Why I Really Hate Where I Live

I had a friend visit this weekend. Said friend parked in a legal spot in my neighborhood. When we returned from somewhere (I was driving), a note was on my friend's car. It said something like (this is no joke): "Dear Neighbor(?), We have worked hard to protect this parking space for X for three years [X = bald, small penis-compensating Harley-riding, male fuckhead who lives there]. Though you are legally parked, you really should understand that it has been recognized in our neighborhood that this is X's hard-earned space. If you don't mind, please respect our request and move your car as soon as possible. Thanks so much! Mr and Mrs. XY consumer-hogging-shit-depositing-meme-entitled-pieces of shit-neighbors" My friend moved her car after a yelling at me for 1/2 an hour--rightfully so with me giving her a lot of 'Amen, sista's'-- about how America has totally lost its sense of communty and so then I wrote across the note the following in a mixture of chicken scratch, blood, and snot, and dropped it between their screen door and the unopened Crate and Barrel package. "Dear People(?), My friend, Z has parked here legally. I didn't know about your little 'rule,' and your little 'entitlement,' and so I find the whole thing completely laughable. Respecfully your obedient servant and next-door neighbor(?), -Duncan" I was tempted for a while to get out my daughter's soccer cones and block off the space or photocopy the note and put them, Fight Club-like, on every car in this entire, fucked-up neighborhood. This place is a facade; it's a Hollywood production set errected over a farmer's field; its chalk full of extras who live fake, happy-smiley lives outside, but craft these types of shit notes from behind their Commodore 64s and dot-matrix printers on the inside. Fuck McWorld. Get me the fuck out of here. Bohemia and a cultured, leftocentric West Chester borough, here I come.