I believe abortion should be mandatory. Some may fault me for my so-called "mercy killings" of barking neighborhood dogs through blow-darts and poisoned meat.
Others still could intimate that my hatred of God and country makes me a threat to society, that I am a sociopath with no chance of rehabilitation and that anyone associated with me will be dragged down into the muck with me and rot in a fiery Hell.
I can’t remember my point.
Douglas from across the way
While the events of September 11th were horribly tragic and somewhat annoying, they have proven to bring out the best of the charitable spirit of Americans nationwide. Nowhere is this more glaring than your selfless act of putting my shit in the washer today. For that, I thank you. America thanks you.
As you know, later I removed your laundry from the dryer so that I could put mine in and was stunned to find a 20 dollar bill amongst your fine washables. My first thought was that it was the same 20 dollar bill I gave you not long ago when you were soliciting money for breast cancer ( in my own opinion the worst kind of cancer behind vagina cancer, ass cancer and mouth cancer). I thought perhaps my reputation for courting unwashed immigrant whores gave you the fright and you washed my money for the sake of sanitation.
After some thought, I realized that you must have anticipated that I might remove your laundry before you got to it and left the twenty in there as a diversionary tactic to keep me from again rummaging through your under-panties. My gracious, are you a sly one! A lot of people would have grabbed the money and run. We call those people "minorities" and shun them accordingly. The reason I was not distracted and went on inspecting all of unmentionables is simple. I was checking for anthrax. These troubled times call for all of us to be hyper-aware of our surroundings. A vigilant American is a safe American. The terrorist threat comes not only in the form of hijacked planes. President Bush reminds us all that domestic terrorism could come from any direction, from serin gas in your panties, small pox in your panties to anthrax in your freshly laundered panties.
Who would do such a thing, you ask? Our enemies do not all wear long beards and turbans. Sympathizers from right here in our own country are everywhere. Maybe even in your own employ. Maybe even your boyfriend Todd. In fact, probably even that goddamned Todd. Think about it. Terrorists need money to finance their campaign of death. Doesn’t Todd have TWO jobs? Hmm. Terrorists are fond of car bombings. Funny that Todd would drive a big SUV when he’s a single man with no children! See how it all adds up? Osama bin Laden has 13 letters in his name. I don’t know Todd’s last name but I’d bet a Buffalo nickel it’s got 9 letters in it. And if it doesn’t, all the more reason to be suspicious.
Don’t feel bad, I was fooled too. Sometimes when I’d stand for hours in that bunny suit with the sandwich board just to watch through the restaurant window as the two of you dined, I’d sometimes think maybe he really loved you like I do. Now we both know better. The best thing for you to do now is to come over here where it is safe (wear latex birthday suit and gas mask) and I will continue changing my voice and leaving messages on the FBI tip line regarding our Todd and his evil-doings.
God Bless America
Your one neighbor,