| [from the desk of Stickboy]
January 31, 2003 Tomasita: This morning I spoke with Antigone, who informed me you approached her at the door to my apartment in a threatening manner after eavesdropping on her conversation with the gentlemen hired to move a couch into our apartment. I request that you no longer approach or contact Antigone in any way whatsoever, as she is my tenant, not yours. This means I do not want you to approach her in the building or contact her via telephone. Should you do so, we will file a Temporary Restraining Order. Regarding the couch, we are permitted to move whatever furniture we want into our apartment. Your only objection to the couch, per the asinine letter from your lawyer which you felt compelled to have hand-delivered to my office (please desist from doing so ever again – my work environment has nothing to do with your building or your attorney), your only objection to the couch was our need to remove and replace the large window in the front room, which we have circumvented. Therefore, our couch is none of your concern. Finally, the only joy for me in faxing this letter to you is to finally tell you, after many arduous and exhausting years, what I truly think of you. I find you wholly despicable and repulsive in every conceivable manner. You are a hypocrite, a slumlord and a troll – your manners are atrocious, and you suck your living out of our building the way a vampire exsanguinates his victims. You maintain an adversarial relationship with all your tenants – most of whom, I’m certain, despise you as much or more than I do – in order to bully your way out of the basic repairs and maintenance the building requires. Your professed love for the building and your protestations regarding how much work you put into it are false; what motivates you is greed and sloth – you’re no better than the filthy capitalists you claim to despise. Your actions demonstrate, again and again, that you care nothing for anyone or anything but yourself. In closing, I’d like to tell you that the only thing that ameliorates the misery of living in your building is knowing that somewhere, in your miserable cesspool of a soul, you must have some glimmer of awareness of your own wretchedness and worthlessness. The thought that this keeps you up at night helps me sleep. I assume a letter from your lawyer is imminent. My very worst to you, always, and may you choke on your filthy lies, your scams, and your visible misery. If I haven’t made it clear already, I want you to know that you sicken me. I only hope one day you are served your just desserts. – if not in this world that you foul with your miserable existence, then maybe in the next. Stickboy |