My dear Neighbour down the street;
I noted with considerable personal interest the remarkable ingenuity and problem-solving skills you displayed last night when you “mowed” your entire lawn, between eight-fifteen and nine-fifteen, in the dark, using only your gas-powered weed-trimmer. May I commend you on owning a most remarkable piece of well-engineered, professional-level equipment? German, is it? The way its mono-filament blade tore through the dandelions and other weeds in your yard was a most impressive sight to nearly behold in the faint glow of the streetlight. The deafening roar of the engine, might I add, must have – in addition to significantly interfering with my attempts to enjoy a quite good movie – struck terror into the hearts of every living thing in your yard. I dare say it would have brought a tear to Tim Taylor’s eye, had he been there.
Incidentally, I thought you might like to know that you missed a whopping great spot near the boulevard, next to the maple tree. Also, you’re an appallingly inconsiderate excuse for a human being and a burden to society, and I hope you drop dead very soon of something tremendously painful, you disgustingly corpulent autofellator.
Sincerely yours, your neighbour,
Nemo de Monet