Dear Menace to Society,
Every morning I picture your death.
I fear this makes me a bad person. But, oh well…
While you rev your ungodly hell-beast/motorcycle outside my bedroom window every morning at 7:00 a.m., my defenseless, sleep-deprived brain can’t help wishing for severe bodily harm (up to and possibly including death) to befall you. Posthaste.*
As the daughter of early risers, I am well aware that some people have been up for hours by 7:00 a.m. They merrily roll out of bed at 5:00, because God forbid the sun actually beat them to the punch.
Sleeping until 7:00 would be an extreme act of sloth, for which they would be filled with shame and horror… But guess what? THOSE PEOPLE DON’T LIVE HERE.**
You take your life in your hands by parking within rock-throwing distance of my bed, just as you take your life in your hands by hurtling full speed down the freeway on something that barely qualifies as a vehicle.
Why do you have a death wish? Perhaps you should find psychiatric help to work through this…
While you’re there, here are some other questions to explore:
- What am I compensating for by driving the loudest contraption known to man? Am I some kind of attention whore?
- Is my aggressive early morning noise-making a sign of anti-social tendencies?
- Why don’t I bother to take my bike to a mechanic so that–at the very least–it might start on the first try?
Give serious thought to that last one. If I have to “fix” your bike for you, neither of us will like the results. You’ll find your precious motorcycle/instrument of torture in a crumpled pile of metal bits, and I’ll find myself in jail for destruction of property.
But you’d have to catch me first. And you’ll be on foot.
Sincerely,
RJ
*Please don’t ACTUALLY die.
**Please do park elsewhere. Maybe Texas.
Strongly Worded Letters 
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